SOS Hawkeye aka 1001 Ways to Almost Kill Clint Barton
by Sandylee007
Summary: Exactly as the title suggests. A collection of (mostly) independent oneshots or short stories where Clint Barton, alias Hawkeye, nearly dies. CLINT WHUMP REQUESTS MORE THAN WELCOME!
1. Hawks Don't Swim

A/N: Okay, this idea just ambushed me and I COULDN'T resist it. (chuckles) Before getting to the actual thing, though…

THE GENERAL IDEA: This collection consists of… what it says in the title, basically. We'll see if we actually reach 1001… Poor Hawk!

DISCLAIMER: (HOWLS with laughter) You guys have gotta be kidding me…! That would reguire the kind of money that I just don't have. Which definitely bites! Well, at least I own an 'Avengers' DVD so I get to watch Jeremy Renner whenever I want to…

WARNINGS: violence, injuries, blood… hey, near deaths aren't usually clean!… language, since Tony Stark's in this one… **The chapters rated M will be marked clearly. IF any chapter / story happens to contain a pairing that'll be marked clearly as well.**

Alright, then… This is something really different for me but I hope that this turned out okay. Enjoy?

* * *

Hawks Don't Swim

* * *

Something told Clint Barton that the mission would be… unpleasant ever since it began. The fact that it took place in a frosty, deserted place in nobody-knows-where north didn't help. His feelings didn't improve as he tried to remain as still and invisible as possible on his newest perch. Which certainly wasn't the most ideal one, considering that there was intense fighting everywhere below him, a for the time being heavily guarded enemy base up front and a frozen lake behind him. To enthrone the misery he was quickly running out of arrows.

" _I'll strangle Fury with his eyepadge when we get home_ ", Tony Stark's voice growled through his ear-comm.

"Not if I get to him first", Clint muttered. Hell, if he'd make it through this alive and without horrible frost bites he'd shoot an arrow at Nick's rear. The Hawk's sharp eyes shifted towards the Iron Man. "Two at your three o'clock, tin can."

" _Cheers, pigeon._ "

Pleased to discover that Tony was holding his own Clint returned his attention to the rest of the team. Natasha was currently giving three enemies the ride of their lives and seemed to be enjoying it. Hulk was chasing two more while demolishing the base with intense vigour. Thor's hammer was in a good use. How about that. Maybe he'd been wrong and this wouldn't end up being a massive disaster, after all.

Clint really should've known better than to jinx it.

Because that was when he made the mistake of looking towards Steve Rogers. Sure, Captain was fast in progress securing the front of the base. The problem was the hostile approaching the man from behind, a gun in hand.

A sharp jolt of alarm crossed Clint exactly a second before he snarled. "Cap, duck!" The other man obeyed instantly and the archer reacted just as quickly. An arrow pierced the enemy's chest, dropping the guy a blink later.

Even with the suit Clint saw Steve's sharp intake of breath. A breath, that was the key point. Still alive and kicking. " _Thank you._ "

Clint was about to respond something clever until a very unpleasant tingle traveled across his skin, radiating through his entire body. His eyes widened a fraction. "Oh crap…!"

The problem with being a sharp shooter is that you can only fire so many arrows or bullets until at least one of the enemies is un-preoccupied and sharp eyed enough to catch the pattern. And when that happens, when the perch is discovered… You're a sitting duck.

Clint didn't actually see the attacker. He was too busy with the discovery of a gunshot and trying to guess which direction it came from. Yes, he was fast enough to dodge it. But it was enough to steer him off balance.

Starting to fall, Clint locked eyes with Steve's. There was a voice screaming in his ear. He was too absorbed by the fast approaching ice to actually understand what was being said.

The last coherent thought Hawkeye had before darkness consumed him was a very gloomy ' _This is gonna hurt…_ '.

* * *

For a few precious seconds Steve was frozen by shock as he watched Clint dive through the air. Too fast, too out of control. And then the archer's body smashed against the ice with a brutal amount of force, shattering it. The man sunk like a stone.

"HAWKEYE!"

" _Cap, what the hell's going on?_ " Natasha sounded tense and sharp. It took a careful ear to catch the intense worry lingering underneath, buried by years upon years of well trained self control.

Steve gulped loudly. It was in moments like these he hated being the leader. Firmly pushing aside the suffocating amount of terror and worry beginning to swell he forced himself into thinking rationally. Natasha had almost reached the stone they'd been after. Tony was busy. He highly doubted that Thor could even swim. And sending in Bruce while the man was firmly in his Hulk form… Well, that wouldn't work for a number of reasons.

Steve's heart was racing madly while he finally regained his ability to move and ran like the devil itself had been chasing him. "Hawkeye's down." His voice sounded unnaturally tight. "Secure the stone. I'll get him."

There was loud cursing from two voices. He let it slide, just this once. " _Copy that_." Natasha's tone sounded more like a hiss than anything else. She knew what she needed to do but she didn't have to like it.

" _Get him out of there so I can kick that feathery bastard's ass when we're done!_ " Tony growled, his voice consealing far less than the billionaire most likely aimed for.

By then Steve had already reached the ice. Clint's violent impact had caused a rather impressive hole. He dove in before he had the chance to think about it too much.

The water was ice cold and far too many unpleasant memories resurfaced. It took all of Steve's willpower to focus past them, to not muse how very familiar the water around him felt. That was when he spotted something that distracted him effectively.

Down below Clint had already hit the bottom, pulled down by the weight of his clothes and weaponary. The archer's eyes were closed and Steve couldn't tell if his friend was breathing. All of a sudden the merciless cold around him became very different.

Steve swam as fast as he could, still fearing that he wasn't quick enough. By the time he finally reached Clint there was absolutely no color left on the archer's face. The Captain had to focus with all his might not to get lost into worst case scenarios.

For someone with his strength hauling Clint's limp weight to the surface was no challenge. As soon as there was air Steve inhaled hungrily, greedily. He was much too aware of the fact that Clint didn't do the same.

Once they reached solid land Steve ran a quick inspection, pleased to discover that there was no threat nearby. Then, with a heavy heart that was full of fear, focused on the man he'd just pulled out of the frosty depths. What he found certainly wasn't reassuring.

Clint wasn't breathing and it was impossible to tell if there was even a pulse.

"No", Steve gasped, staring at his friend's terrifyingly pale face. The bluish lips gave no further comfort. "You're _not_ going to do this." _Not for saving my life!_

With the sudden, eerie rationality of a former army man Steve remembered the knife Clint always had hidden in his boot. He took it without hesitation and winced before cutting through the fabric of the Hawk's uniform. "Sorry about this." But he didn't exactly have a choice.

As soon as he restricting fabric was out of the way Steve began the horrible work. Taking a position that'd been imprinted permanently to his mind he started pumping efficiently, trying to force the archer's heart into motion. He found it brutal and unfair that while his own heart was leaping on without any control Clint's refused to even shudder under his hands.

 _Come on now, please…!_

Steve had no idea how many times he repeated the round, focusing on counting single motions instead. At some point he wondered briefly why the rest of the team wasn't demanding news until he realized that the water had probably destroyed the comm. The twenty-sixth over the past four months. Fury wouldn't be pleased. At the moment he just didn't care.

Why wasn't Clint breathing already?!

Steve's eyes were burning hellishly and if he'd been able to pay even the slightest bit of attention to such a thing he would've noticed the couple of tears streaming down his face. It just didn't matter. All that mattered was Clint and the fact that his heart had been still for…

The sudden, violent gasp was so unexpected that Steve came embarrassingly close to yelping. His hands shook far more than he would've cared to admit but his voice was calm while he murmured and helped Clint to his side. "It's alright. You'll be okay." Now that Clint was finally breathing the relief was so intense that it nearly struck Steve's breath away.

At first Clint coughed horribly for what felt like ages. Then came the huge, wheezing pants that attempted to restore the much longed oxygen. The warm air coming through the archer's still bluish lips formed precious, welcomed clouds to the air. It took ages before a barely audible, choked half-whimper left the man. "… ouch …"

One half of Steve wanted to laugh, the other cry. By some miracle he managed to do neither. "I'd imagine", he agreed softly, wincing as he recalled the pummeling he'd just given his friend's chest. He rubbed gentle circles on the Hawk's back, hoping that it'd ease the functioning of the newly re-started respiratory system at least a little. He had no idea which one of them was shaking more. "But you'll be okay. You'll be just fine." Nor did he know which one of them he was trying to convince.

To his stun Clint actually smiled. It was a thin one and didn't look right with how off the color of the man's lips still was. But the sight was nonetheless oddly reassuring. "… know", Clint wheezed, his teeth beginning to chatter. Somehow the man managed to turn his head just enough to look at him. Those eyes were a little dull from the ordeal but the familiar burn of life was very much present. "… owe me a suit."

Steve's lips twitched to a smile. Soon it quivered, almost turned into a grimace. It was the least he could do after a member of his team nearly died to save his life. "I know. I'll get you two."

* * *

A couple of days later, with the whole fiasco over and Clint nursing the nasty case of a flue that followed, the archer woke up in the middle of the night to a very unnerving sensation. Someone was in his room. And there was a hand pressed against his chest.

As came naturally to him Clint remained perfectly still and calm. Assessed the potential threat. His pulse didn't even speed up until he'd already reached all necessary conclusions.

It was Steve. Steve, who smelled like he'd just finished a marathon. A nasty nightmare, then.

Now, Clint didn't exactly enjoy being touched without his permission. But he knew how Steve's head worked and had a feeling that this was the kind of a reassurance the team leader needed. Yes, the Hawk had drowned but he hadn't checked out just yet. He could feign being asleep until Steve believed it as well.

The following morning Clint woke up to discover two brand new suits waiting for him. About an hour later Natasha appeared with his breakfast and revealed that Steve was properly asleep for the first time since _the great plunge_. Clint smiled but revealed nothing. "Are those… pancakes?"

"Yup, courtesy of Tony Stark."

"You guys are trying to actually kill me, aren't you?"

"Hey, at least I was able to keep Thor out of the kitchen."

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: Poor, poor Clint! And that was just the first one of MANY… Please, do let me know your thoughts! Was that any good, at all?

 **It's your turn to make a difference!** Is there a near-death you'd like to see? Let me know! I'm WAY more than open to requests. I'd love to hear from you. ALL REQUEST WILL BE TAKEN INTO ACCOUNT AND, UNLESS I HAVE A VERY GOOD REASON NOT TO, TYPED AND PUBLISHED. I can't promise 100 percent regular updates but believe me, there's plenty to come. Each story is a oneshot or three chapters long, max. (And for the 'Criminal Minds' fans out there… I'm considering launching a similar one for our beloved Dr. Spencer Reid. But first I've gotta finish a fic or two, heh. Do send me your thoughts about that one, too!)

In any case, THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! Who knows. Maybe I'll see you one day?

Take care!


	2. On a Knife Edge

A/N: It's time for another one of these! I've gotta admit that I'm WAY more excited than would be considered healthy. (chuckles)

BUT, it warms my heart that it looks like I'm not the only one. Woah! This thing's made so… many… friends. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and affection. Let's let the love for Clint-whump unite us!

SPECIAL THANK YOUS for all those BRILLIANT prompts! I'm going to hae MASSIVE amounts of fun with all of them. I hope that you guys will, too.

Awkay, before I keep rambling for pages upon pages… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

On a Knife Edge

* * *

Clint Barton knew a good perch when he saw one. Someone with his experience and natural talent was expected to. The problem was that sometimes he had competition. Like today.

Hand-to-hand wasn't his favorite form of combat. But as someone who sparred with Natasha Romanoff he could certainly hold his own, even if his current opponent easily rivaled Thor in size. Clint almost dared to sigh a breath of relief when the giant eventually went down like a stone. That was until a sharp, burning sting on his side drew all of his attention.

Clint didn't really want to see but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He swallowed and looked down. Only gritting his teeth firmly kept him from groaning at the sight.

There was a knife there, struck so deep that only the haft was visible. He didn't know what kind it was but if the haft's size was anything to go by not a small one. Barely any blood was leaking out and he very much preferred not speculating what the situation was on the inside. A very much unwanted flare of panic shot through him.

 _Fantastic…!_

" _Feathers?_ " Tony's voice pulled him effectively from his jumbled thoughts. " _You on the perch yet? We could sort of use your eyes and arrows._ "

Clint swallowed, fighting the urge urge to just grab the knife and… "Yeah, I'm here." All things considered his voice came out remarkably strong. He risked inhaling and bit his lip so hard that it bled when an inferno of pain thundered absolutely everywhere. Catching his breath took far longer than it should've. He stumbled alarmingly on his way to his position.

He'd be damned if he botched this entire mission, if he risked the team's safety.

" _You okay, Hawk?_ " Natasha inquired. He could see how she knocked down a man down below. Smooth, quick, efficient. Pure Black Widow. " _You sound out of breath._ " She didn't.

And he wasn't supposed to, either. Clint could only pray that he sounded convincing enough as he took an arrow and prepared both the item and himself. "One of these thugs just went a bit rough on me. I'm fine." The pain was lessening considerably. He knew better than to take that as a good sign. The cold would come next. Then his thoughts would be nothing but blur. He'd need to focus now, while he still could.

Furiously determined, Clint pointed the arrow and let it fly. A man Natasha couldn't have seen went crashing down upon impact. The Hawk would've taken a sigh of relief if he hadn't feared what it'd do to his barely hanging on body.

Clint couldn't be sure if Natasha or any of the others believed his recent report on his condition. Chances were that they were too busy with the fighting going on to pay much attention. He was glad. He didn't want to become an unnecessary distraction.

Clint couldn't tell how much time passed or how many arrows he shot. He did, however, register with a vague sense of dread that he was starting to feel tired. And cold. His side had gone numb long since.

" _I've got it!_ " Tony exclaimed all of a sudden. The man caught Clint's attention when he'd been about to close his eyes. The billionaire's voice held a great deal of promise. " _It's completely shut down, now. We'd better get out of here before the rest of the crew arrives. They won't be happy._ "

Clint exhaled rather loudly, pressing a cautious hand against his injury. Apparently it'd been bleeding, after all, because the fabric around it was soaked. "Copy that. I'm on my way down." With the way he was beginning to tremble he could only hope that he'd get there.

* * *

Tony Stark was, admittedly, pretty proud of himself. They'd just managed to shut down a terrorist organization. It was Pepper's birthday and for once he'd remembered. Today everything was actually going his way.

Tony clearly hadn't heard about the laws of the universe. One should never, ever cheer before the task was over and done with. He was about to learn that the hard way.

Steve Rogers was the one who burst his bubble with a grim announcement that their evac wouldn't make it there according to the plan.

"What?" Stunningly enough the bizarre mixture of a whimper and shout didn't come from Tony. It was Clint.

Tony was about to spew out something witty and frustration fueled when he turned towards his friend. All words but one froze into his mouth when he faced the man. "Shit…!"

Clint… looked bad. A sheen of sweat lingered on the quivering man's unhealthily pale forehead. The archer's eyelids seemed to be drooping alarmingly. The worst, however, was the knife sticking from the man's side.

Just a glimpse was enough to reveal that the wound was bad, really bad.

While they both stared with shock and fury over their friend's condition the Hawk's body seemed to decide that it'd had enough. Tony barely manged to break the man's fall before the archer would've slumped all the way down. "Woah!" he exclaimed, his heart thudding a couple of extra beats when the other's weaked legs attempted to find their footing. "Easy. No swooning on me."

Clint's only response being a roll of eyes was a very loud sign of just how bad things were. The Hawk was standing but definitely wouldn't have managed the effort without help. With each passing second the exhaustion in the man's eyes seemed to grow deeper.

It wasn't often Tony saw Steve as grim as the man was then. The super soldier seemed to have paled along with their friend. "Take him to that storage building. Carefully. The less you have to move him the better. I'll ask Natasha if Bruce is available."

Tony nodded sharply. The five steps that separated him and Clint from the mentioned building felt like the most dangerous ones he'd ever taken. "Do that", he affirmed a bit more tightly than he'd meant to. It was fairly hard to remain polite with someone most likely bleeding to death beside him. "And ask how long it'll take those useless evac assholes to get here." Because every extra minute was one too many.

"Language", Clint wheezed before Steve could, aiming for a joking tone.

It was a harrowing, maddening task. Especially when despite the short distance Clint's knees buckled twice more. The archer was fighting to keep himself upright so hard that his whole body was tense and trembled miserably from the effort. Under different circumstances Tony might've admired such stubbornness. They were both eerily quiet, focusing on every single step unnaturally carefully.

The small, dusty and horribly filthly building was free of hostiles, at very least. A tiny bit of good news in the middle of the nightmare. Tony looked around borderline frantically, finally spotting a table that didn't seem to be swimming with anything potentially horrific. Clint, whose eyes were almost closed by then, groaned in a heartbreaking manner against the effort of being laid down.

"Hey!" Tony attempted to keep his tone casual although his voice cracked. As long as he could keep joking, as long as there was even a little bit of normalcy in this, he'd be able to believe that Clint wasn't dying on him. "There's nothing to complain about in being swept off your feet by the legendary billionaire Tony Stark."

Did Clint try to chuckle or scream? The archer bit his lower lip hard, obviously to hold back a whimper of agony. "Just… keep groping… to a minimum."

Tony rolled his eyes. His hands shook when tore off a piece of his shirt, which happened to be the cleanest bit of fabric nearby, and pressed it violently against the injury. Trying to stem the merciless flow of red. "Sorry, but you're not my type. Your modesty's safe with me."

That was when Clint's eyes began to really close. The Hawk's whole body was growing slack, slowly yet steadily. Letting go.

The panic that surged all the way through Tony nearly took his breath away. "Oh no, hell no, don't you _dare_!" he attempted to snarl but it sounded more like a whimper. His friend's blood already stained his hands. "Die on me now and I'll bring your sorry ass back to life so I can pluck it. Eyes open!"

Clint moaned, unwilling or unable to comply. "'t up… 'ust resting 'em a bit…"

Tony swallowed loudly, glancing longing towards the door. Where the hell were the others? "No beauty sleeping on me, okay? Stop talking and I'll smack you."

Clint scoffed. Then winced and hissed, no longer able to contain the agony. It felt like the man was trying to wiggle away from his touch. "… you stab me again…?"

Tony wished that he could've loosened his steel hard hold. But if he had to choose between momentary comfort and making sure that his friend didn't bleed to death… "Nope. But Natasha may do that when she hears about this." His voice didn't sound right at all. And his eyes didn't feel any better. It was like someone had filled them with sand.

Clint sighed. Then relaxed in a way that chilled Tony to the core of his being. He was just fighting the urge to go against his better knowledge and shake his friend when the archer mumbled barely audibly. Slowly, slowly, those eyes opened just a little bit. It was impossible to tell how much they actually saw. "… tell her I'm sorry, yeah?…"

The cold that took over Tony, forming an iceberg into the pit of his stomach, was impossible to describe. It took far longer than it should've before he found enough breath to talk. "Nope. I won't. We both expect you to tell her yourself." It was disturbingly close to a plea.

Clint didn't seem to have the energy to argue. A tremor crossed the Hawk's body. And then those eyes slipped closed once more.

"You're horrible at following instructions!" Tony snapped, fear sharpening his tongue.

Clint's lips barely moved. Yet somehow the words made their way through the thunder of Tony's rushing blood and racing heart. "… still here …"

For several valuable seconds Tony was actually speechless. He blinked once, twice. His line of vision remained blurry. "You'd better be, Feather Head."

All of a sudden the building's door burst open, letting in Thor and Bruce Banner. Tony jumped with alarm. Clint remained perfectly still, didn't even stir. Somehow that was the most disturbing thing of all. Thor remained on the sidelines, observing the events unfolding with a frown of clearly visible worry.

Bruce was the master of suppressing his emotional outbursts. Yet even Tony could read the man's gaze much too well when it took in Clint's injury. "Clint?" the doctor called out in a carefully restrained tone that gave away nothing. "Can you hear me?"

Clint didn't seem to have the energy to move his head. To do anything, really. The whisper that came was weaker than the last. "… still here …"

Bruce's gaze darkened and the man's shoulders dropped as the examination continued. "Good." The doctor looked at the archer's face although the man's eyes remained closed. "The evac team will be here very soon, alright? Just hang on tight. I'll go and get some supplies."

Tony, masterfully deluding himself from obvious alerting signs, continued to apply pressure on the wound. Fought on even though the fabric and his hands were already soaked. "Hear that? Just stick around or I'll use your bow and arrows in one of my experiments. Bruce might help."

* * *

Someone had to make sure that the help would get there and that the possibly remaining enemies wouldn't. That was what Natasha told herself. Yet deep down she knew that those weren't the only reasons she couldn't bring herself to enter the building where Clint was.

Her head whipped sharply to side when Bruce emerged. The look on his face made her stomach drop instantly. "Well?"

Bruce gulped. Rage, helplessness and intense fear all showed on the doctor's face. A dangerous combination. "He's alive, but… I'm not a trauma surgeon and this isn't a hospital. With my skills and this equipment…" The rest was left unvoiced but clearly audible nonetheless.

There was nothing Bruce could do but stall the inevitable.

Well, too bad because Natasha wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. Not like this. Her eyes narrowed. "Then do whatever you can and make sure that he makes it until help gets here." Her voice was hard with adrenaline and something beyond determination. "I didn't give up on hope when he was shot three times, or when he was nearly blown up, or when he was clinically dead for almost four minutes. I'm not going to let you give up now, either. Do you understand?"

For a moment Bruce appeared shocked and she wondered if she'd gone too far. But then, slowly, a thin smile made its way to his face. He nodded, seeming unsure what else to do. "Okay." The squeeze he gave her hand upon passing by was more than enough of thank you.

Once Bruce went Natasha just stood there, breathing, focusing, trying to keep a grip over herself. Feeling far more than she was willing to or able to handle. And then she heard the heavenly noise of their rescue coming closer. Her hand was perfectly steady when she wiped her eyes and sped into motion.

* * *

Bruce was exhausted to the bone from the effort he'd put into both trying to keep Clint alive and keeping the Big Guy at bay. Yet there was no way he could've fallen asleep. Not when a team of highly trained professionals was still fighting furiously to keep Clint from slipping away just when they were getting the archer to safety, to proper help. Clint's constantly dropping vitals didn't seem to be listening.

Sitting there, feeling so helpless that it was almost enough to drive him insane, Bruce could only hope – hope because he wasn't the praying kind – that he wouldn't lose one of the few friends he'd ever had.

Eventually Natasha seemed to have enough. Her expression was hard as steel but her eyes betrayed her when she made her way to Clint slowly, almost cautiously, trying to avoid disturbing the actions attempting to save him. She leaned down and began whispering to the archer's ear. At that point Bruce looked away, focused on his shaking hands to avoid invading a private moment.

Natasha's sudden gasp caught all attention in the aircraft. Thor and Tony tensed up, prepared to fight. Steve's eyes were sharp and alert as the soldier prepared himself for anything. Bruce himself stiffened, careful not to lose control too completely.

It took him a moment to realize what Natasha was staring at. When he did his heart jumped. Clint's eyes were still closed. But the man's hand, one marked by tubes and wires, was moving. Or more like the fingers were.

Signing.

Bruce knew that it wasn't his place to pry. But he was in a desperate need of some reassurance. "What's he saying?" He didn't sound like himself at all.

Natasha gulped. Her eyes shone unnaturally while she took the vigorously moving fingers and squeezed unchracteristically gently. "'Still here'."

If Bruce noticed Tony turning away and subtly wiping his eyes he didn't have the heart to call the billionaire out on it.

* * *

Of course Pepper heard about the whole incident the second the Avengers returned. Tony's text had an unnerving amount of typos. By the time she dashed into the hospital her boyfriend was already waiting, leaning against a wall and appearing so impossibly lost that she had hard time believing it was Tony Stark. "Would you believe that I had a gift for you this year? And tickets booked? And a restaurant reservation?"

Pepper squeezed his hand. She tried to remain firm despite her stomach being in knots and a ton's weight sitting on her chest. "How is he?"

"The fucking bastard coded on the flight here." Tony's voice was harsh and furious. His wide, dazed and curiously moist eyes spoke the truth. "They barely managed to bring him back."

Pepper didn't have the words. Not for this. In the end she did the only thing she could. She wrapped her arms around him and held on with all her might, burying her face to his shoulder. She didn't complain when he held back a little too tightly, rather suspicious quivers taking a hold of his body.

* * *

The five days that followed were horrible. There was no kinder way to describe them. Clint needed a major surgery and even after that it was a touch and go. Four more times the archer tried to leave them. Fortunately the doctors were even more hard headed and pulled him back. On day six Clint's primary doctor was cautiously optimistic that the Hawk might just make it. Again.

On day eight Clint was finally taken off the ventilator. After five unbearably tense minutes the archer decided that breathing on his own wasn't too boring, after all. The rest of the gang celebrated quietly with take-away Shawarma.

On day ten it was at last time to try and coax Clint back to the waken world. They all knew to suspect that the Hawk would surprise everyone with the speed of his awakening. He wasn't one to stay down a second longer than necessary.

Well, to be fair, after so many days of deep sleep and under the influence of medication that might've taken down an elephant it still took time. Natasha had disappeared somewhere after announcing firmly that she'd been back soon. They had no idea if she said it to them or their unconscious archer. Tony, Thor and Bruce played cards although the latter two accused the genius of cheating and the Asgardian didn't grasp the rules fully. Steve stood by the room's window, his whole posture painfully stiff, keeping watch although the danger had passed long since. The others had a feeling that it'd take a mighty while before the team-leader would stop feeling guilty.

When Natasha came back after exactly thirty-two minutes her battered knuckles told clearly where she'd been. If the others planned on asking they were all distracted by the sounds of sheets rustling, which was quickly followed by a very pissed off groan.

The room's whole air changed as they all watched how Clint struggled mightily, finally succeeding in pulling his eyelids halfway open. The Hawk sighed, then winced, bringing a gentle hand to the injury. Confusion swam in the man's eyes.

"I'd take it easy if I were you", Tony adviced. For the first time in over a week his light tone wasn't forced. "You earned yourself a pretty admirable amount of stitches, Feathers."

Finally Clint seemed to become fully aware of the people in the room. At first the man stiffened, clearly unsure. Then, as the archer let his bleary gaze stray on the group, recognition dawned. Alarm was replaced by surprise.

"What?" Natasha shrugged. "You think they'd dare to kick any of us out?"

Clint smiled. For a moment it looked like the man wanted to say something but it'd have to wait. Obviously the small moment of consciousness had drained the Hawk's energy. Appearing stunningly at peace the man slipped into a deep, calm slumber. Clearly trusting them to keep watch while he had some much needed rest. The nightmare was finally over.

For quite long the rest of the team was quiet. That one moment striking them all speechless with immense relief and something none of them quite managed to name. Of course it was Tony who finally broke the silence. "So, how about some McDonald's special? My treat. I'm feeling generous today."

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: DANG, they were close to losing him! But of course he was too stubborn to just give up. (smiles)

Soooooooo… Any good, at all? Junk material? Do leave a note down below to let me know.

 **AND REMEMBER THAT I'M STILL ALL OPEN FOR REQUESTS!** If there's a near-death you'd like to see… Let me know! I'm actually super excited about this.

Up next, we MAY have a good old sick-oneshot. Extreme style, of course, since it's Clint…

I've REALLY gotta go now. Who knows. Maybe I'll see you again?

Take care!

* * *

alex: I sure will! I'm all hooked on the idea. I really hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as well!

Ooooooh, I LOVE that idea! Sure, he's all about weapon-safety, especially at home. BUT, trust kids to find loop holes…

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): I love, love, LOVE your ideas! They'll both be seen in this collection, that's for sure. (BEAMS)

I'm thrilled that you enjoyed the first bit so much!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Your wish is my command! (smiles and bows) I really hope that you'll enjoy the next one(s) as well.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

BanditFox: So do I! Clint whump is such a nice guilty pleasure.

Such juicy ideas! Yup, yup, I can TOTALLY work on those. (nods furiously)

I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as well!

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): No way I'd say 'no' to that! (grins)

LOTS of thank yous for the review!


	3. Sick as a Hawk

A/N: SURPRISE! Two in one week. At first I thought I'd wait a bit before publishing this but… Why? A beautiful summer day like this feels PERFECT for some Clint-whump. Do you agree?

FIRST THINGS, FIRST, OF COURSE! A million and MILLION thank yous for all those FANTASTIC reviews and BRILLIANT prompts! You guys are super precious, ya know? It's good to know that I'm not the only one who likes Clint-whump so much. (chuckles, and HUGS)

ALRIGHT, THEN! It's go time, I'd say. I really hope that you'll enjoy!

 **WARNING: This chapter includes bits that some readers may find triggering. (child abuse) The rating's still T but a bit heavier one.**

* * *

Sick as a Hawk

* * *

Bruce Banner hadn't been much of a team-player even before… his accident. With the Big Guy constantly wrestling over dominance with him he was even less so. Quite often he found himself needing some alone time, safe with his scientific projects or just reading something, nothing threatening to set off the green monster within.

Currently that 'something' happened to be a highly dangerous terrorist's thesis. Bruce was so absorbed by the chilling yet disturbingly fascinating research that he didn't hear the steps entering the room. The familiar voice that eventually called out to him startled him to a point where he shivered and felt unnerving tingling traveling underneath his skin. For a mighty while he had to focus firmly on convincing his body that there was no need to go on high alert.

"Sorry." Clint's voice was oddly raspy. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Bruce frowned, worry taking over. He turned his head and saw Clint standing a respectful distance away, arms folded. Instantly his eyes, trained by the years he spent hiding in India, scanned through his friend.

Clint was very, very pale. Bruce was also fairly sure that the archer was sweating and shivering. The most worrying bit, however, was the glassy, pained look in those usually lively eyes.

"Are you okay?" Of course Bruce knew that Clint wasn't. But before he could actually do something about it he needed to make sure that the Hawk was ready to admit as much.

A look of immense, definitely not physical discomfort flashed on Clint's face. The man's jaw tightened. "I'm… not sure. I started trembling a couple of hours ago and it won't stop. My head also hurts." The archer actually confessing that much was a shock. The miserable look on the man's face was even more so.

Bruce's eyebrows furrowed further while he stood up. A few seconds later found him rummaging through his medical bag. "On scale from one to ten, how bad is the headache?"

"Five."

Bruce silently translated that as eight. Finally he found what he'd been looking for. He made his way to his friend. "I'm just going to take your temperature, okay?" Upon putting the thermometer into Clint's ear his hand accidentally brushed the archer's skin. It was incredibly warm. The numbers he soon received weren't any more encouraging. He swallowed back the curses rising to his tongue. "Well, you have a very high fever", he announced, only a fraction of his true feelings slipping to the tone.

Clint groaned. "Figures." Slowly, reluctantly, the man revealed his arm. It took a while before it became apparent what he wanted to show. A deceitfully small scratch. One that was boiling red by then. "I didn't even notice it until just now. At first it was itching. Then it felt like the skin had been set on fire. That's what made me come to you."

Bruce's whole body filled with ice as realization dawned. They'd been assigned to destroy a group that was possibly designing chemical weapons. That suspicion was confirmed quickly. The whole massive mansion was like one big laboratory. If the situation had been less dire it would've been Bruce's heaven. During a fight Clint had been hurled against one of the glass cabinets. They'd been stupid enough to imagine that the Hawk had a lucky strike for once when the man made it through the rough handling largely unharmed. They contained the criminals roughly three hours earlier. Since then they'd been inspecting the mansion slowly and cautiously, trying to make sure that the tiny yet aggressive terrorist group had really been taken down. The unknown, unnamed virus had had three hours to travel inside Clint, doing who knows what damage.

"I must've cut myself on one of the broken vials", Clint suspected gloomily. A lesser man might've been scared. The archer only seemed pissed off. "I'm glad we beat them to pulps." And then a hint of fear appeared to the Hawk's suddenly wide eyes. "You guys… What if…?"

"We'd have symptoms by now", Bruce pointed out, more analytical than sympathetic. For some reason it seemed to calm his patient. Finally all the years he'd spent on practising restraining his emotions appeared to come in handy. "Besides, if Tony and I got our research right they didn't manage to make the virus airborne yet." His eyebrows furrowed further and his stomach knotted painfully when he took in the way his friend seemed to be swaying on his feet. "Now let's focus on you for a second, okay?"

Clint nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

As soon as Bruce had managed to coax his suddenly fidgety patient to a chair he began his inspection. Elevated blood pressure, and to accompany that the fever was rising still. It also seemed that his friend was becoming hyper sensitive to the room's light. The scientist made a mental note to dim it as soon as possible. "Do you have any other symptoms?"

Clint only glanced towards him briefly. It was as though the archer had been ashamed. "I… threw up a bit. It was another reason why I came to you." Judging by the way the man was holding a gentle, protective hand against his stomach it still didn't feel right.

"Okay." Bruce's head was racing, desperately trying to find a solution. If Clint's fever kept rising like this… "I'll let the others know and get you something for the pain. Try to relax a bit." The more the archer stressed out the worse he'd feel.

If Clint's stiff shoulders were anything to go by he might've had more success in trying to negotiate with a brick wall.

Bruce made his way quickly to a place from which Clint couldn't catch his words, then reached out towards his ear comm. "You guys may want to hurry." His voice was unnaturally tight, even quivered a little. He swallowed. The horrible taste in his mouth remained. "Clint… He's been infected."

For a few seconds it was incredibly quiet. Then Natasha spat out. " _What?!_ "

" _How is he?_ " Steve's tone revealed far more than the soldier would've most likely wanted. It made sense. Not only were they friends, or something like that. The Captain was also their leader. No matter how hard and often they tried to tell differently the man considered each injury and setback his own failure.

Too bad there was no time for reassurances right now. Bruce gritted his teeth, his heart racing uncomfortably from fret and adrenaline. "He… actually came to me willingly." And that told everything necessary. He inhaled, desperately attempting to calm down, to be the doctor that he needed to be. His eyes stung and he had a nasty feeling that it wasn't only because of too little sleep. "Look, since Johan created this string he must've also created an antidote, just in case. Find it and bring it to me, will you?" _Quickly._

" _Copy that._ " Natasha sounded beyond furious. Not ideal but at least it was more useful than sheer terror.

" _Copy that_ ", Steve echoed, his tone even more stiff than before.

" _Already on it._ " Tony Stark didn't try to joke, didn't have a hint of mirth in his voice. If that didn't scream out that things were horribly wrong Bruce didn't know what did.

" _Consider it done_ ", Thor's deep voice boomed, sealing the plan.

Savouring the hint of relief over having the troupes activated Bruce took another deep, shuddering breath and wiped his eyes. Then, furiously determined, he began to make his way back to his patient. He was glad that he braced himself for facing something horrible. Otherwise what he encountered might've shocked him to an unhealthy extend.

By some miracle Clint had managed to stand up. Blood was dripping down to the floor in big, nauseating drops. The archer's whole hand was covered in red as the man fought desperately to stem what appeared to be a massive nosebleed.

It was quite possibly the first time Bruce ever saw the Hawkeye truly, genuinely afraid. Pure and raw, undisguisable terror shone in the archer's wide yet alarmingly hazy eyes. Clint's lips opened twice before, without any further warning, the man's eyes slipped closed and he slumped limply to the floor.

* * *

When Clint woke up it was to his worst nightmare. He was back in the circus. Still that small, helpless child waiting for his punishment. Standing firm although his trembling legs barely supported him and crying silently, helpless against it although he knew full well that tears only led to more trouble. His bruised cheek hurt but he knew that it was nothing compared to what was still to come.

A man sighed behind him. "You missed a shot, Clinton. You ruined the show. I'm sure that you know the punishment for such failure."

Clint bowed his head and gritted his teeth. The tears wouldn't stop even after he squeezed his eyes closed painfully tightly. "Please… Don't…!" Of course he knew that begging wouldn't do him any good. But he was only a child.

The man behind him groaned. "Stop that. You're embarrassing us both." He heard a bow being readied. "Now hold very, very still or this'll hurt more than is necessary."

The arrows would be small. Someone might've imagined them harmless. Clint knew from unfortunate experience how much they'd hurt.

 _"Clint, can you hear me?"_

Clint whimpered, unable to stop himself. He bit his lip so hard that it began to bleed but the second whimper broke out anyway. "… I'm sorry!…"

 _"Clint, hey, wake up!"_

"I know you are, boy. I know you are." The arrow, possibly the first of many, was sent flying.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

 _"CLINT!"_

* * *

Bruce could've cried out with relief when Clint's heartbreaking, loud whimpers and violent trashing finally subsided. A tiny hint of recognition dawned in the man's still worryingly bleary eyes. "'uce…?"

"Yeah", the doctor breathed out. He didn't care if he sounded suspiciously emotional. What he just witnessed… "It's… It's okay, Clint. You'll be okay. You're safe." Which one of them was he trying to convince, anyway?

Well, if it was supposed to be Clint he didn't succeed very well. The archer shook his head and rubbed his face roughly with both hands, as though still fighting the nightmare's grip. "No, not yet." Those suddenly unfamiliar, unnaturally bright eyes darted around. "Barney… Trick Shot… Where…?"

Bruce honestly didn't have the slightest idea what to say to that. It took three attempts before he managed to speak out. "Clint, we just completed an Avengers mission. It's… It's just us, the Avengers, here. Wherever you imagine you are… You're not there anymore." He could only hope that his words made more sense to his ill friend than himself.

It seemed to take a while before Clint processed those words fully. "Oh…" It sounded breathless, almost frail. And clearly it was all the Hawk planned on saying.

Quite possibly even more worried than before Bruce checked the archer's temperature. His stomach knotted at the numbers he got as a response. He knew that Clint would've needed drastic measures to force down the fever. But he was afraid that such dramatic actions might be too much on the man's barely hanging on system.

Soon he might have to choose the lesser of two massive evils.

"Clint", he called out when the other's eyes began to close. It took all he had not to wince at the exhausted, pained groan he received. "I have some meds that may make you feel a bit better. Do you think you can stomach them?"

Whatever little color there'd been on Clint's face faded away rapidly. The man shook his head vehemently. "No, no pills. No drugs. No."

Bruce felt his jaw tighten while the absolutely last thing they needed at the moment began to stir. He gulped. "It's safe. I promise."

For a couple of tense seconds Clint stared at him. Then, barely noticeably, the Hawk nodded. "I trust you." True, the man was barely conscious and delusional from fever. But those words, that level of faith in Bruce…

Bruce was rendered speechless until he nodded back. "Good. Thank you." He watched over intently how his friend downed two pills and a few cautious sips of water. The next few minutes were going to be tense. He waited for one and a half before talking, mindful to keep his tone low. "How do you feel?"

Clint swallowed convulsively. A hint of green seemed to creep on the man's face. "I'm fine."

Bruce might've retorted but a voice in his ear comm cut him short. " _Bruce? What the hell was that scream about?_ " Did Tony actually sound startled? Well, Bruce couldn't blame the guy. That scream was going to haunt his dreams for a while.

"Clint. He's… having it a bit rough but he's hanging in there." Dread flashed through him when he saw Clint fight back a gag. "Just… Find the antidote."

Bruce was barely fast enough to provide Clint with a trashcan. The archer vomited loudly, like someone planning on expelling their very intestines. After a small eternity it finally died down to visibly agonizing dry heaves. A couple of tears ran down the Hawk's face while the man squeezed his eyes tightly shut and wrapped an arm to shield his abdonimal area.

" _Cap and I may be on to something. There was a suspicious drawer in laboratory Z_ ", Natasha announced tersely. " _I'll keep you posted._ " She didn't ask about Clint, probably because she knew that there'd be no good news.

Bruce sighed heavily. "Good. Thanks." How was it possible that he felt like he'd aged twenty years over the hour this nightmare had lasted?

After a much needed and well justified deep breath Bruce grabbed the trashcan, wincing at the stench. He was about to go and rinse it when he noticed something very unnerving. It was almost completely a mixture of red and blackish brown.

His heartbeat picking up considerably Bruce began to turn towards his patient. "Clint, how…?" He didn't get the chance to finish.

Clint wasn't conscious anymore.

* * *

It was dark, practically pitch black. As much as it unnerved Clint it was also a relief. At least he didn't have to see the body at his left anymore. His bleeding shoulder was in hellish agony and the arrow stuck on it didn't help. His hand trembled miserably as he pressed it stubbornly against the injury.

Tears ran down the teen's face while he attempted to look around. Tried to find even the slightest, faintest trace of comfort. "Hello?" His voice broke horribly. "Is… Is there anyone here? Please… Someone… Anyone…"

But no one answered him. He'd been abandoned completely into the seemingly endless dark. All he could do was sit there and curl up the best as he could to keep the cold from creeping its way to his bones.

* * *

Bruce was seriously running out of options. And judging by the way Clint's fever kept raging while his vitals began to crash their archer was running out of time. Panic was about to grab a steel hard hold of him when running steps entered the room.

There was a steel hard look on Natasha's pale face. She showed him a vial that had white substance in it. "We're pretty sure that this is it."

Bruce gulped and took the item. "Well, we don't exactly have the time to test it." He dashed off to prepare the injection while Natasha took Clint's limp hand and squeezed so hard that her knuckles turned white. Holding on as though for the Hawk's dear life.

Bruce wished that his hands had been far more steady than they were while he finished the task. No amount of deep breaths made the tightness squeezing his chest lessen. If this would fail…

Natasha refused to look at him when he returned. Her sole focus was on the unconscious man. "What if it's a hoax?"

"Honestly?" With just about anyone else Bruce would've watched his words. But he knew how much she valued the cold, hard truth, no matter how much it hurt sometimes. "I don't think that anything could make things worse." And he hated admitting it.

Natasha met his eyes firmly, fiercely. Only someone who knew her well saw the fear in her eyes. "Then do it."

And so Bruce administrated the injection. If Natasha noticed the way his hands shook she didn't comment on it. With the next blink of an eye it was done. They could only wait.

They both tensed up when Clint's fingers curled around Natasha's, desperately trying to hold on. A one more, wrenching whimper slipped through. Then the archer started seizing.

* * *

 _"Clint?"_

Clint wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep or lost consciousness. Either way the sudden voice startled him. His eyes opened and it wasn't until then he remembered the all consuming darkness.

 _"Hey, Feather Head, take it easy. Relax. You're safe. But you need to wake up, okay? Open your eyes or I'll let Natasha have another turn in coaxing you."_

Suddenly it wasn't so very dark anymore. Clint found himself feeling lighter. The cold began to fade away.

 _…"Wake up"…_

* * *

Bruce was just about to take Clint's temperature again when he spotted movement. His whole body filled with with anticipation while he waited. And then, painfully slowly, Clint's eyes opened with a mighty groan.

"Hey", he whispered, not knowing whether the other might still have a headache. He didn't dare to take a step closer until Clint's eyes had spotted and hopefully also recognized him. "How are you feeling?"

Clint swallowed and wrinkled his nose at the taste. "Like a semi truck ran me over", the Hawk rasped and frowned. "What happened?"

Well, at least Clint finally sounded coherent. Bruce decided to take a small extra shred of cautious optimism from that. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Clint's eyebrows furrowed as the archer focused. "I had a wound and started feeling sick. Then I came to you." The man attempted to sit up, only to soon change his mind with a moan and pressed a hand against his abdomen.

"You were pretty sick but we found the antidote. This is the first time in…" Bruce checked the time. "… four days, now, that you're awake. The last of your fever began to break last night." He gave his friend a few moments to process that information. "We took off and dragged you to the Avengers Tower as soon as you were stable enough. We figured that you'd feel more comfortable waking up here."

Clint nodded slowly. It took a while before the man looked towards him. "The others?"

"We're all fine." Well, all things considered… "You did scare us, though. Natasha's practically demolished the training room and I think Steve's fast on his way to turning gray." He tried to keep his tone light but it was pretty hard after several sleepless nights.

A look of embarrassment and deep guilt took over Clint's face. "Yeah, ah… Sorry about that."

"Hey, that's not what I meant! This wasn't your fault, got that?" After receiving a half hearted nod Bruce smiled, just a little. "It's good to see you awake and lucid."

Clint actually returned the smile. Then looked around. "Was Tony here, earlier?"

"He was. I sent him grocery shopping about half an hour ago when he started threatening your bow and arrows." He lifted his hands at Clint's scandalized expression. "I know, I know. A bad idea. But I was getting desperate."

Clint chuckled at that, although it made him wince as the effort didn't please his still ailing stomach. The Hawk soon sombred. "Thanks, for looking out for me."

Bruce shrugged. "No problem. It's what a team's for, remember?" He felt a sudden need to do something useful. "I'll get you some tea, okay? You should be able to keep that down."

Clint pouted rather childishly. "What? No coffee?"

"Nope", Bruce declared firmly. "Sorry. But I'm not going to have you throw up again on my watch."

Once he returned with the drinks, one for himself and one for his patient, Bruce sat down to the arm chair he'd dragged beside the bed. A stunningly comfortable silence lingered while they enjoyed their soothing beverages. In the end he broke it. "Just out of curiosity… Who are Barney and Trick Shot?"

There was no reply. When Bruce looked towards Clint the archer appeared deathly pale once more. The man was squeezing his mug so hard that it was a miracle the thing didn't break. It took ages before his friend eventually mumbled. "Just… Just nightmares, now."

Bruce wasn't planning on digging further, no matter how curious he was. Obviously he'd already crossed a line and felt horrible about it. "Okay. You don't need to tell me if you're not ready." And he meant it. "But if you ever want to talk… I'll listen."

Slowly yet steadily Clint relaxed. "Thanks." The archer glanced towards him. "That offer goes both ways, you know?"

Bruce couldn't help but smile, this time a little more brightly. "Yeah, I know." So this was what having friends around felt like. It was… nice. Very nice.

The comfortable silence from before resumed. By the time they'd finished their drinks Clint seemed ready to fall asleep. Bruce took the Hawk's mug gently and placed it to a nearby table, then got up with a stretch. "Why don't you get some rest? You've definitely earned it."

He was almost sure that Clint fell asleep well before the last sentence was voiced.

Bruce took his first easy breath in days. With a one last look at the peacefully sleeping man's face he left the room to let the archer sleep, his steps light and easy. He'd let the others know that their resident Sleeping Beauty had finally decided to join them.

* * *

 ** _End of Oneshot_**

* * *

A/N: **TO ANYONE WONDERING…** Those bits from Clint's dreams are hints towards actual events / my take on actual events in the comic story of Hawkeye.

D-awww! Well OF COURSE Clint recovered with Bruce and the rest of the gang looking after him. The poor thing had it really rough but at last he's on the mend.

Soooooo… Good? Bad? Luke warm? The word is now yours, folks! (grins)

 **Requests are still waaaaaaaaay more than welcomed!** I already have LOTS of them that I'll have sooooooooooo much fun with.

In the future there'll definitely be at least a one more sick-fic. I've already got a plotline for it in my head but I'll type something else first. We'll see just what happens to our beloved Hawk next! Trapped or tortured, perhaps. Heh, with an author THIS inspired you won't have to wait long to find out.

Until next time, you guys! I really hope that you'll stick around for some more of Clint's adventures.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (first): I sure will! Glad to hear that you enjoy these so.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: It SO warms my heart to hear that! And your prompt? AWESOME! TOTALLY something that I could see happening. One CANNOT run and fight around with explosive arrows pressed against their back without occassional mishaps… (wiggles eyebrows)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

jeremyrenner: I'm hyper excited to hear that! Hopefully the next one(s) won't disappoint, either. (BEAMS)

And your idea? Soooooooo doable in my book! Just imagine the teammate's guilt.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (second): I'm SUPER excited that you're so excited! (grins) And your idea? Fantastic! It just might see daylight very, very soon…

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 1: That's sooooooooo good to hear! (BEAMS)

I sure have liked each and every single one of your ideas IMMENSELY! Mmm, they'll be SO much fun to work with. (grins and rubs hands together)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	4. The Hazards of Traffic

A/N: Yup, I'm already back. Yay…? BUT, before getting to it…

THANK YOU, from the very bottom of my heart, for all yours reviews, listings and affection! It doesn't stop amazing me how many of us enjoy seeing our favorite Hawk go through stuff like this. (grins) You're AWESOME! Thank you!

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the story.

* * *

The Hazards of Traffic

* * *

Clint was a fast runner, always had been. Which came in handy, considering the speed at which he usually had to flee from his perch. Or, presently, the nasty habit of trying to speed off some of the people he chased at work had.

The Avengers' mission was almost over. Which, of course, was when he noticed a one more man they'd been tracking down running away from the building like the devil itself had been chasing him. Carrying one of the five flash drives they'd been looking for.

Clint, who just abandoned his latest perch, did a quick mental check. Tony and Bruce were busy with the technology they just found. Steve was reporting back to Fury. Natasha and Thor were still inside looking for the very bastard and item that were currently speeding away.

"Uh, guys… Target spotted", he announced tensely. He took a shot at aiming his arrow but it was like the other man had known to expect it. The running pattern made any attempts of aiming impossible. Knowing that Steve was busy elsewhere he swore mightily. "I can't get a proper shot. I'm going after him."

" _Roger that. Give him a good tussle for me, Pigeon_ ", Tony quipped.

Clint grinned. "I'm planning to, Tin Can", he promised. And so he was already on his way.

Now, Clint had been taught to look both ways before dashing to a road. Right there he completely forgot to apply that rule to sidewalks. Almost as soon as he sped past the aparment building, his target firmly in sight, a massive force impacted with him. Before Clint had the time to realize what was happening he was flying backwards. His back was the first to connect with a wall and his head soon jerked the same way. For a long, painful moment he saw stars but adrenaline did a good job at clearing his head.

What the hell happened?

"Watch where you're fucking going!" a highly unpleasant, painfully loud voice barked. Looking to side Clint saw a young man with shortcut, disheveled blond hair speeding away on a bicycle. Not looking back for even a second despite the fact that he still hadn't gotten up.

Clint muttered a few well chosen words under his breath, pressing a tentative hand against the back of his head. Only to feel something warm and sticky. Fantastic, he was going to need stitches…

" _I got him._ " Natasha's voice was tight. " _Hawkeye, what the hell happened?_ "

Clint groaned. Pulling together all his stubbornness he hoisted himself up. It felt like his whole body had been one big, nasty bruise and his head swayed dangerously. "I… had some technical difficulties."

" _Technical difficulties?_ " Steve repeated, sounding unsure whether he should believe it or not.

Clint gritted his teeth. Tony was going to have a field day with this… "I got ran over by a freaking bike."

For a moment it was completely silent. Then, barely audibly at first, Clint heard a couple of stifled chuckles. " _Are you serious?We're gonna get_ you _a full body armor for the next one!_ "

Clint rolled his eyes. He was pleased to discover that most of the dizziness was fading away. "When you least expect it, Metal Man, you're going to find an arrow from your arse", he growled.

" _Are you alright?_ " Bruce, ever the doctor, interrupted the banter.

Clint sighed and winced at the ache it caused. No wonder with how violently air got knocked out of him. "Yeah. My head may need a couple stitches, though."

" _Okay, get back to the Quinjet and I'll give it a look._ "

" _But watch out for the traffic_ ", Tony reminded him. The man wasn't laughing but didn't sound far off. " _We don't want to scoop you off the pavement._ "

Clint rolled his eyes. One corner of his lips was twitching, though. "Tough words to a man who knows each and every inch of the Tower's air vents. And keeps watch on you with exploding arrows."

" _Fury would pluck you if you shot me on a mission._ "

"Are you sure?"

" _Well, Pepper would._ "

* * *

It was a very, very long flight home. The stitches Clint could take. The headache, too, since this wasn't exactly the first or harshest time he banged his thick skull. (Natasha's words, not his.) The nausea that appeared soon was a whole another story. He wiped the grin off Tony's face with vomiting on the man's shoes. At that point Bruce announced that he definitely had a mild concussion.

That night was a long one. Clint was able to talk Thor into heading towards Asgard when duty came calling but there was nothing he could do about the rest of the team. Which was infuriating because he'd always been the type that preferred being left alone when they were ill or wounded. No such luck, since the others seemed quite insistent on sticking to the 'wake up every few hours and ask a million questions' rule.

"You've gotta be kidding me", Tony groaned. "I've provided you with a perfectly good bed. And _that_ is where you choose to sleep?"

Clint woke up with a start, his aching body and head instantly paying back for the jerking motion he made. He winced and forcefully bit back a groan. As soon as he could be sure that he wouldn't cry out from it he peered cautiously over the hammock's edge towards the training room's floor. "I'm fine, you know?" He sounded amused rather than irritated. An accomplishment, really.

Tony, who clearly hadn't slept a wink that night although it was three in the morning, snorted. "Yeah, really convincing, Legolas. You looked that way when you almost passed out on us." The man shifted weight from one leg to another and scratched the back of his neck. Was that… guilt? "Well, eh… I'm glad that you'll be okay. It would've been sort of pathetic to have the famous Hawkeye flattened by a freaking bike."

Clint smiled, catching on despite feeling like his skull had been torn in two. "That makes two of us." He stifled a yawn, mostly because he wasn't sure if his body would've been able to handle it. "Now go or I'll start target practice. Judging by the looks of it we both need sleep."

Tony lifted both hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. No need to get hostile." The billionaire seemed to be holding back a grin. While walking away the man suddenly came to think of something. "Creative use of the gym ladder, by the way. I'll bet Bruce and Natasha weren't impressed, though."

Clint smiled, even if only to himself. "No, they weren't." He dared to yawn, just a little, while settling back down to his nest as comfortably as possible. "G'night, Tinman."

"Goodnight, Robin Hood."

* * *

Over the next couple of days Clint's head improved immensely. Unfortunately his still aching and bruised body wasn't exactly following along. He'd recover faster from harsh missions. He wasn't sure if it was pathetic or amusing. Maybe both.

He refused to stay idle for long, though. On day three of his recovery he finally managed to talk Natasha into having a brief, light sparring session with him. She wasn't exactly thrilled about it.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Natasha's voice barely rose but her eyes blazed in a way that spoke loudly enough. "You're panting and wincing!"

"Which is why I need to do this." Although he had to admit that she had a point. "You know how bad I am at laying down doing nothing! Do you want it to be like after Dublin again?"

For the briefest of all moments Natasha's eyes widened. Then she groaned. "I might strangle you with my bare hands this time." She sighed heavily. "Okay. Let's see how out of shape you are."

She was holding back. He knew her well enough to see that immediately and it shot a spark of razor sharp irritation through him. But the sad, infuriating truth was that he still barely managed to keep up. They spun around, kicks and punches flying the entire way, and the further their dance advanced the more out of breath and achy he became.

And then she managed to throw him against the floor, landing gracefully so that she was hovering above him.

"Did that prove my point?" Worry that only someone who knew her as well as he did could hear was loud and clear in her sharp tone. "You're not ready for this!"

Clint barely heard. All his focus was stolen by the fact that it felt like his whole left side had been on fire and torn open simultaneously. He'd felt such physical agony only once or twice in his life. That fact alone was beyond alarming.

Natasha frowned. "Clint? What's wrong?"

Clint tried to answer but couldn't. How was he supposed to speak when he could barely breathe? The shockwave of panic was unexpected. Almost more so than the taste of blood lingering in his mouth. All he could do was press his hand gingerly against the hurting spot, like such a simple action could've wiped away the hellish pain.

* * *

Natasha's heart was pounding furiously while she stared at her friend's face, which had gone deathly pale and clammy in a flash. For a mighty while she didn't have any idea what to do or what was going on. Then, with a firm level of self control, she grabbed the hem of his black shirt and pulled it upwards. What she found there made her stomach knot and her mouth go dry.

There was a massive, dark bruise on his side. And it seemed to be spreading underneath her very eyes. She had no medical training but she recognized what she was seeing.

Internal bleeding.

Was it possible that her pulse sped up still? "You idiot…! You completely missed a broken rib, didn't you?" She could only hope that he didn't notice how her voice cracked ever so slightly. Possibly not because his eyes were drifting closed. The kind of sheer terror that overcome her was so foreign that it scared her a little. "Clint, eyes open! Trust me, you _do not_ want to make me any more furious than I already am."

Clint seemed to be struggling for breath. His barely open eyes were alarmingly hazy. "S… Sorry…" He moaned and shifted as though trying to escape his very skin, only to whimper loudly under the agony the motion caused. His whole body was shaking miserably. "… hurts …"

Natasha gulped. It had to be horribly bad if he actually admitted that much. She wished that she would've managed to offer words of comfort but she'd never been one for many words. Instead she took his hand and squeezed harder than was scrictly speaking necessary.

That was when hurried steps entered the room. "Jarvis gave me a tip that something's wrong. An ambulance is on the way. I would've taken Bruce along but he's away with Steve", Tony announced hurriedly. He was doing a far worse job at hiding his panic than Natasha while assessing the barely conscious archer's condition. "Hey, Tweetie, stay awake and tell me how, exactly, someone with your field experience misses a broken rib."

Natasha sighed. All the adrenaline speeding through her system was getting exhausting, really. "Pain tolerance", she revealed. "I've seen him running around with two bullet wounds. Sometimes I wonder if he registers anything short of a limb being missing."

Was that a grin or a grimace? It was impossible to tell. The very next second Clint was drifting away once more.

"Hey!" For once Natasha didn't care if she sounded desperate. Her hand tightened still around the Hawk's unnervingly limp one. "Call it a lights out now and I'll tell him about those boxers you wore in Singapore."

Clint tried to shift but didn't get very far before an agonized wince. "… not my pick… a joke…"

Tony's eyebrow arched. For a couple of seconds his eyes darted towards her. "How would you know about Birdie's boxers?" Clearly he was trying to create a distraction, for himself, her or all of them was impossible to tell.

Natasha shrugged. If the situation had been a little less horrible she might've grinned. Probably not. "Where do you think he was shot?"

Clint sighed. He wasn't trembling anymore. His eyelids were drooping even more heavily. And his breathing… It sounded bad, as did the wrenching coughs. "… 'king bastard… ruined my favorite boxers and suit…" With the last two words his eyes closed entirely.

"Clint!" they called out simultaneously. No reaction. Natasha's hand wasn't steady when she checked his pulse. It was there but barely.

"Don't you dare…", she murmured. Later she would've admitted to no living soul how she sounded, staring at his almost lifeless looking face. "Or I swear…!"

Before she had the time to finish her barely audible threat the paramedics came rushing in. The few minutes that followed were pure chaos while they asked an overwhelming amount of questions that she answered the best as she could. The entire time she couldn't stop staring at their furious efforts to stabilise Clint.

And then they were already dashing away with him, leaving her and Tony staring at their distancing backs like two lost children.

In the end Tony blinked twice, then sighed heavily. His hand twitched but then he seemed to think better of it. Good. "He's… He'll be okay. Feathers is tougher than he looks."

"He'd better be", Natasha scoffed. She didn't care if it didn't sound right. "Because if the moron dies of a collision with a bike I'll find a way to bring him back so I can kill him myself."

* * *

The four days that followed were full of tension and seemingly endless waiting. The first step was dreading the outcome of Clint's massive operation. While he did give the surgery team a scare or two he was stubborn enough to pull through. And then they waited again for the moment when he'd be strong enough to try his wings breathing on his own. (His doctor's words, not theirs.) Usually patients in Clint's condition wouldn't have been allowed visitors, let alone several of them. But there were only so many objections the staff dared to throw at the Avengers.

On days two and three, from almost right after they found out that Clint made it through the surgery, Natasha was missing. When Fury gave him a tip that she was coming back Steve gritted his teeth and inhaled. "I'll go and grab some coffee for us. The proper kind." He glanced towards the still unconscious and heavily medicated archer. "Keep watch in the meantime."

"Oh, we will." Tony, who'd been playing cards with Bruce, checked the doctor's hand while the man cast a yet anot glance towards Clint's vitals. "Besides, he wouldn't be a moron enough to try something stupid after the threats Natasha gave him before taking off."

Steve made it to the hallway just as Natasha rounded the corner. She looked ike she'd been to hell and back but also oddly satisfied. The Captain knew why. Along with the word of her return Fury sent him a link to a newsclip. It was about a biker having been attacked viciously. The poor bastard survived but would most likely be scarred for life.

"You okay?"

Natasha nodded tensely. "Yeah." She definitely didn't look it as she nodded towards Clint's hospital room. "How is he?"

"Hanging in there. They'll try to wake him up in a day or two." He was rather surprised to have enough command in his voice to stop her from walking away. "Natasha, wait." He went on without waiting futilely for her to turn towards him. "I already had this conversation with Bruce. What happened to Clint… It wasn't your fault."

For a couple of moments her shoulders tensed up. Then, without saying another word, she entered the room and closed the door firmly. Steve sighed wearily before heading the opposite way. He did promise the troupes coffee.

* * *

Clint woke up to the oddest feeling of having an elephant sitting on his chest. He groaned and tried to make himself comfortable. No such luck.

"You shouldn't move around too much." He knew that voice…! "You're going to be very stiff and sore for a while. Having a broken rib get up close and personal with your lung does that."

With a massive amount of effort Clint managed to coax his eyes halfway open. After a worryingly long time Natasha's face finally distinguished. She, however, wasn't the one who spoke, since she'd fallen asleep to a chair dragged right beside his bed. Her arms were folded and there was a light frown on her face. Instead he found Tony looking at him with strangely serious eyes that had dark circles around them.

Clint frowned and licked his lips. They felt painfully dry. "How long was I out?" he croaked. Oh, his voice sounded horrible!

"Too long." Tony aimed towards irritation but several other emotions slipped through. "We'd very much appreciate you not trying to kill us all with a heart attack." The billionaire then helped a straw to his mouth to let him drink some water. The man went on once he'd hungrily gulped down five mouth fulls. "How are you doing?"

Clint sighed although it hurt a little. He wished that he would've had the energy to rub his face with both hands. "Fine. Just… fuzzy." He nodded towards Natasha the best as he could. "How's she?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "You know how she's been. I'm pretty sure that this is the first time she's asleep since you went down." The man offered him a look of genuine sympathy. "You should rest while you can. You're in for an ear-full when she wakes up."

Clint sighed. His eyes were already closing. "'know what?" Fantastic, he was slurring… "'think I will…"

"I'll let the others know that you've finally decided to join us." His careful ears were quick to spot the immense relief hiding underneath. A hand squeezed his shoulder so briefly that he might've imagined it. "It's good to have you back. I've gotta admit, though… I never thought you'd be the unicorn pattern kind of a guy."

Clint was so preoccupied by his exhaustion and Tony's parting words that he didn't notice how the frown faded from Natasha's still sleeping face, giving way to a small smile.

* * *

 ** _End of Oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: Yup. Clint in unicorn boxers. Imagine that. (smirks) Poor thing! Who would've thought that something so harmless would turn out to something so nasty? (Well, we all did…)

Sooooooooo… Any good, at least? To be deleted instantly? Do let me know! It's always awesome to hear from you.

Next up? 'Of Hawks and Bees'. Imagine THAT…!

Gah, I REALLY have to get going now. I should be asleep already. Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you there!

Take care!

* * *

Guest 13: I'm THRILLED to hear that!

Heh, a pretty juicy thought! And the end result? Clint ends up getting an ulcery from stressing out… (snickers)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 1: (bows and grins like a loon) It feels SO GOOD to hear that! And I sure will continue. We'll see how many of these things will pop out. Maybe that 1001…?

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (first): GOSH, how happy I am to hear that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) Awwww! That's so heart warming. The surest way to reach me is via PM, if you've got an account. (smiles and hugs)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (second): I'm glad that you've enjoyed these stories!

Ah, a very good point! I'll include that tiny bit as soon as I can.

In the first flashback/hallucination Clint was somewhere between seven and ten years of age. In the second one he was between thirteen and seventeen. In these tales in general he's at around his 'Avengers'/'AOU' age unless mentioned otherwise.

Huge thank yous for the review!


	5. Of Hawks and Bees

A/N: After some MAJOR technical issues of the site (which I'm sure you've all noticed…!) and some MAJOR technical issues with polishing a couple of scenes… Here I am! With another dosage of hurt!Clint. Yay?

You guys, THANK YOU, times million, for all your reviews, requests, listings and support. I'm SUPER happy to see how many others out there enjoy seeing our beloved archer in peril. Can we really be blamed? He's so adorable that he makes WHUMP! far too tempting. (grins)

Awkay, best stop stalling. It's naughty. I REALLY hope that you'll all enjoy the ride!

* * *

Of Hawks and Bees

* * *

They'd had some… testy times lately. Harsh missions. Far too much time spent together with no chance for proper privacy. With the adrenaline and how much they all valued their own space it was no wonder that they started getting on each other's nerves.

When Thor and Tony had a sparring session that resulted to one of them losing a tooth Steve announced that it was time for a breather. The others wondered if the Captain had a few loose screws when the man announced that they'd be taking the said breather together. They were ready to send him to a psychiatric evaluation when he decided that they'd go to a country farm.

Tony stared at the team leader with a healthy amount of disbelief. "Answer me honestly. Are you plotting to kill us all?"

Steve shrugged. Somehow it did nothing to disturb the man's push ups. "No. My plan is that you'll eliminate each other."

Tony gasped with mocked shock. "Steve Rogers. Was that a joke?"

Natasha feigned a cough to hide her chuckle. Bruce rolled his eyes before focusing on the blueprints Tony just handed him. Thor frowned, obviously unable to decide whether he should be worried or not.

Clint shrugged. "A house in the countryside. It could be worse."

* * *

According to the laws of the universe anyone who ever utters those fateful words comes to regret them.

The first two days were actually stunningly calm. The farm meant a lot of work. A lot of work meant non life threatening ways to channel their energy. In such a different environment they were actually able to spend time together without wanting to strangle each other.

Most of the time, anyway.

Clint would've lied if he claimed that he understood what the long, exhausting debate between Bruce and Tony was about. He did know that it'd been going on for an hour and thirty-two minutes. While they were supposed to take care of chopping firewood.

Eventually Clint, with one of his eyebrows twitching dangerously, decided that enough was enough. "Hey! Are you two planning on being any help or…?"

Clint had been too preoccupied to notice the threat before it was too late. One careless move. And he knew exactly what was happening when a sharp sting struck his neck. Cold filled every single bit of Clint when his eyes darted to side just in time to see a bee falling to the ground. He gulped laboriously. "Crap…"

Well, at least he managed to catch the bickering duo's attention. Seeing the look on his face Tony frowned, then noticed the culprit. "What? Did you get stung?" Clearly the genius didn't quite figure out the reason to his distress. "Seriously, I've seen you get shot and stabbed. How…?"

"What's going on?" Natasha's voice cut Tony short just before murderous rage would've taken over Clint. She'd been walking back from a sparring session with Steve and tensed up as soon as she looked at the archer. She knew him well enough to realize that something was badly wrong. "Clint?"

Clint fought his hardest to remain calm. To breathe and focus. Even if his throat was already starting to feel funny. "There's… There's an EpiPen, in my bag…"

She didn't need further instructions.

Tony's eyes widened when the man realized the full gravity of the situation. As soon as Natasha dashed into the building Thor marched out, a confused look on his face. Steve, always the soldier, approached Clint determinedly, a carefully created mask of calm on his face. Bruce was asking questions, a lot of them. Clint couldn't really focus.

Because he was definitely feeling very, very dizzy. And less than a couple of minutes later he was falling. He didn't really feel the gentle arms guiding him down.

People say that the inablity to breathe normally is the worst part. The sense of suffocating. In Clint's humble opinion they were perfectly correct.

He gasped and wheezed, struggled with every inch of strength there was in his body. _Anything_ for even a single proper breath. But his throat was closing rapidly.

Even more dangerous than the lack of breath was the tsunami of sheer terror that swept through him. He trashed pathetically, even managed to utter a tiny, gurgling sound. His hands pressed against the ground and he dug his fingers into the dirt as hard as he possibly could. He could actually feel the way his pulse kept spiking upwards, approaching dangerous numbers.

"Clint!" That was Steve. Steve was safe, familiar. Quite desperately he attempted to anchor himself on that. Why did his friend's face seem so blurry? "Calm down. We've got you, I promise. We've got you. Just try to breathe and calm down."

Clint wheezed loudly in a response. Still no air. He wanted to scream and trash but all he could do was keep struggling futilely to breathe. His aching head was incredibly hazy by then.

 _Shit…!_

With a one more, chilling choked sound Clint's eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

* * *

It took Natasha far too long to finally find the EpiPen. Upon rushing back her steps faltered for a fatal second at the sight that met her. Her whole body went incredibly cold.

The rest of the team was staring at Clint with wide, shocked eyes. Even Steve seemed to be struggling to maintain his composure. And Clint… The Hawk wasn't moving at all anymore. His lips held a slight hint of blue. Was he breathing anymore? Barely.

And then, just as quickly as Natasha lost her control she regained it. Without uttering a word she sprinted to Clint and struck as hard as she could to make sure that the needle would sink through the fabric of his pants. Then, without daring to hesitate for a single second, she administrated the injection.

They all stared, unable to do anything but wait at that delicate moment. Wait, and try not to think too much. Natasha's hand was infuriatingly unsteady while she put away the used needle.

"How…?" Tony cleared his throat. The billionaire's eyes revealed far more than the man might've wanted them to. "How quickly is that stuff supposed to kick in?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Natasha snapped. It spoke a lot about the gravity of the situation that Steve didn't comment on her language. Of course she knew that she was lashing out at an innocent target. But she needed to chew someone's head off and he happened to be convenient. "I've never had to do this before."

Tony scoffed, his eyes never leaving Clint's still entirely too still form. He was _not_ supposed to be that still, ever. "Sorry for asking."

Natasha's lips opened even though she had no idea what would come out. She was, however, interrupted by Bruce. "Clint?"

Natasha's gaze whipped back to her friend. While she'd been busy glaring at nothing in particular he'd began to regain consciousness. The archer groaned quietly and attempted to move but didn't quite manage to. The man's whole body had began to tremble.

"Clint?" Bruce didn't succeed in getting his friend's attention. The doctor frowned. "I know that you feel terrible right now. But we'll get you to a hospital, alright? They'll help you out."

Clint groaned something that sounded suspiciously lot like a curse, squeezing his eyes even more tightly shut.

"Well, that's a sure way to get his attention." Immense relief shone brightly in Tony's slightly widened eyes. The shock over the unexpected situation wouldn't leave any of them for a while. "Mention a hospital."

Although Clint was waking up, painfully slowly but still, it was clear that the Hawk wouldn't be able to do any walking. Eventually Steve was the bold one to voice the issue. The Captain cleared his throat, discomfort loud and clear on his face. "Just… don't punch me, okay?" With those words as his only warning the team leader sneaked a healthily cautious arm from underneath Clint's armpit, slowly and gently helping the man to a sitting position.

They all knew what Steve was trying to do, even at the risk of his own health. But clearly Clint wasn't planning on being carried around like a damsel in distress. With a bout of stubbornness that stunned them all the archer forcibly halted the other man's motions. Instead the Hawk used up what seemed to be his whole will power and tried out his own, far from steady legs. When Clint's knees began to buckle from entirely too much strain Tony stepped in.

"You just nearly suffocated on a bee sting." Did the Iron Man's voice quiver, just a little bit? "I don't trust you not to fall down and break your nose."

And was that a frail hint of a smile? It seemed like one even if Clint's eyes were barely open "… 'ery funny, Tin Man." Although they were nearly inaudible they were actual words nonetheless. After seeing the man practically lifeless just minutes earlier the relief this development brought was overwhelming.

Tony gave the ailing man a dry look. "Yeah. This whole situation has been absolutely hilarious. Now let's keep moving, honey buzzard. I can't yell at you until you're better."

Behind the trio Bruce and Natasha noticed how Thor stepped purposefully on the bee that caused the whole mess, pressing hard with his whole weight. It was pointless and childish, certainly. But neither of them had the heart to comment on it when they would've gladly done the same thing.

* * *

Clint knew barely a thing about the trip to the hospital. There was bickering and growling, which were nothing unheard of. He must've dozed off because he became aware in the alarming reek of a hospital. There was something strange in his nose and it took longer than it should've before he recognized the oxygen whiskers. He would've torn them off if he'd been able to lift his hand properly. Why were they helping him breathe now that he could do it just fine on his own? It made no sense to his foggy, still aching head.

It wasn't until much later he found out that he'd started struggling again on the way to the hospital. Which might explain why he was hooked on so many different monitors. And why, when he was getting better properly, Natasha hissed in Russian that she'd strangle him herself if he ever nearly stopped breathing on her again.

Clint doubted that the others even noticed him joining them, especially since he didn't quite manage to open his eyes. They were preoccupied by a young yet stern sounding woman who was reading them the riot act. "… cause any more havoc around here I'll have each and every single one of you kicked out. This is a hospital, not a circus. Understood?"

"Don't worry." Oh, for heaven's sake… Was Tony actually flirting? "We'll play nice. I promise. Honestly, I'd be way more worried about the behavior of your patient when he isn't out cold anymore."

Clint would've definitely smirked if he'd had the energy to. As it was he drifted back to sleep. Maybe he could let the others keep watch for a change, just for five more minutes…

* * *

When Clint woke up it was considerably more quiet. No more monitors and machinery. The oxygen whiskers were gone. Good.

He must've made some kind of a sound. "You've been caught, Tweetie. I know you're awake", Tony quipped. He had a feeling that the man didn't plan on sounding as relieved as he did. "Stop being lazy and open your eyes."

Clint groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. His moves were still stiff and sluggish. "… five more minutes …"

"Oh no, I think you'll open your eyes. How else would you know if I've painted your nails pink? Or messed with your eyebrows? You know how dangerous I can be when I'm bored."

Clint knew that Tony wouldn't risk his well being with such stunts. But to be honest he was starting to find the dark a little unnerving. At first the bright light of the room blinded him and he groaned. It took far longer than it should've before he managed to distinguish Tony's face. It stunned him for a second or two how openly worried the billionaire looked.

"New rule." Tony actually sounded firm. The man's eyes were a shade darker than usual. "Life threatening allergies? They're something that you're supposed to share with the class."

Clint smirked, hoping that he looked sheepish and apologetic enough. "Sorry." It definitely wasn't one of his favorite experiences but he had a feeling that it wasn't a joyride for the team, either.

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Just so you know, I'm planning on shouting at you later. But there's something I want to give you before nurse Brumhilda returns and confiscates it." The Iron Man searched for a moment before spreading the table on the night stand before him and placing something on top of it. "This one's from the whole family."

Morbidly curious, Clint looked down. For exactly three seconds he could only stare. Then burst into a fit of laughter that tore at his incredibly sore throat.

It was a small cake, the shape of a bee.

Tony handed a spoon towards him. His friend seemed to aim for a formal, serious facial expression. One corner of the man's lips kept twitching. "It's not poisoned, I promise. Pepper made it."

Clint just had a near death experience and would most likely face another as soon as Natasha got to him. But at the moment he couldn't help but smile. Warmth swell in the pit of his stomach. "Thanks." And it was for so much more than just the cake.

Tony grinned a little too brightly when Clint eagerly chopped off the bee's head with the spoon.

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: The bee nearly kills the hawk…! Now where's the justice in THAT?! Well, he got a tiny revenge in the end.

NEXT ONES UP: Clint, I'm afraid, will be facing something very small, metallic and incredibly dangerous in the next one… After that, because several people have been asking for it, we'll see 'Hawkeye Down' (aka the crashlanding of the Quinjet).

Soooooooo… Any thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do let me know! **And remember that all requests are still WAY more than welcomed!**

I really hope that I'll c ya all fellow Clint-WHUMP fans next time. Until then… Take care and stay safe! Chances are that poor Hawkeye won't…

* * *

Guest23: I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it! LOL, I know, right? (chuckles) The poor thing has the WORST luck.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: My thoughts exactly! (chuckles) Poor Hawk! Heh, we've all got our lil' secrets. (snickers) He did claim that they weren't his pick BUT…

You're NOT gonna believe this, but such an idea has been floating in my head, too. With all their missions one wouldn't expect something as… mundane as a car crash. TOTALLY something that'll pop up sooner rather than later.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: In that case I REALLY hope that it'll meet your expectations! (BEAMS)

LOL, if ANYONE could manage that it would be poor Clint.

Quite the mental image, ain't it? And OF COURSE he'd get one from the stress. (Hmmm, this is giving me THOUGHTS…) I quite like the thought of typing in Pepper, since she's a VERY permanent character in the lives of the Avengers family. (nods furiously)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 1: I'm ALWAYS super happy to hear that! (grins from ear to ear)

VERY inspiring ideas! Plane crash? Sooooooooon, very soon. And yup, a building collapsing TOTALLY sounds like something that belongs to this collection.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	6. Collateral Damage

A/N: It's been AGES! I've been madly busy lately but now I'm FINALLY back. And beyond happy about it. (BEAMS)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your AMAZING reviews, those listings and love for this story! Clint-whump is such a guilty pleasure of mine. And it looks like there's a full army of us who feel that way. HIGH FIVE!

Awkay, because the clock's ticking… Let's go, my fellow feather-fans! I really hope that this turns out worth the wait.

 **Two mild mentions of Clint x Laura.**

* * *

Collateral Damage

* * *

It was supposed to be a perfectly normal, calm day. Their team had just finished a yet another mission the day before and they were all beyond exhausted. Fairly quickly, however, Clint noticed that Natasha wasn't able to relax at all. He understood why.

Their primary enemy was a young woman who'd been brainwashed since she was a little girl. Moulded towards becoming the perfect soldier, the perfect weapon. It sounded uncomfortably familiar even to Clint. And Natasha was the unfortunate one forced to put a bullet between the girl's eyes.

After watching Natasha isolating herself the entire evening after the obligatory de-briefing and listening to her pacing around her room through the night Clint decided that something had to be done. He waited until Thor had headed to his home planet, Steve had gone training and their science twins had been absorbed by a yet another project until knocking on her door.

" _Steve, I already told you. I don't want any breakfast._ " That… was actually stunningly calm and civil. Perhaps Clint wouldn't need a full body armor for this one.

"Who said anything about breakfast?" he quipped.

About twenty seconds of utter silence passed by. Then, so suddenly that he had hard time disguising his surprise, the door opened. Natasha appeared suspicious, tired and entirely too wired all at once. Her eyes narrowed. "Let me guess. You want to talk?"

Clint shook his head. "Nah." Talking would come later. But he wasn't insane enough to try it before softening her up first. "I was just wondering if I could coax you to a café."

Natasha looked at him like he'd just gained a second head. There was a hint of eagerness hiding in her eyes, though. "A café?"

"Yeah. Of course. I know that you'd never say 'no' to lemon muffins." Then, as an afterthought, Clint went on. "Don't worry, I'll never tell Tony. Who knows how he'd use that information."

Well, how about that. A tiny bit of twinkle could be seen in Natasha's eyes. She closed the door. Less than a minute later she emerged, fully dressed and ready to go.

* * *

Due to the early hour of the morning the café was comfortably calm and quiet. It seemed to ease some of Natasha's tension. Lemon muffins helped. She ended up consuming her own and half of Clint's. He didn't mind. He'd never had much of a sweet tooth, anyway. As long as she didn't touch his coffee they were good.

To Clint's massive stun Natasha was actually the one who opened the conversation. "That girl… I could've been in her shoes."

Clint mused for a few moments, trying to come up with the correct response. In the end he shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. "No, I don't think so." Even though that girl uttered almost the exact same words the Widow did when they first met, a lifetime and a half ago.

Natasha looked at him. One of her eyebrows bounced up. "Why would you think so?"¨

"Because you have heart." Clint gritted his teeth, focusing on the dark liquid in his mug. His chest tightened, just a little bit, while unwanted memories came flooding in. "And unlike some think it's a good thing."

It looked like Natasha wanted to say something more. Clint never got the chance to hear what it might've been. Because all of a sudden the massive argument two men had been having at the other side of the café escalated violently. A table was flipped over. And then one of the idiots pulled out a gun. Clint's eyes widened.

 _Shit…!_

Everything seemed to happen in a slowed motion. Upon noticing the very real threat the barista started screaming. Which, naturally, caught the attention of the other clients. The very first bullet was sent flying, bringing down the other half of the argument. That was when a man from a nearby table decided to play the hero. With an incomprehensible shout the hero of the day jumped up and tried to tackle the shooter. Which, as Clint knew with bleak certainty, wouldn't end well. The gun kept swaying dangerously, at some point aimed at pretty much everyone present. With screams the other clients squatted down, trying to find cover.

Throughout the sudden horrible situation Clint hadn't remained idle. He was way too far away to confront the shooter and he wasn't armed. As it was he had one priority above all else inside those four walls.

Natasha shouted something when he jumped up, then pushed her down as gently as he could. He placed himself between her and the gun without even noticing it. They fell towards the floor, only his quick arm keeping him from crashlanding fully on top of her. They both gasped on the way down just as the echo of the second gunshot died out.

"I got him, I got him!" That must've been the guy who decided to attack the fiend. "Someone call the cops!"

"They're already on their way", a shakey voice replied.

Clint breathed in deep, then out, then repeated the routine. His eyes must've been at least a little wide and wild upon meeting Natasha's. "You okay?"

Natasha nodded although she didn't seem fully certain. "Yeah." She frowned and inspected him with her gaze. Did he seem more dazed than he felt? "You?"

"Fine." Slowly, testingly, he began to push himself up. "Was there a second gunshot? Who…?" He trailed off when a massive dizzy spell washed through him.

Alarm flashed sharply in Natasha's eyes. Impressively quickly she was sitting, supporting what must've been most of his full body weight. He wondered if she even noticed how her hand shook as she brought it behind his back, stroking uncharacteristically gently. It was impossible to tell which one of them tensed up further when her fingers came back coated in blood.

Clint blinked slowly. His stomach dropped although he wasn't sure if he managed to fully grasp the situation. "Crap…"

Before he realized what was going on Natasha had eased him down, so that he lay on his side. With the perfect view to where the first guy jumping in had been joined by two more to hold the shooter down. A girl who was still hiding behind a corner table was filming the entire thing with her cell phone. Most of the clients were staring at the gunman with wide eyes. A few of them were crying. A couple of people seemed to have noticed him. They didn't dare to approach, though, only stared at him with wide-eyed shock. Now, with the action having died down, everything was strangely muffled and slow. Or was it just him?

"… int! CLINT!" It sounded like Natasha had been trying to get his attention for a while. He didn't think he'd ever heard that much emotion in her voice. "Stay with me, goddamnit! Is there an exit wound?"

A logical enough question. Something that had to be inspected. Stiffly and awkwardly Clint moved his head, just enough to see his own chest and stomach area. Even with the rapidly escalating dizziness he was able to detect that there was no red. No moisture. The bullet was still contained inside him. Good. He'd been right in front of Natasha. If… "'s still there", he murmured. His eyelids were starting to droop while exhaustion began to set in. Natasha had his back. He could sleep a bit now, right?

It didn't occur to him that there was no sleeping with a bullet wound until Natasha pressed hard against his back, sending such a shockwave that took his breath away. "Clint, no going quiet on me now!"

Clint groaned and closed his eyes. Why was she torturing him like this? "'n't wanna talk."

"You don't have to." Her other hand, trembling miserably, moved to his neck. Monitoring his pulse. That bad, huh? "That stupid song you keep singing to Lila and Cooper over the phone… What's it called?"

Clint almost felt like smiling. Trust Natasha to ask something so random…! "'weren't suppose' to hear…"

"Well, I did. Gotta tell you, it doesn't exactly suit the tough and mighty Hawkeye." Was she whispering? Because she sounded strangely quiet. "Start singing, Barton." It was always surnames when she was delivering orders. "I want to hear that idiotic lullaby."

Well, that was unexpected. Not that Clint would've been able to question and wonder much at the moment. In the end his body began to function before his head could quite catch up. He began to sing softly, even if it was barely even humming with how tired he was.

 _Sorry, kids, daddy's exhausted…_

Memories kept spinning around his head. Eventually the mental slideshow stopped to Lila's grinning face. A tiny smile appeared to Clint's face. He didn't know that he'd stopped singing. Or that he'd almost stopped breathing, too.

* * *

Unlike most people probably assumed Natasha was a human being and very much capable of experiencing fear. Even if it happened very, very rarely. And there, on the floor of a stupid café, she was absolutely terrified. Because despite her best attempts Clint kept bleeding and bleeding, the red pooling all over her hands, his shirt and on the floor. Then he went quiet, even stopped trembling entirely.

"Clint?" No reaction, not even a twitch. He should've known better than to not react to her voice. "CLINT!"

His breaths didn't sound or seem right. Under her desperately squeezing fingertips his pulse had become light and thready, such that she barely felt. The only constant was the bleeding. How much more blood could he lose before…?

Natasha's eyes were full of helpless fury while they swept through the people at the café. At least five of them were staring at them. No one was moving.

"What the hell are you doing, just staring!" she snarled. It didn't cross her mind that her tone might startle them further. "Somebody help me!" So what if she was begging? Clint was fucking bleeding out in her arms! She wasn't going to…!

Still no one moved. It was like they weren't even a part of the same world. And Clint kept losing whatever blood he still had left. Feeling cold and sick to her stomach Natasha looked at his face. The smile on his colorless lips would haunt her until her dying day.

"Ma'am?" It took far too long until Natasha realized that there was a very much real voice talking to her. She lifted her head to meet a kind yet stern face. The paramedic's uniform struck her like a bolt of lightning. "It's alright, we're only here to help your friend. But to do that I need you to move. Alright?"

Natasha didn't want to let go of Clint. Didn't want to stop feeling his pulse because it was the only thing that told her he was still alive, still fighting. But she also realized that she had fairly little choice over the matter. She she budged, as little as possible, and watched with sharp, careful eyes how the woman and her male partner began to work.

"What's his name?"

Natasha didn't realize until a few seconds later that the question was directed at her. "Clint Barton." Her voice was remarkably steady. Or maybe she only imagined that it was.

"Any known allergies?"

"No."

"Alright." Two pairs of quick, experted hands worked on stabilising Clint. Still even more red kept sneaking out. "How long has he been unresponsive?"

"Three minutes and forty-two seconds", Natasha announced without a beat of hesitation. Of course she'd been keeping track. Each second had felt endless.

The paramedic gave her a smile and a nod. "Thank you." The woman then focused fully on Clint once more. "Clint? Can you hear me?" There was no response whatsoever. The stranger rattled some medical jargon that sounded like gibberish to Natasha to her colleague. They worked just a little faster. Clint… How was it possible that he looked even worse than before?

After a couple of eternities whatever those two had been doing seemed to pay off. The bleeding stopped, or at least paused. Which seemed to be a cue for the pair to set wheels into motion. Before Natasha had the time to see it coming they were rushing onwards, taking Clint away from her. She reacted instantly.

"I'm coming along", she announced with every bit of authority she could muster. "Trust me, if he starts waking up incoherent you'll want me around." This tiny, infuriating part of her brain nagged that it was far from likely that he'd wake up anytime soon. She chose to ignore it. Refused to let the fear consume her.

Apparently getting the patient to a hospital as fast as possible was a bigger priority than fighting with her. With clearly visible hesitation she was allowed to the ambulance. By the time they got there something was happening to Clint's breathing. Although it was the last thing she wanted to see Natasha stared as they intubated him. When did they hook him on an I.V.?

Natasha tensed up and nearly lashed out when something was draped gently around her tense shoulders. Her head snapped up and she found the female medic's sympathy filled eyes. "It's for the shock."

Natasha wanted to argue that she wasn't in a shock. In the end she decided not to waste breath on that. She noticed only absently how the male medic left the back of the ambulance to take over the driver's seat. Very soon they were speeding on, sirens blaring. Not soon enough in Natasha's opinion.

When she could be sure that the remaining paramedic was focused on their patient Natasha took Clint's hand. She squeezed it hard, tightening her hold still to match the brutal fact that there was no tension in his fingers. When she held on to him as though for dear life a single steel hard thought kept echoing in her head, over and over again.

 _Don't you dare… Don't you dare… Don't you dare…_

If he'd die after taking a bullet while protecting her she'd find a way to kill him again herself.

* * *

They stole Clint away from her as soon as they reached the hospital. Natasha must've stood there for ages, staring at the direction towards which he was taken, until a clearly busy but polite nurse escorted her to the waiting room. Wait she did, mainly because it was all she could do. She didn't even notice that the shock blanket was still wrapped around her.

Natasha didn't know how long she'd been there all alone until a familiar voice spoke. "… tasha?" For a moment she was able to trick herself into imagining that it was Clint. Instead she found Bruce looking at her with eyes that seemed incredibly old. "Are you alright?"

Natasha would've wanted to snap something harsh but the look on his face made her decide against it. Instead she merely shook her head. Soon a frown appeared to her forehead. "How did you know to come here?"

The growing worry in Bruce's eyes alone was very alarming. "Nat, you… texted me. Don't you remember?"

Wasn't it obvious that she didn't? By some miracle Natasha was able to hold her tongue. She wrapped her arms and the blanket a little more tightly around herself, casting a longing glance towars the room's door. Not a trace of Clint's doctor.

Bruce hesitated for a long moment. Then, surprising them both a little, the scientist moved closer and took the chair next to hers. For some reason she didn't mind. "Any news?"

Natasha shook her head. Unable to come up with anything better to do with he hands she started biting her fingernails. It was a nervous habit that she'd imagined to be a thing from her childhood. "Not yet." Where the bloody hell was that doctor? How long could the surgery take? She had to get something else to focus on. "What about Steve and Tony?"

"They'll be here soon." They both glanced towards the door when there were steps, only to see a nurse passing by. "At first Steve's going to bail Tony out."

Natasha fixed a look of disbelief towards her friend.

"The guy who jumped the shooter was already on the news. Bragging, making a hero of himself." Bruce sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tony got his hands on him."

Natasha nodded. "Good." She was just disappointed that she didn't get to that idiot first.

They sat there for at least an hour more, not holding hands but still drawing comfort from one another. Until finally they saw a doctor walking directly towards them. Whatever little warmth there'd been in Natasha disappeared in a flash.

The look on the woman's face… The posture… The dropped shoulders…

Natasha lost her breath entirely. Felt like this time she was the one who'd been struck by a bullet. Somehow she managed to maintain most of her composure but there was nothing she could do to help the way her heart was racing desperately. Bruce also stiffened beside her and in a more coherent state of mind she might've worried that the Big Guy would be unleashed.

This had to be some kind of a sick joke, right? A mistake. It was just two friends stopping by at a stupid café. Ridiculously bad luck. Clint had only been trying to keep her safe. There was just no way that Clint could be…

She had _not_ just lost him this way after everything they'd…!

Like in some sort of a strange fog Natasha saw a wide eyed nurse, still in scrubs, running towards the doctor. They exchanged a few words before they both started to dash right back to where they'd come from. Like someone's life depended on it.

It took a mighty while before Bruce could speak. "What… just happened?" He sounded as startled as he looked.

If Natasha had even single religious cell left in her body she would've claimed that someone had just answered her. She gasped, only then realizing that she'd been holding her breath for a long time. "Clint happened."

* * *

It took another five hours before the doctor finally came back. By then Tony and Steve had already joined them. Apparently Clint was still hanging in there. Barely. Even the doctor couldn't predict what'd happen next. All they could do was wait.

* * *

The first thing Clint became aware of was the infuriating beeping. He groaned and tried to shift but couldn't quite make himself move. Where the hell was his alarm clock?

Hold on a minute… This didn't sound like his alarm clock… What…?

"Stop wiggling. You'll tear your stitches." Now that voice was familiar, although he couldn't imagine what was going on. "Feel free to open your eyes, though. You've been sleeping for ages and it's getting boring."

Pushing all his strength to the simple task Clint indeed managed to crack his eyes halfway open. At first the world around him kept swimming in and out of focus. Then, finally, he was able to actually see Natasha's face. She had dark circles around her eyes and she seemed pale put otherwise she appeared unharmed. It gave him a great deal of comfort. But what…?

That was when he remembered the gunshot.

He frowned. Tried to remain lucid and awake although it was getting harder by each second. "… okay?"

"No." Her eyes flashed dangerously yet at the same time they managed to appear incredibly vulnerable. "You nearly died on us. Well, technically you did die. We'll have some strong words about that later. Laura wasn't exactly impressed, either. Nor were the boys. They've had four and a half days to come up with ways how to either keep you confined or in a full body armor twenty-four hours a day. They've gotten pretty creative."

Clint smiled despite the fact that slowly yet surely he was starting to feel his injury. "Creative, huh?" He was too groggy to feel the dread he should've.

Natasha smirked. "Oh yes." She then took a plastic mug and helped a straw to his mouth. "Slow sips, yeah? I don't want you to damage yourself any further."

Clint sipped gratefully, savoring the cool water in his mouth. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. "Thanks", he sighed, the simple action of swallowing draining all his energy.

Natasha shook her head. She helped him lay down almost carefully. "After your stunt, don't you dare thank me."

Clint felt ready to slip right back under. But there was something that bothered him immensely. "Nat?" He didn't quite have the energy to open his eyes. "Before the shooting… We were talking…"

"Yeah, we were", Natasha interrupted him softly. He must've been even more tired and doped up than he'd imagined because he could've sworn that he felt her running her fingers through his hair. "Now shush. You need sleep. It's my turn to have your back."

Yeah, he was definitely tired beyond his wits. Because that couldn't possibly be Natasha Romanoff, singing quietly and softly. Wasn't that the same song he always…?

Clint didn't care if it was real or not. He breathed in deep, blatantly ignoring the fact that it hurt like hell, and relaxed. She was safe and he wasn't alone. And that was more than enough.

Clint was sleeping heavily and Natasha was preoccupied. That was why they couldn't possibly notice the person peering into the room, a massive hawk-shaped plushie in his arms. The arrival froze to the doorway.

Tony Stark quite honestly couldn't believe his eyes. Or ears. Surely that wasn't the Natasha he knew, stroking Clint's hair? Humming a lullaby? But it was.

For a moment Tony wondered if this was worth risking his very life. Then, quite rapidly, he decided that if he'd get evidence of _this_ he could die a happy man. So, with a grin of amusement and immense relief on his face, he took his cell phone and started filming.

There'd be days when he'd want to remember this.

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: Trust Clint to come back even when the hospital staff's already given up. (smiles fondly) Gotta love the friendship between Clint and Natasha. And who else wants a hawk-plushie?

Soooooooooo… Any good at all? A bullseye or a tragic miss? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you always makes my day.

NEXT UP: 'Hawkeye Down'.

 **And remember, requests are ALWAYS intensely welcome!**

I've REALLY gotta get to bed, now. Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll join in then.

Take care, and dream of Hawkeye!

* * *

Guest (1): I'm so, so, SO happy to hear that you liked it! (grins from ear to ear) I really hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it! LOL, I know, right? Trust it to take just one to make all hell break loose…

I really hope that you'll keep having a good time with this collection!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Well, at least it didn't take longer than this…? I hope that the next one's worth the mini-hiatus.

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	7. Hawkeye Down

A/N: Yup, I'm baaaaaaaac. It looks like many of you have been looking forward to this one. BUT, before getting to the story…

THANK YOU, for the BAFFLING amount of reviews, listings and love this collection has received! GOSH! Sooooooooooooo many fellow Hawk-whump lovers. My tiny heart is singing with joy. (grins, and hugs) Sorry, Clint! But take this as a sign of how much we love you.

Awkay, it's LATE so I'd best get to business… Soooo, let's go! It's to bring down the Quinjet.

* * *

Hawkeye Down

* * *

Now, it was supposed to be a simple enough mission. Take down technology some very unpleasant people got their hands on. It shouldn't have been a problem, even with Natasha on a solo-mission and Thor having been forced to return to his home planet.

They should've known that it was doomed the moment Tony stated something along the lines 'What could possibly go wrong?'.

The real number of hostiles they were about to face wasn't confirmed until they'd already made it to the scene. For a few moments the team of four sombre men stared at the challenge unfolding before their very eyes. And then Steve got a plan. A horrible plan but one nonetheless.

Clint seemed absolutely anything but excited. "So, let's make sure that I got this right… You guys need a distraction?"

Steve nodded slowly, reluctantly. He could understand the reluctance. "Yeah." He sighed. "There's at least fifty of them. There's no way the two of us could keep them busy. The Quinjet sounds like the most useful option." Honestly, he wasn't a fan of his own plan. But in this particular building there were no proper perches for Clint and despite his skills the man would've been a sitting duck with nothing but his suit and arrows to protect him. Surely the archer would be safer in the Quinjet? "I'll go in as well and monitor the situation."

Clint stared at him for a couple of seconds. Then groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Have I ever mentioned that I hate your plans?"

Had the situation been a little less dangerous Steve might've smile. One corner of his lips twitched. "You have", he confirmed. "On multiple occasions."

Clint sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "Fine, fine. But if they make me crash I'll shoot an arrow at your arse."

* * *

The moment Clint woke up a little bit, surrounded by what he gradually recognized as snow and aching all the way down from his hair, he knew that _something_ had gone badly wrong. Laying there, struggling to stay awake, he also concluded that it had something to do with the mission. He frowned, fighting furiously to remember.

 _What…?_

Clint's ears were ringing painfully while he turned his head as much as he dared to. His heart skipped a beat at what he discovered through oddly blurry eyes. "Uh huh…"

The Quinjet had crashed just a few steps away, reduced to not much more than a pile of wreckage. Yes, he remembered vaguely trying to escape it. But considering the speed at which it had been going down…

What dropped it, anyway?

Well, as it turned out Clint had more urgent things to worry about. Because at that very moment it occurred to him that his legs… didn't feel right. Far less alarmed than he should've been Clint peered towards them. The sight that greeted him certainly wasn't pleasant.

Parts of the plane had fallen on his legs, effectively pinning them. There wasn't a lot of blood but even in his current barely coherent condition he knew not to take that as a good sign. Usually he might've been able to toss aside the metal trapping him. But in his current condition… With the amount of busted ribs he seemed to be sporting breathing was enough of a challenge.

Not good, seriously, absolutely not good.

What about the rest of the team? Had they made it in one piece? Were they on the Jet? Why couldn't he remember? Frustrated and far too stubborn for his own good Clint reached out a very unsteady, nearly limp hand, pawing at where his ear-comm was supposed to be. Only to find that it wasn't there. Apparently he'd lost it somewhere in the chaos. Great.

Clint groaned and closed his eyes. The constantly dimming part of his brain trying to scream that it was a bad idea be damned. A flashback played like a movie.

* * *

/ _Clint certainly knew how to fly the Quinjet. She was a fickle thing but he'd made it a mission to learn all those little tweaks and tricks. He'd always loved flying, anyway. It was another reason why he'd chosen Hawk as his code-name._

 _Getting her to the air wasn't much of a challenge. He hummed his approval and set to motion. Somehow he already knew to prepare himself for a bumpy ride._

 _Clint made it to the enemy base without any problems. Well, that never was the part he worried about. The bit that gave him a headache came next._

 _"Everyone in position?"_

 _"_ All set _", Steve confirmed._

 _"_ Yup _", Tony stated, popping the final letter. The billionaire's voice sounded tighter than it was probably supposed to. "_ We're waiting for your move, Legolas. What's the plan? _"_

 _Clint gritted his teeth. "I'm going to get their attention. Heads down, okay? I'll do some gentle knocking."_

 _"_ What are you…? _"_

 _Clint fired a round. Then another. At the moment it was more about noise than bringing damage. As much as he would've loved to bring in the big guns they needed_ Bruce _and the Big Guy was notoriously smitten with explosions._

 _"Okay, mission accomplished", he stated tightly. There was a lot of hassle and movement down below, all of it focusing on the sudden threat looming above. "Get busy, yeah? I have a feeling that these guys aren't very happy about seeing me."_

 _Tony chose not to make any smart remarks about that. Surprising. "_ Copy that, pigeon _", the Iron Man quipped instead._ /

* * *

Clint didn't know how long he'd been drifting when the sound of snow rustling under footsteps reached his ears. Instantly gaining a little bit of spark he allowed his eyes to flutter open, his vision settling just enough to allow him a visual to a dark shadow approaching the crash site. At first he opened his mouth, his heart thudding with newly restored hope. Then he realized that the person approaching wasn't one of his friends. All of a sudden he felt every bit as cold as he was supposed to, lay there on the snow with shock undoubtedly settling in.

It was one of the hostiles. Probably there to check if he was really out of the game. Well, too bad. Clint had no intention of just waiting to be offed.

Their eyes met, the arrival's shockingly blue ones widening. Clint reacted in a flash, reaching out for the gun on his belt, safely hidden by his winter outfit. The enemy's two seconds of frozen shock cost the man his life. Clint _never_ missed.

Clint managed to hang on for a remarkably long moment after seeing the enemy fall down. Then exhaustion that he would've found highly terrifying in a different condition creeped in. The gun slipped from the archer's grasp while the man lost consciousness.

* * *

( ** _TEAM'S POV_** )

* * *

Tony and Bruce had made it to the enemies' equipment at a remarkable speed and, thanks to the second half of their team, with minimum resistance. Playing around with all the high-tech machinery? They were two kids in a kindergarten.

Despite a few interruptions from their enemies. Tony wasn't entirely sure how manieth poor sucker he knocked down before glancing towards Bruce. The doctor was a little paler than usual and seemed to be trembling slightly. The billionaire frowned. "You good?"

Bruce nodded tensely. The man's Adam's apple bobbed with a loud, hard swallow. "Yeah. No Code Green."

Comforted slightly by that knowledge Tony resumed to working. Until he was distracted by Clint's voice, coming through the ear-comm. " _Guys… You're almost ready, right?_ "

Instantly a tremor of dread shot through Tony. His jawline tightened. "Are you being a critic?"

" _I've got our hosts' attention alright. One of them is working on this… small, metallic box. Something tells me that it won't be good news._ "

" _Take him down!_ " That was Steve. The Cap's voice was significantly sharper than usual. " _Right now! We know how dangerous the technology these people have is._ "

" _No._ " Clint sounded just as firm and tense. " _He's… He's holding a little girl, probably his daughter. She ran out of the building right after I fired the warning rounds._ "

Tony's stomach knotted. He knew Clint's code of honor. The Hawk would never, ever endanger the life of a child. Or make the said child watch her father get gunned down. And frankly Tony would've probably made the same call.

" _I've… been reading their lips. These twenty people I've been keeping company… They have no idea of you guys yet._ _So…_ _Get the hell out of there, you hear? As quickly as you can. Do what we came here for and get out._ "

Tony felt his pulse speed up about as clearly as he felt color draining from his face. No, absolutely no freaking way…! "You've gotta be kidding me…!" he scoffed breathlessly, without a hint of humor in his voice.

" _Hawkeye…!_ " Steve tried

Clint cut both of them off. " _Just… Just skip the dramatics, yeah?_ " There was a barely traceable tremor in the man's voice. " _I'll give these guys a run for their money. Now get the hell out of there!_ "

"Iron Man." Fear, worry and ever-present rage were all very much present in Bruce's dark eyes. "I… I've got it. The whole system is going to go down in…" The scientist checked the time. "… forty-eight seconds."

Tony nodded. His blood was still racing uncomfortably and his stomach kept twisting in a nauseating manner. "Good. Now let's get out of here and find Feathers so I can pluck his sorry ass for being unnecessarily dramatic."

* * *

Clint was the team's sharp shooter but Steve also had his moments. And half by accident he found the perfect spot to take a shot. Blowing his cover be damned! He wasn't going to just stand by and let them…

He was _not_ about to shoot a man who was holding his daughter, though. For a number of reasons. Instead he aimed at the ominous device in the man's hold. Which was presently aimed at the Jet that was making rather impressive moves to dodge the answering fire it received.

Steve was a breath away from pulling the trigger when the man pressed a button. Steve's heart jumped into his mouth and he stared although it was amongst the last things he wanted to do. He didn't want to see how…

Actually, it looked like nothing was happening. The Jet kept gliding away gracefully, even made a couple of impressive spins. Then all hell broke loose. It spun one time too many. Less than a blink later it was nose-diving towards the unforgiving ground. Was that… Clint, parachuting away? Yes, definitely. Maybe…

Or then not. Right in front of Steve's horrified eyes the Quinjet crashed with a deafening roar. Taking Clint along on its path.

* * *

Tony was beyond caring whether the enemies would notice him. Bruce seemed to agree. At the top of their speed they hurried to the forest line. They barely registered the very relieving fact that they faced no enemy fire. As soon as they were in the cover of the trees he put on his suit and grabbed Bruce along without asking for a permission. "Please tell me that he's still alive", he muttered. Directing his plea to several places at once, to whoever might be able to answer.

" _I can detect two human bodies_ ", a computer voice announced. Infuriatingly emotionless. " _One of them is still alive but the vitals aren't…_ "

"Okay, okay." Tony felt sick already. He didn't need to hear… "Let's… Let's focus on the 'alive'."

The flight took less than two minutes but it seemed endless. Tony felt his knees go weak at the sight of the devastation. Beside him Bruce gasped loudly, clasping a hand to his lips.

The Quinjet was definitely a goner. Whatever electric pulse had been directed at it must've trashed all its systems and the impressive crashlanding did an impressive amount of destruction on its metal structure. How could anyone…?

Speeding on with desperate determination Bruce and Tony both shivered at the sight of the man Clint took down. Then they saw their friend. For a few valuable minutes the whole world simply stopped.

Clint was pale as a sheet and motionless. Lay there on the snow with his eyes closed the man seemed to be sleeping. The blood on the snow told otherwise. There was too little of it, really. The Hawk was bleeding internally. Was he breathing? Yes, barely. The sounds were loud and audibly painful. Seriously not good.

"Clint!" Tony called out. To hell with code names! In a flash he'd reached his friend and patted the unresponsive man's cheek as firmly as he dared to. Which wasn't much when the archer looked ready to fall apart at even the lightest touch. "Clint, open your eyes right now or I'm forced to start some serious groping!"

It took a moment before the two men recognized the feeble, barely audible and horribly raspy sound as a chuckle. Clint's eyes opened just a little although it seemed to require most of the man's little remaining strength. "… hands off… chop them…"

Tony shrugged. It was a struggle to try and appear calm when the way his friend looked and sounded chilled him to the core. "I've got Pepper's lipstick with me. You want to make sure that I won't put any of it on you? Then stick around."

Did Clint try to smirk? "… n't start a fight with someone… who knows interrogation techniques…" His heavy lidded, horribly glassy gaze shifted towards Bruce. "…t bad, huh?"

Bruce sighed. "I'm not going to lie. You… hurt yourself pretty badly upon crashing down. But I know how stubborn you can be. You'll be just fine."

Clint smiled faintly, which appeared rather macabre with the specks of blood on his lips. "… take your word on it… doc." He then frowned, his eyes becoming even more hazy. For a second the two were terrified that they were losing him until he spoke, even more feebly than before. "… told you… to run…"

Tony scoffed. "What, and leave you here?" He narrowed his eyes, glaring at his injured friend. "Listen to me real good, Wilhelm Tell. We're a team, you understand? We'd never, ever leave you behind. Get that into your thick skull."

Clint didn't seem entirely sure whether he should believe it or not. Or then he was just fading. The archer blinked sluggishly. "… did… in Beirut…"

Tony and Bruce shared a concerned look, both of them frowning. "Clint?" Bruce's voice held a barely traceable touch of panic. "We've never been on a mission in Beirut."

Clint didn't seem to either hear or understand. Perhaps both. The man fell into a fit of coughs that seemed to hurt like hell. The Hawk whimpered pitiably and writhed under the hands trying to help him. Then, without a warning, sheer panic appeared to his eyes. "Phil… Phil's still in there…!" The archer was quite seriously trying to get up although it was highly unlikely that he even felt his legs. "He's… He's still there… In the ruins…!"

"Clint." The two helpers were both startled by Steve's sudden voice. When were they going to get used to the Cap's stealth? Faster than a lightning the man kneeled, careful to keep himself in Clint's line of vision. "It's okay. Everything's okay. Just calm down, alright?"

Clint's eyes kept growing dimmer. But his expression transformed to something close to relief, despite the fact that by then his blood soaked Tony and Bruce's hands. "Phil…? You… You're okay?"

For exactly a heartbeat Steve was stunned frozen. Then, without a hint of hesitation, the team leader nodded faintly. "Yeah, Clint. I'm fine. Everyone's okay."

The smile that appeared to Clint's eyes quite positively broke their hearts. Such relief on a man who could be dying…! "Good… Good…" The archer was clearly on the edge of slipping away but fought back, just a little bit longer. "Tasha… Tell Tasha that I'm sorry." Then, before they had the chance to protest, the Hawk's eyes slipped closed and he went completely limp.

"Clint?" Tony's gentle, cautious shake received no reaction. "CLINT!"

"I… I got us a med evac. I figured that we might need one." Steve fought furiously to keep his emotions in check, the two of them could see that. He still seemed far more pale than usual. "But they can't land here. We'll have to move Clint."

For a few precious seconds it was painfully quiet while they all tried to figure out what to do. In the end Bruce, ever the doctor and scientific mind, jumped into action. "Your shield", the man suggested, nodding towards the Cap's customary piece of metal. "We… We don't know if his spine's been damaged. And whatever other damage there may be. It's the steadiest option."

The two others agreed. It was a painstaking process and took longer than they actually had to waste but eventually they were able to hoist the injured archer off the ground relatively safely. With that they began to hurry towards the rescue, hoping from the bottom of their hearts that they weren't too late. That Clint would manage to hang on for long enough. They'd be damned if they lost him like this!

Clint didn't wake up anymore, no matter how much they kept coaxing him and talking to him. They refused to give up. Bruce continued doing whatever he could to his friend's injuries. Steve kept murmuring hopefully soothing nonsense while his shaking fingers monitored the archer's fast, thready and dangerously weak pulse. Tony… Tony kept talking as well. Everything from threats to pleas, even a few weak jokes. The others could see why. Tony, no longer inside his armor, was squeezing Clint's hand. And by some miracle it looked like the archer was holding back. So hard that the Hawk's knuckles had turned white.

Clint's determined hold didn't break the entire time, not even when the evac finally arrived and the man's condition deteriorated to a point where they had to intubate him. The Hawk refused to let go. And they sure as hell weren't letting go of him, either.

* * *

Clint had been snatched hurriedly from them at least six hours ago by the time Natasha appeared, looking like she'd been to hell and back. And appearing perfectly ready to kill someone. "What the hell happened?" she snapped.

They told her. To the very last detail. She listened to the tale with a remarkable amount of patience and self restraint. In the end she swore loudly and colorfully in Russian, her eyes ablaze. And that was the last any of them uttered in over an hour.

Eventually, when the wait simply got too much, Tony had to speak out. "Just out of curiosity… What happened in Beirut?"

Natasha's eyes flashed with a loud and clear warning. "None of your fucking business", she hissed. There was ache in her voice. " _Never_ mention it agan."

Tony's lips opened but before he could utter a word a grim faced doctor appeared.

* * *

Clint swam in a in a very comfortable, warm cocoon of gray. On occasion it was penetrated by sensations. He could smell Natasha's perfume, faintly but still. Someone was shouting and then a horrendous taste filled his mouth before he slipped away once more. The next thing he heard were pacing steps. He drifted away before he had the time to figure out whose they were. There was a hand holding his. He squeezed back, the best as could, the warmth of the touch making him feel safe before he fell back into the gray.

And then, all of a sudden, he felt the world rushing back to him. There was a infuriating beeping sound that he wanted to silence immediately. And a horrible, nauseating wheezing sound that he slowly recognized as his own breathing. Then he felt the fingers wrapped around his hand. He curled his own fingers the best as he could. It took far more effort than it should've to convince his eyelids into opening. At first the white room blinded him and he groaned, struggling to regain some focus. He saw red. Without him knowing it a dopey grin appeared to his face. "Hey", he slurred.

Maybe he was still dreaming, after all. Since when did Natasha smile like that? Or look like she'd been crying? "Hey."

* * *

In a few days Clint was able to stay awake longer than a few minutes at a time. The rest of the team kept taking turns in staying with him, as though they were afraid that he'd slip away if they let him out of his sight. It was heartwarming and incredibly infuriating all at once.

Clint and Steve had been watching a crappy soap opera, perfectly happy with switching their brains off, when the archer was overcome by a massive coughing fit. His broken ribs protested loudly while he coughed as hard as he possibly could, then ended up heaving for the breath that he lost.

"Clint?" It was quite possibly the first time Steve sounded so very terrified. "Are you alright?"

Clint nodded, still trying to catch his breath. For just this once he was grateful for the oxygen whiskers that he usually despised. "Yeah… The doc… said that this… may happen…"

It took a small eternity before Clint's breathing finally felt nice and steady. He closed his eyes, savouring the ease. Until he could practically feel the waves of guilt radiating from Steve. He realized that he'd been stalling this conversation too long.

He looked at the Cap as firmly as he could. "Look… I'm tired, and I'll probably be knocked out any second. So listen to me." He didn't go on until their eyes met. "What happened to me… It wasn't your fault. Just damned bad luck. So stop beating yourself up."

It was highly likely that Steve would never quite manage that. But at least a hint of relief appeared to the man's eyes. There was a barely visible nod.

Clint nodded back. "Good. I'm glad we got that settled." On the very edge of wakefulness he somehow managed to speak once more. "Tony… mentioned that I was… talkative, before lights out… I didn't say anything… embarrassing, did I?"

Steve's eyes were next to impossible to read. The shake of a head was delayed. "No", the Captain reassured him. "Nothing embarrassing."

Clint sighed, relaxing against the bed. "Great." He yawned, then glared at the tv-screen through drooping eyelids. "Switch the channel, will you? Another minute of 'Bold and Beautiful' and… I'll walk out of here… broken bones or not."

Steve frowned. The poor thing seemed genuinely confused. "What's wrong with 'Bold and Beautiful'?"

* * *

It was a long, hard road to recovery. It took months before Clint's breathing was completely back to normal. And even longer before he was finally able to take his first wobbly, incredibly painful steps.

The whole rest of the team was there. Steve and Bruce smiling encouragingly, Thor guarding every step like he was the Hawk of the group, Tony cheering him on in his usual brash manner. And Natasha… She was right there beside him, taking every step with him.

Right there, in that moment, Clint grinned and felt incredibly lucky despite the agony ravishing his body.

So what if he had broken bones? So what if it'd take a long, agonizing recovery to get back to normal? He wasn't making that journey alone. If that wasn't luck he didn't know what was.

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

Now excuse me while I grin like a loon. (chuckles) They're just too adorable, aren't they? Poor Clint, though.

Sooooo… Was that a good ride? 'Want your money back? (Well, you didn't exactly pay anything, but…) PLEASE, do let me know! My inner muse is a greedy little thing that loves hearing from you.

NEXT ONES UP: Clint ends up to the wrong side of 'Code Green'. And then we discover just why hypothermia is so very unpleasant…

Until next time, ya all! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there. Take care!

And let's let the Clim-whump live on!

* * *

Guest 13: Aaah, you're making me feel all warm and fuzzy! I really hope that the next one lives up to your expectations.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: That's a MASSIVE relief to hear! (BEAMS) I really hope that you'll enjoy the next one every bit as much.

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): YAY! (beams, and bows) Gosh, those words of kindness… You really made my heart flutter with joy, you know? (HUGS)

Plushiiiiiiiiiiiiies! I want one. Right now. Seriously. Intensely.

Massive thank yous for the review!


	8. The Darker Side of Green, part 1 of 3

A/N: Phew! I was THIS close to not managing an entry this week but here I am. (BEAMS) But, first of course…

Thank you SO MUCH for your reviews, listings and support! It just keeps baffling me how many fellow Hawkeye-fans are out there! But then again, what sane person WOULDN'T adore that guy?!

Awkay, because the clock isn't my friend… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride. And notice, this one'll be as long as three chapters.

* * *

The Darker Side of Green, part 1 of 3

* * *

The whole team hated the mission from the bottom of their hearts. It wasn't bad enough that it was miserably cold. The skies had also decided to open up, sending a impossibly heavy downpour of rain to torment the unfortunate heroes.

" _Is it against some law…_ ", Tony groaned. " _… that at least once, just once, one of these guys would decide that 'Oh, Fidzi sounds like a good place where to try and start a criminal empire!'. Or Hawaii. I'd have nothing against that, either._ "

" _We've been to Fidzi. Remember?_ " Natasha's tone revealed that she, for one, remembered all too clearly. There was a pause that became filled by the unmistakable echoes of flesh meeting flesh. " _We all nearly drowned there._ "

"And I got shot at Hawaii", Clint joined in. Then fired his tenth arrow in fifteen seconds. He observed with pleasure how it hit the mark.

About half a minute of silence ticked by. " _Corsica_ ", Tony decided at last. " _We haven't tried Corsica yet._ "

" _Why would any villain invade Corsica?_ " Steve mused out loud.

" _That would be the whole point, Cap. It's called a vacation. Ever heard of one?_ " Tony groaned and there seemed to be some sort of a brief scuffle. " _This is exactly why I hate hanging out with you guys sometimes. Whenever we go someplace cool at least one of us nearly dies._ "

Clint smirked. With a firm, steady hand he sent a yet another arrow to its merry path. "Occupational hazard, Tin Can", he pointed out.

" _Still. Corsica. Imagine it. A beautiful view, warmth, sun… Maybe even Bruce would get a bit of tan._ " A loud roar from Hulk was the first response to Tony's suggestion. " _See? Even Big Green agrees._ "

" _I hate sand_ ", Natasha complained but it sounded like she was smirking.

" _Tough, you're still coming along._ "

Clint was about to comment until he became aware of something very, very alarming. There was an explosion, he was just a hair at the wrong angle and couldn't quite see what caused it. Then his perch was crumbling down. Sending him flying down, down, down, towards a massive room where Hulk had just taken down a miniature factory and at least twenty people working there.

The fall seemed to continue a tiny eternity. A couple of times Clint nearly managed to break it but luck just wasn't on his side. Then he landed nearly right at Hulk's feet, with such force that struck all air from his lungs and made him see stars much too long. Did he even black out for a bit? He wished that he could've been sure.

Clint breathed heavily, partially because of the fall he just took, partially because of the gravity of the situation. His heart was hammering madly while he attempted to focus. Tried to figure out the safest way out of the mess.

When Hulk growled and glared at him he swallowed hard, slowly pushing himself to a sitting position. "Hey… Hey…" He froze entirely when a new, louder growl announced that moving around was a very bad idea. "Just… Just stay calm, alright? It's okay." Risking quite a bit he revealed both of his hands. "See? I won't hurt you. I promise."

" _Clint_?" Natasha's welcomed voice sounded tense, which ate away a little bit of the reassurance. " _I'm on my way._ "

If Clint would've wanted to take such a chance he would've asked her to hurry. Instead he kept his gaze on Hulk, even tried to smile. He was pleased to discover that the glare aimed his way was slowly transforming to something milder. "Yeah, see? It's just me." Although every little bit of him screamed against the action he got up, slowly and unsteadily.

The following few seconds were tense. Hulk emitted a roar, clearly not appreciating his actions. Clint's concentration was, however, stolen by the shockwave of pain that took over his entire body. It seemed to radiate from his back to every little bit of him and it took his breath away with its sheer, brutal force. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and no matter how hard he gritted his teeth he couldn't quite hold back the whimper.

It's stunning, how the smallest of all things can make the biggest difference.

It speaks volumes of Clint's condition that he didn't even notice Hulk moving until the green creature stood almost right before him. At first he shivered, prepared for a violent reaction. Then he noticed the emotions lingering in the eyes looking at him. Was that… worry? Was Bruce trying to push through?

Ignoring the hellish agony that still burned him like no flame ever could Clint fought to appear far calmer than he felt. "I'm… I'm fine. Just… My back…" He couldn't continue, partially because the pain got too much, partially because he didn't want to even try to guess how bad the damage was. Well, he could stand. Wasn't that something?

This time the sound Hulk emitted was something different. The being most referred to as a monster studied him closer. Suddenly a massive finger was reaching out towards his injured back.

"NO!" Clint realized his instinctive reaction too late. Receiving a yet another hurt, furious growl he hurried to continue as much as he had a breath for. "You… You're too strong, okay? Gentle… You have to…"

At that moment happened something that quite genuinely rendered Clint completely and utterly speechless. What could only be called understanding filled Hulk's eyes. The green giant emitted a rather quiet, gruff sound, almost like an 'A-ha' of sorts. Then, before he could move away, the finger from before approached him again.

Clint expected the impact to shatter whatever hadn't been smashed yet. Or at very least a new, mind numbing surge of agony to ravish him. But nothing such happened. Instead Hulk's touch brushed his back almost tenderly, exploring the damage. A groan that sounded almost mournful left the giant that was frowning.

It was definitely one of the weirdest things Clint had ever experienced. Completely surreal. And very, very moving, actually. The Hawk was throughoutly convinced that a concussion had made him hallucinate. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Still… "I'm fine…", he murmured, just in case. Never once breaking eye contact with the supposed monster examining him. "I'm fine. It's okay."

Clint wasn't sure. And at the moment he didn't really trust his senses at all. But right there he could've sworn that it was Bruce Banner looking back at him.

That, of course, was when all hell broke loose.

During the bizarre encounter they'd effectively forgotten that they were in the middle of a still active battle. That was until bullets came flying. Clint groaned while dust began to dance around them, his eyes scanning around and finally discovering that one of the men Hulk had taken down wasn't quite out for the count yet.

During his fall Clint's bow had been broken but of course it wasn't his only form of protection. Deciding not to give the half-dead man a chance to land a bullet where it'd count he snatched the gun hidden underneath his coat and fired a single shot. It hit the hostile right between the eyes.

So why were there still incoming bullets?

Clint spun once more, equally dangerously ingoring his back and Hulk's roars of rage, to see another man peering in through the hole that led him in. Simultaneously with that discovery he felt a wave of lava-hot pain when a bullet grazed his arm. The one that was holding the gun. Experienced and stubborn to a fault Clint didn't let his grasp break. Instead he squeezed tighter, even though his hand trembled, and aimed upwards. Once again just one bullet was all it took to get the job done.

Despite the agony he was still again Clint grinned, even made the mistake of relaxing slightly now that the rain of metal was finally over. That was until the roars registered. Feeling incredibly cold all over he looked quickly towards Hulk.

The green giant he'd already calmed down once clearly hadn't enjoyed the bullets any more than he did. Rage, such that the Hawk would in no way be able to suppress in his current condition, was practically radiating from the mightily upset being. And in what might be one of his last moments of clarity Clint realized that he was royally screwed.

" _Clint, what the hell is going on? Is that Hulk?_ " For once Steve didn't correct Tony's language. If the archer didn't know better he would've thought that his friend sounded scared.

" _Get out of there!_ " Steve ordered. " _The lullaby's going to be there soon. Just get out of there, right now!_ "

 _A bit too late for that, Cap…_

Hulk was a creature that'd taken down gods. And Clint… Clint, despite his incredible skills, was just a man fighting alongside said gods, super soldiers and men in metal suits. There was a flash of green that he barely had the time to notice. For a few bizarre moment the Hawk wondered how in the world he could be flying. Until he landed to a wall of tiles, back first.

And then he didn't wonder anything anymore.

* * *

Bruce came back to himself in the comfortingly familiar afterglow of Natasha's lullaby. It should've made him feel safe and calm, like it always did. But this time… This time something felt horribly wrong.

Natasha's face seemed that subtle little fraction too tense which made his stomach drop, filled his veins with ice.

"What did I do?" Bruce sounded terribly raspy even to his own ears. When the only reply he got was the assassin looking away he tried again, momentarily healthily worried that he'd lose control all over again. "Natasha, what did I do? Who did I hurt?"

Slowly but thankfully not hesitantly Natasha looked at him again. There was something in her eyes that she didn't quite manage to disguise. She was scared, but not afraid. "It wasn't you, Bruce", she swore. "Remember that it wasn't you, alright?"

Instinctively Bruce turned his gaze, a bit faster than his head would've been ready for. At first everything spun and swayed but then, inevitably, the sight before him came to focus. In an instant he wanted to throw up.

Clint lay on the floor, right beside a wall, unmoving and his eyes closed, so very still that it nearly stilled Bruce's very heart. Steve was already there, futilely trying to get the archer's attention and attempting to assess the damage. Even before taking a proper look Bruce knew that it was bad. _Really_ bad.

 _No, no, no…!_

This was precisely why he never wanted to join the team in the first place. Because he knew how dangerous he was. Because he knew that it'd almost surely lead to _this_. Because he never, ever wanted to…!

"Bruce!" Natasha's voice was sharper than a whip even though it broke, giving away the turmoil inside. There was a suspicious amount of moisture in her eyes. "Clint's still alive and a med-evac is on its way. But… We don't know…" She gritted her teeth so hard that it had to hurt. "So stay with me, Bruce! Stay with me and help my best friend! Please!"

 _Please_. Such a word coming from her was somehow able to reach Bruce, even when he was fast on his way to sinking into the darkest corners of his mind. As though his body had been operating free of his mind he got up and made his way to the injured archer. He wished that he would've been able to ignore how Clint, even in his unconscious state, seemed to shudder under his gentle touch.

Clint was breathing, even if it didn't sound quite right, and had a pulse, no matter how fast and thready. Bruce anchored himself furiously on those two grounding pieces of information. There was a fairly bad wound at the back of the archer's head and Steve had done what he could to get the bleeding under control. Some bruices, a bullet graze… And then, of course, the spinal injury. Despite not wanting to know Bruce ran his fingers cautiously across the back.

Yes, the damage was bad if he could feel the abnormality with his bare hand.

In the haze that followed Bruce did what little he could to keep Clint as stable as possible. He would've wanted to take the archer's hand but feared that anything harder than a brush might shatter the man. Hadn't he done enough damage already?

And then Clint was whisked away. For the life of him Bruce couldn't tell what the medical professionals said, didn't react to the questions aimed his way. He only comprehended one of them and shook his head firmly.

No, he wasn't alright.

He just possibly killed one of the very few people who'd ever been his friends. Someone who made the mistake of trusting him. He lost control. Lost everything.

Hulk had hurt a lot of good people before but now, this time, Bruce didn't think that he'd ever be okay again.

* * *

Despite currently inhabitating four humans and one Asgardian the hospital's waiting room was incredibly quiet and full of tension. Tony would've wanted to take Clint to the Tower – to home, to people he could trust professionally, to his employees. But he respected the medical professionals' verdict that Clint's condition was far from stable enough to allow such a long journey. As it was they could only wait to hear if their friend would even…

"Tony, if you don't stop pacing right now I'll knock you down myself", Natasha, who'd been eerily still on her seat since slumping there, hissed.

"Sorry." Tony stopped for two seconds. Then continued until his eyes fell on Bruce. His science twin sat at the opposite edge of the room, without a doubt having purposefully put some distance between himself the rest of them. The man's back was to them but Tony could still see the legs that'd been brought against the man's chest and the ever present trembling. Thinking back, he was fairly certain that Bruce hadn't stopped shaking since the beginning of this fiasco.

Deciding to risk it for the sake of a friend Tony walked closer. Furiously trying to figure out what to say when anything and everything just felt so… bland, off. "Look, Bruce…"

Bruce shook his head. The doctor tightened his arms around his knees, looking out the window. "Don't tell me that it wasn't my fault." It was clearly a plea but Tony wasn't quite sure for what.

Tony gulped hard. "I was… I was just trying to say that I know you're in a pretty dark place right now. But I need you to join us, okay?" Those words tasted strange in the billionaire's mouth but he chose to ignore it. Everything about this cursed day felt 'strange'. "We're already down an Avenger. So… You need to come back. Because… We can't be down another."

Finally Bruce actually looked at him. Met his eyes with such that were full of ever-present fury and silent waves of despair. "I'm not an Avenger anymore. I've already sent Fury a message that I'll resign. I'll _never_ hurt a friend again because I'll make sure that there's enough distance to ensure I can't."

Tony's lips parted while shock stole every single word from his head. He knew that he had to, needed to, say something. He never got the chance to.

Because just then a solemn faced doctor stood at the room's doorway. And over the next few minutes the whole sick nightmare only became worse. Even if Tony managed to register only about half of what was told.

"… swelling … possible brain damage … severe spinal injury … swelling goes down … impossible to tell … if he wakes up…"

In the horrific emotional thunderstorm those grim news caused the rest of the remaining team didn't notice how Bruce left the room, silently as a shadow.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh no, poor Clint! And poor, poor Bruce! (winces) We'll see just how dark this gets before the end…

Sooooo… What's the verdict, guys? Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! This is the first multi-chapter bit of this collection so it'd be amazing to hear from you.

Awkay, I REALLY have to go now. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there, my fellow Hawk-fans!

Take care, and dream of Clint tonight!

* * *

Guest 13: Awww, that's so awesome to hear! We'll see what comes next. I really hope that you'll enjoy it as much!

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	9. The Darker Side of Green, part 2 of 3

A/N: Soooooooo, it's time to continue this newest heartbreaking tale. BUT… First things first, of course!

THANK YOU, so very much, for your absolutely fantastic reviews, listings and support! And requests, of course! It's SO GOOD to know that our Hawk has so many fellow fans out there. (BEAMS) But then again, who could resist Jeremy Renner?!

Awkay, because I start daydreaming too much… Or fall asleep on my laptop… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **Mentions of ClintxLaura and a brief bit of TonyxPepper.**

* * *

The Darker Side of Green, part 2 of 3

* * *

Bruce made it out of the hospital before cold, hard realities slammed at him like a wall of bricks. He was in a country and city that he barely knew, which meant that he had absolutely no idea where to go. Not that he would've even had the money to get a ride anywhere. Besides… Even if he could've, would he really have been able to just walk away when Clint…?

Bruce had never been the kind of a man who walked away from the messes he made. No matter how much facing them hurt. That was his father's department.

But he couldn't go inside, either. Not when he was barely able to keept The Other Guy at bay, when every single cell in his body was _howling_ with helpless, grief filled rage. So he was stuck, stood there in pouring rain, trembling to the core of his being and struggling with even the very last bit of him to remain in control. In a different state of mind it might've struck him as odd that some of the moisture on his cheeks felt warm.

"There you are." Natasha's voice came so suddenly that he tensed up, whatever little hold he had on the beast inside nearly slipping. She approached him slowly but determinedly, no fear in visible in her eyes. "You can be infuriatingly hard to find when you want to be."

Bruce didn't know what to say to that so he kept quiet. He was still tense when she stood beside him, turning her face towards the rain and closing her eyes. She appeared tense, too. He couldn't help wondering how much of it was because of her best friend being in a hospital and how much because he was the one who put the man there. How could she stand his presence? He thought about asking but eventually decided that he didn't want to hear the answer.

Natasha wasn't the touching kind. Bruce appreciated it, especially right now. Despite there being no physical contact they both found a hint of comfort from having the other stood beside them in the rain.

Neither was sure how long had passed until Natasha spoke in a voice that didn't sound quite right. "Do you want to go inside?" She met his shake of a head with a nod. "Okay. I wanted some fresh air, anyway." She fished her cell phone from her coat's pocket and typed furiously. "I'll tell Stark to let us know immediately if they hear anything." Somehow he had a feeling that her message's wording might be a tad bit harsher than that.

Bruce sighed. Then, finally, spoke for the first time in what felt like ages. "Good." He then looked hesitantly towards the woman. Wondering how to apologize the unforgivable. "Natasha…"

Natasha's features tightened. Her eyes were breathtakingly vulnerable and harder than any steel when they met his. "I'd tell you that it wasn't you but I know that you wouldn't listen. Instead I'm telling you this." She took a step closer. "My best friend, who also happens to be your friend, is in a hospital. And he needs us all to fight with him. So, even if you can't go in just yet… Don't you dare walk away from him. He deserves better than that."

Those words hit Bruce like a sledgehammer. When Natasha received a text message from Tony and dashed inside, a truly horrifying look on her face, Bruce stood perfectly still, as though paralyzed. That was where he remained until the rain stopped, shaking from cold and something far beyond. Then, finally, he turned painfully slowly and walked inside. Still feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders but comforted by the knowledge that he'd done at least one thing right.

* * *

Apparently the medical professionals had failed to notice a devious internal bleeding from all the other acute concerns. Which was why they were alarmed when after surviving a massive surgery and somewhat miraculously fighting his way through the hour that followed Clint began to crash. This time the archer tried to give up on them, for a full endlessly long minute. Until some mysterious power that had nothing to do with the surgical team's hard work pulled the man back. They doubled their efforts after that. If their patient was that determined to stay alive they'd make sure to not give up on him, either.

They had to be realistic, though.

Dr. Yvette Lauder, who at the age of fifty-five had worked at the emergency room for over twenty years, hated having to deliver the bleak news to the team. Especially when she wasn't exactly confident in her English skills. Thankfully a red-haired woman who introduced herself sharply as Natasha was willing to translate.

The team was told that Clint was still alive. But his condition was described as extremely critical. He'd crashed once and chances were that he might do so again. At the moment they could only wait and do their best to fight with him.

Clint's back was what took the brunt and his head didn't have it easy, either. There was swelling inside both of them and after all possible had been done to ease it they'd have to wait and see what the final damage would be. Privately Dr. Lauder focused on worrying whether the man would live until the following morning. Broken ribs had also done all sorts of nasty things to him, the recent internal bleeding included. The doctor didn't know what, exactly, happened to injure Clint that badly and it didn't really matter. Only keeping the man hanging on mattered.

" _Can we see him?_ " Natasha asked immediately. Her expression was a carefully schooled mask of calm. Still Dr. Lauder saw a very familiar flash in her eyes. She'd encountered enough terrified family members to recognize one.

Dr. Lauder didn't smile but allowed her eyes to soften. " _I'm afraid that you'll have to wait for a couple of hours. But then one or two of you may go in. I'm sorry but I'll have to ask you to keep your visits brief. Clint just went through a surgery and we'll keep him sedated for a few days to give his body the best chance to recuperate._ " After receiving nods of understanding she began to take her leave. It felt like these people needed some privacy and she herself was utterly exhausted. " _I'll ask a nurse to inform you when Clint is ready for visitors._ "

Dr. Lauder wished that she would've been able to offer the clearly distraught team at least some promises. Instead she walked away. While she prepared herself for a long night she knew that they did the same.

* * *

No one was surprised when Natasha requested to be the first to see Clint. If they were surprised that she asked Bruce to join her they didn't let it show. Maybe seeing Clint alive, fighting and recovering would do the still shaken scientist some good.

Or perhaps not.

Not when Clint was surrounded by tubes, wires, machinery and I.V. bags. So pale that the man barely looked alive. They'd even been forced to shave him bald. The archer's head was bandaged fairly heavily. Not that his face would've been very recognizeable at the moment, anyway.

While Bruce froze to the doorway Natasha made her way forward bravely. She didn't quite dare to touch Clint but she placed her hand close, a tiny bit of her hoping that perhaps he could feel her warmth. That maybe he'd somehow know she was there. "You'd better hang in there, you idiot." She sounded harsher than she'd intended. Good. He needed to know that she was serious. "I've… I've still got a lot of red. Remember?" There was a loud, sharp beep that made her jump a little. "I'll never forgive you if you check out on me before I get to make up for that."

Clint, of course, made no comment through medication and the tube stuffed into his throat. That was, apparently, the most Bruce could stand. The door sighed with misery as it closed after his departure.

Considering how cruel fate decided to be, maybe that was for the better. Because just as Bruce left Clint's already frown worthy blood pressure began to crumble. And when a medical team rushed into the room, politely yet firmly chasing Natasha away, the team's wait got a couple of degrees darker.

* * *

Tony didn't know how many mugs of absolutely horrible coffee he'd consumed. Not that he would've needed caffeine to stay awake. It would've been pretty hard to doze off with the mental image of Clint laying there…

Tony wasn't fully certain how his cell phone came to be in his hand but there he was, dialing numbers. Pepper picked up after only three rings. " _Hey. Any news?_ "

Tony sighed. His shoulders slumped. "Nothing new." Well, nothing good, anyway. He would've known that Clint was in a pretty bad condition even without the doctor's update.

" _Have you guys called Laura already?_ "

Tony gritted his teeth. "Natasha called her a couple of hours ago." It was until then it struck him. He blinked twice, then frowned. "Wait, how did you…?"

" _I walked in on him having a midnight talk with her… eight, maybe nine months ago._ " It was Pepper's turn to sigh. " _I'm sorry that I didn't tell you. He pleaded with me that it had to be secret._ "

Tony couldn't help but smile despite the sting that crossed him. In full honesty he wasn't sure if he was upset about her not telling him or her knowing first. "Is there anything you don't know?"

Pepper chuckled. " _Only very few things. And most of them have something to do with you._ " He could practically see her shoulders slumping with his mind's eye. " _Clint… He'll be okay, right?_ "

Tony's mouth went completely, utterly dry. At the exact same moment a sick feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. "Well, he'd better", he scoffed. So what if his voice broke, just a tiny bit? He looked towards where Bruce had isolated himself from everyone else, from the rest of the world. _We're not losing two of us over this._

" _What about you?_ " When he said nothing Pepper went on. " _Will you be okay? He's your friend, too._ "

As though on cue the last, strangled gasp Clint emitted before crashing down heavily came taunting Tony's head. It'd been wrenching to listen through an ear comm. His over active imagination was eager to conjure up mental images to fit those noises. Such that'd probably haunt Tony until the bitter end.

"I'm always okay." Even if he didn't exactly sound it. He took a generous gulp of the coffee and instantly shivered at the horrific taste. "Clint owes me a month's worth of proper coffee, though." Tony wasn't sure how much of the foul taste circling in his mouth was caused by the drink. "Remind me to design a full body armor for him."

" _Wouldn't it make shooting arrows difficult?_ " Pepper was clearly pleased by the distraction. Tony couldn't say that he minded too much, either.

Tony grinned without even noticing it, losing himself into the world of inventions to forget about the present moment. "Yeah, about arrows? Just wait until you hear what I have in mind…!"

* * *

Before any of them fully realized it several days had passed by. Clint wasn't under any sedatives anymore but he was taking his time waking up. Which, the hospital staff reminded them, was only to be expected with his injuries. The reassurances didn't make the seemingly never ending wait any easier. Especially when Clint's primary doctor hadn't dared to give a permission for him being moved out of the ICU yet. At this point no one really, honestly knew why Clint wasn't waking up yet. The hospital staff kept telling the team that the archer simply needed some more time.

As little as any of them liked it they couldn't exactly wait forever. Thor was the first one to go, an emergency at his home planet asking for his attention. The Asgardian left with a far more sombre face than usual, solemnly swearing to come and see the honorable Hawk as soon as he could. On day four both Steve and Natasha were called out to a mission. Although neither was exactly thrilled, which the Widow expressed rather vividly, it wasn't the kind of a thing that could wait. They didn't leave until after making the remaining team swear thrice that they'd call immediately if something changed. Which left just the science twins.

On day six they'd sat in Clint's room for about four of the ten minutes a very reluctant nurse promised them when Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look… I'd like to stay here, okay? But… As much as Pepper does the company can only go on without me for so long." Which one of them was the man talking to? There was a tremendous amount of stunningly unhidden guilt in the billionaire's eyes. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. The manliest pinky swear possible."

Clint slept on, blissfully oblivious to everything. Bruce felt his chest tighten despite the awful attempt of a joke. Being left alone with the Hawk after what he did…

"Hey." There was a frown on Tony's face that suggested the man had been calling out to him for a while. "Will you two be okay?"

Bruce nodded slowly, despite the heavy weight on his chest and shoulders. He'd already caused _this_. He failed to see how much worse he'd be able to make things.

And so, fairly clearly against his will, Tony took his leave after announcing firmly that he expected updates.

Bruce certainly didn't feel comfortable having been left alone with Clint. But at least this wasn't as bad as the previous time he visited the hospital room. The archer wasn't hooked on quite as many tubes and machines. Clint… didn't look quite so close to death anymore.

The things Bruce found comfort from these days…

"So…" Bruce cleared his throat and shifted nervously. Silly, all of it. "We, ah… We've still got about five minutes. Or four. And I…" His whole body sagged. "… have no idea what to say to you." He looked at the unconscious man. "You never have that problem. You may not always have the right words but you're never slept speechless. There's always a smart or smart ass comment." The scientist licked his lips, trying to find a trail to what he'd been trying to voice. "So, I sort of need you here, Clint. Even if you hate me."

It was pouring rain outside. Bruce got lost into the echo and his own thoughts until he noticed something. Clint's fingers… Were they…?

Then there was a small yet unmissable moan. Bruce tensed up to the core of his being, fighting the urge to take his friend's hand. "Clint? Can you hear me?"

Oh yes, Clint did. Possibly encouraged by hearing a voice the archer seemed to struggle harder and shifted, only to moan from pain once more. The man's eyelids twitched furiously the entire time. Until they finally agreed to open halfway.

For a few seconds Clint stared at the ceiling blearily, obviously unable to quite understand what was going on. Agonizingly slowly those eyes seemed to gain focus and turned towards Bruce. But there was no relief in them. Only absolute, bottomless fear. Even though the archer wasn't making a sound that gaze was _screaming_.

That look… That sheer terror… They were more than enough to tell Bruce everything he needed to know. His furiously hammering heart exploded to million pieces as those nightmarish memories came crashing in, slamming at him mercilessly. "I'm sorry." It was more of a whimper than anything else. "I'm so sorry!" And then he was rushing away without daring to look back. Unable to bear that much too familiar fear for even a second.

* * *

In his hurry to escape Bruce never realized that Clint's hand was, in fact, trying to reach out towards him. The panic in the archer's eyes deepened to something entirely different when instead of a familiar face total strangers barged in. Crowding into his personal space, poking. The furious, irritating beeping sound that seemed to be intensifying didn't make the situation even a little more pleasant.

"Mr. Barton? Clint?" A young, sharp eyed nurse finally managed to get his attention. "I know that your throat feels incredibly sore right now and I'm sorry. But can you tell me what's wrong?"

Clint's mouth and throat indeed felt like he'd swallowed a cactus. Yet the need to know overcame all else. "What…?" He swallowed, desperately trying to ignore how much it hurt. "What's… wrong with my… legs? I can't… I can't feel them… What happened to… my legs?"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Yes, I'm afraid that you ARE seeing correctly. I'm actually leaving it there. But only for a week, so please don't hurt me too badly!

Gosh, poor Clint – and poor Bruce! We'll see how they overcome this horror story… (winces)

Sooooo… Thoughts? Comments? Threat…? PLEASE, do let me hear from you! And remember that **requests are ALWAYS more than welcome**!

Awkay, I REALLY have to go and get some sleep. Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: I'm a horribly cruel person, I know. And perhaps not as sorry about it as I should be… (smirks sheepishly) I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying what's to come! We'll see how this tale continues…

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: Evil it was! But I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it anyway. (grins) We'll see just what happens next… Poor, poor Clint and Bruce!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Sundanceheyes: I absolutely LOOOOOOOOOVE typing Hawkeye-whump. It's a massive pleasure to meet a fellow feather-fan. (BEAMS) I really hope that you'll keep having a good time with this collection!

Enormous thank yous for the review!


	10. The Darker Side of Green, part 3 of 3

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaack! A day earlier that I thought, but I hope you won't mind. I decided to be a nice person for once and not leave you on that cliffie for too long.

THANK YOU, a million times, for those UNBELIEVABLY AWESOME reviews, listings and love! DANG. It feels amazing to know that so many others besides me love our Hawk. (BEAMS)

Awkay, are you guys ready to see how this particular tale ends? If you are... Let's go!

 **ClintxLaura in this one.**

* * *

The Darker Side of Green, part 3 of 3

* * *

They told him that it might be temporary. Just a glitch caused by the still pending swelling. Or it might be permanent. The chances were somewhere around fifty-fifty. Clint really, honestly wasn't interested in statistics.

If he'd never walk again… He'd never be an Avenger again, either. Hell, he wouldn't even be able to go home, to the farm, to Laura, to their kids. He wouldn't make it up the first steps. How would he ever adjust to that? He could he ever accept that?

It was a small mercy, perhaps, that Clint didn't know about the tears that filled his eyes. They must've given him something because all of a sudden he drifted away. Since then it was just brief glimpses.

Someone's hand holding his.

Him being moved to a different ward.

Nurses, doctors and friends trying to get his attention.

Hushed yet tense voices.

At some point someone was downright growling. "… find him! …" That caught Clint's attention. Find who, exactly? It was a relief to have something else than himself to focus on, even if only for a few fleeting moments.

"Bruce…?"

There was a pause. By the time he succeeded in coaxing his eyes to open Natasha and Steve, both stood at the room's doorway, were staring at him. There was something in their eyes he didn't like. "Don't worry. We'll find him", Steve promised. The Captain tried to offer him a smile but it didn't come out right. A small, gloomy part of Clint wondered if anyone would ever look at him the same way anymore. "I'll see you soon." With that the team leader left.

Natasha didn't. There was a furiously stubborn look in her eyes while she walked closer. "It's been four days since you woke up. Did you know that? The nurse just told me that you've been practically unresponsive to the hospital staff and Tony. You haven't been eating, either."

Clint sighed, slumping a bit more heavily against his bed even if it hurt. How was it possible that he felt as tired as he did? "Tasha…"

Natasha shook her head firmly. " _Do not_ 'Tasha' me, Barton. You're my best friend. And I'm not going to let you waste away now, not when you fought so fucking hard to get back to us." With those words of concrete hard conviction she was holding a cell phone and dialing numbers.

Clint frowned. He wasn't sure if he liked where this was going. "Who are you calling?"

Natasha's eyes flashed. Perhaps even seemed misty for a few seconds. "This one's for you."

Clint's mouth opened for both protests and questions when the phone was shoved to him. But before he could voice a thing someone spoke at the other end. " _Daddy?_ "

Clint's heart jumped all the way to his throat. In a flash his eyes blurred and it took a few second before he realized what caused it. _Lila…!_ "Hey, sweetie." He was miserably aware of how horrible he sounded.

" _Mommy said that you got hurt. That you've been sleeping to get better._ " Dear gosh, how scared the little girl sounded…! " _But… You're awake now. Are you okay?_ "

Clint bit back the sob that wanted to choke him. It took longer than it should've before he managed to speak. "Not yet", he admitted hoarsely, staring at his firmly covered legs. "But… I'll try to be, as quickly as I can."

" _And then you'll come home?_ "

Clint's heart quite literally broke at that. He closed his eyes when they threatened to overflow. Not that it would've helped much. "Yeah, sweetie. Then I'll come home." He'd already missed out on so much when it came to his children. Too many milestones. But he'd be damned if he didn't fight with everything there was in him to get back to them as fast as he could. Lila's voice alone was more than enough to remind him of just how much he had to hold on for.

" _Okay._ _I just… I miss you lots._ " Lila sounded close to tears but held it back. Sometimes Clint mused that she was entirely too much like him. " _I love you, daddy._ "

Clint could've never even began to explain what overcame him, right there. With his free hand he clutched at the bedsheets so hard that his knuckles turned white. When he spoke it was through a massive blockage in his throat. "I love you, too." And he'd be damned if that wasn't the truest thing he'd ever uttered.

Natasha, apparently, saw that this talk was becoming too much for him. Gently yet firmly she snatched the phone from him. To his shame Clint couldn't comprehend what the Widow said to his daughter. He didn't know much of anything. Until a hand on his shoulder made him jolt in a way that nearly sparked rage in his back.

Natasha's eyes were sharp with determination. "Whenever you feel like giving up again… I'll be sure to call her or Cooper every single time. Because as their aunt I'm not letting you slip away from them."

Clint stared at her for a few seconds. Then, despite everything he was desperately trying to cope with, he smiled just a little bit through fast drying tears. Thankfully neither of them knew yet that over the oncoming month he'd need eight more of those phone calls.

* * *

Much as he'd suspected earlier Bruce was stuck in the city. With no money, with no one he knew. He didn't even really dare to approach people in fear of triggering The Other Guy. So he wandered around, trying to avoid the most public places, and futilely tried to forget the fear in Clint's eyes.

Bruce wasn't entirely sure how long had passed when he found himself from a bridge, staring at the traffic speeding on down below. Of course he wouldn't jump. He'd just Hulk out and cause a massive amount of destruction. He'd done enough of that. But he wanted to… Had to…

He must've stood there for at least an hour until a much too familiar voice spoke. "So this is where you disappeared off to. Enjoying the view?"

Bruce tensed up entirely. He grabbed the bridge's railing painfully hard and shook his head. "I'm not going back there, Tony. Not after…"

He was interrupted by such a right hook that would've stunned even the mightiest. Tony's eyes were just as firm. "That's what Clint would've done." The billionaire gritted his teeth, stunningly unafraid of possibly unleashing the uncontrollable. "Now listen to me, you idiot of a genius. Clint _isn't_ scared of you. He's scared as hell of the fact that he can't feel his damned legs!"

Bruce felt himself pale. It was a small miracle that he didn't just slump to the ground. "What?" It was a pathetic whimper, really. He didn't even notice.

Tony's gaze softened but only marginally. "There was nothing you could've done to stop it. Alright? Clint… That moron knows how dangerous this game is but still insists on being with us. Which is marvelous because we need that infuriating feather ass. And now _he_ needs _us_. You included. So stop wallowing in self pity over things that you had no control over and be there for him. Or do I have to call Natasha here?"

* * *

Clint didn't know what Tony had said to Bruce to grab the man along from wherever the scientist had been hiding. But the next time he woke up Bruce sat there beside his bed with Tony keeping guard firmly. The brown haired man's whole body was so stiff that it had to hurt and the look on his face was nothing short of terrified. There were dark circles around his eyes and it seemed that Bruce hadn't washed up, slept or eaten in days. And, as it turned out when the man's head moved, there was also a black eye. The archer was willing to bet a lot of money that Tony was responsible for it. If he hadn't been as infuriatingly exhausted as he was he would've definitely asked for a background story.

Now, as much as Clint hated admitting it a not very small part of him was wary. The flash of green that crushed him was still far too fresh in his memory. It was one of the most frequent dreams he'd had while lingering somewhere between life and death. He actually felt adrenaline spiking up but fortunately the machine monitoring his pulse and blood pressure didn't go ballistic. He'd been trained to fool lie detectors. He could do this for a friend.

At least he hoped so. Because whatever Bruce saw on his face right then made the man tense up even further. There was a loud, nervous gulp. "Clint…"

Clint shook his head. He wasn't ready for this conversation, not now, not yet. "Shut up."

Clint didn't care if Tony was watching. He needed this, and everything about Bruce's posture revealed that the scientist did as well. So, all too aware of the fact that moving around wasn't a good idea, he reached out a hand and grabbed Bruce's. Sealing the visibly trembling doctor's hand to a steel hard hold.

They'd both been beaten down pretty freaking badly, each in their own way. But they were still alive. Maybe they'd manage to remind each other of that.

At first Bruce jumped, clearly having anticipated something far more violent. Then, slowly, understanding seemed to dawn in the man's haunted eyes. Very hesitantly Bruce's cool fingers tightened around Clint's warmer ones. Accepting the reassurance, the lifeline, for what it was.

For a fairly long time the two men who'd been thrown straight to a hell on earth held on to each other. Desperately trying to find the strength to crawl out of it. Miraculously Tony decided against trying to crack any bad jokes. Instead, finally confident that Bruce wouldn't be running away again and Clint wouldn't pass out or worse, the billionaire left the room to find a place where to sleep for a month.

* * *

Steve was there when a wheelchair was first brought in, pushed to the room by a physical therapist who had a disturbingly bright smile on her face. Natasha had reported that Clint… had struggled since waking up and learning about his hopefully temporary disability. But by some miracle the archer had managed to maintain a stunningly brave front before the rest of the team, perhaps at least partially for Bruce's sake. Now the team leader finally saw that brave and positive front crack for the very first time.

For a few stilled moments Clint stared at the chair as though it'd been his mortal enemy. The most repulsive thing he'd ever laid his eyes on. All color faded from the Hawk's face while the man's whole body began to shiver.

Steve frowned. He wished that he would've been able to offer a touch of comfort, anything, but didn't dare to move. "Clint?"

Clint gulped laboriously, a slight hint of green appearing to his face. The archer refused to look at him. "Just… Could you…?" The former assassin cleared his throat. "Could you leave, for a bit? Both of you." It was stunningly polite but there was no mistaking the sharp undertone. The man hadn't made a suggestion.

The physical therapist opened her mouth to protest but Steve cut her off with a firm shake of a head. With a look of disapproval on her face she followed him out of the room. In the hallway she finally narrowed her eyes at him. "He needs…!"

Steve shook his head again. "No, he doesn't. Trust me. If you go in there right now he'll never work with you again."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. Her voice remained clipped when she spoke. "Then what are you suggesting we do?"

A loud crash coming from the room made both of them jump. It was soon followed by another, along with a scream of helpless fury. The sound would most likely never stop haunting Steve. He gritted his teeth. "Have your lunch break now", he suggested curtly, worry and sorrow twisting in his stomach. "This may take a while."

It took over thirty minutes before it got quiet. Eerily so. Steve was able to convince himself into waiting for another five minutes before peering in.

A lot of items had been thrown at the wall. Clint had either tried to get into the chair or throw it away. Whatever the case was something had gone wrong. Because the archer was slumped on the floor, scowling from pain and frustration.

Worry spiked in Steve's chest. Only sheer willpower kept him from dashing forward. "Are you okay?"

Clint's jawline tightened. "No." And it was the first time the Hawk admitted as much out loud. A furious glare was darted at the chair. "I hate that fucking thing."

For just that once Steve decided to let the swear word slide. Instead he nodded. "Good. The faster you'll get out of it."

Clint still refused to look at him. Instead stiffened further. It took ages before any words came. "What if I can't?"

Steve's eyebrow arched. "What? Are you really giving up without even trying?"

Finally Clint looked at him. Flames burned in the archer's eyes. The hint of a smirk didn't look right but it was a start. "Nah, never."

Steve bit back a smile. _That's what I thought._ "Then get to the chair so we can get started."

The following day Steve caught Clint testing the chair all around the ward, Natasha at his side. It was the man's first voluntary trip out of the room since being taken there, out cold. The sight was incredibly wrong and right at the same time. According to Natasha's later report Clint hauled himself to the chair all by himself.

* * *

Seven weeks after Clint woke up the archer and the team were finally able to convince the medical professionals looking after him that instead of some strange rehabilitation facility the Tower was the best place for him. It was easy enough to navigate through even with a wheelchair and, most importantly of all, it was familiar. Safe. It was the perfect temporary nest for the still recovering Hawk.

Clint was still getting used to the chair. And the migraines that ravished him every few days, sometimes even daily… They were a nightmare. But he was definitely ready to leave the hospital behind. So when the entire team came to pick him up he was already wearing a pair of his own clothes and all the little possessions he had were packed up. There was a wide grin on his face. "Let's get out of here."

The team was very happy to agree.

The flight passed by surprisingly quickly, even though Clint's back protested horribly against him being out of the bed for so long. The chatting and banter… It was almost comfortingly familiar. Even if Bruce still kept a noticeable distance to him.

Just when they were preparing to land Tony clapped his hands together. The man appeared both nervous and incredibly excited. "A confession? There's someone waiting for you, down below."

Clint chuckled. He wondered if the others noticed how his pulse sped up. "Should I be worried?"

A few blinks later they touched down. Tony smirked. "Perhaps. She may be a bit pissed off at you right now."

Wary and confused, Clint rolled slowly out of the Quinjet. His lips opened but before a syllable left his mouth he saw her, standing only about ten steps away. _Everything_ froze.

At first Clint stared. Not even daring to blink in fear of shattering the illusion. The sight before him remained. When he eventually wheezed out it was barely audible. "Laura…?"

The woman smiled. Grief, longing and tremendous joy were all visible in her suspiciously moist eyes. "I'm afraid that you're mistaking me for someone else. I'm nurse Danielle Lucas. Mr. Stark has hired me to look after you for the upcoming two weeks."

Clint's grin threatened to split his face. His eyes didn't feel right. He didn't care. "Why don't we go inside, then? I'll show you to my room."

* * *

Clint had missed his wife so much that it was impossible to put it to words. As soon as they made it to his room he pulled her close and held her as tightly as he possibly could without hurting her. So what if it sent his back on fire? So what if the sight of him in the chair pained them both? This was the closest thing he'd been to heaven in ages.

They didn't speak much in the hours that followed. Words had never been overly important between them, anyway. As much as they would've wanted to just have each other, in every sense of the words, they understood that there was no way Clint's body would've been able to take it. So they settled for holding one another. Relieved beyond all words to finally have the other there in their arms.

"They shaved your hair, then", Laura murmured. By then it was already rather dark which Clint welcomed gladly. His head was starting to throb and he didn't want a full blown migraine when he was trying to make the most of whatever little time he had with his wife.

Clint smirked, subconsciously leaning against her hand when it caressed him. "Well. About time I tried a new look."

Laura shifted carefully against him. Then kissed his forehead softly, tenderly, magically wiping away almost all of the discomfort. "I like it", she admitted, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "It makes you look dangerous."

Clint gasped with mocked shock. "Laura Barton! I never thought you to be the type that gets excited about bad boys."

Laura chuckled. Neither of them noticed how low one of her hands was while she moved against him once more, settling closer. "Nah, not bad boys. Superheroes are more of my thing."

"Hmmm…", Clint murmured while she pressed her lips against his, responding eagerly. "I'm never going to wear spandex again, though. One Halloween was enough."

Laura pouted, then gave him her most seductive look. Her hand was approaching dangerous territories. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

Clint was about to respond until he felt something that made him stiffen entirely. His eyes flew wide while a loud exhale slipped past his parted lips. "Stop… Stop tickling me."

"Clint?" Appearing worried Laura began to pull away. "Am I hurting you?"

"No…! No!" Clint shook his head and blinked rapidly. Struggling furiously to control the tidal wave of emotions that washed through him. "Laura, stop tickling me."

Finally Laura was starting to catch on. She gasped, subconsciously pressing her hand harder against him. He felt it, even if not even nearly as clearly as he should've. It was one of the most amazing physical sensations he'd ever had. Slowly, almost fearing that they'd be proven wrong, they looked towards his toes. They were twitching.

Of course it could've been a mere reflex. But neither of them wanted to smother the explosion of hope that burst in their hearts. Laughing like two mad people they got lost into a series of kisses, both of them crying. Feeling like they were ready to take on the world, come what may.

* * *

Two weeks later Laura had to leave. They couldn't just leave their kids without them both for longer. Nor could they take the chance of her presence gaining unwanted attention.

Clint would've been lying if he claimed that his eyes were entirely dry while they said their goodbyes. "Miss Lucas? Tell your kids 'hi' from me." The archer knew that he just took a risk. There might be unwanted ears listening, even in the Tower. But he couldn't control himself.

Laura wasn't able to fully conceal her true emotions, either. She gulped loudly. "I will." Her lips opened but in the end whatever was on her mind refused to come out. It didn't matter, really. They already said everything necessary in the covers of his room. Then she turned around and walked away without looking back. He had a feeling that it was because she didn't dare to in fear of losing whatever sheer willpower it was taking her away from him.

Clint summoned that very same willpower and by some miracle managed to drag himself inside without peering over his shoulder. He didn't really know how he ended up into one of the training rooms, his knuckles bruised and panting heavily. Nor did he know how long he spent there.

It was Tony who eventually found him. The billionaire appeared uncharacteristically and ridiculously hesitant, especially considering that it was his building. "You okay?"

Clint nodded. Then, finally believing himself a little, tried again. "Yeah." Even if it still hurt. A lot.

"Good. Because before taking off a little bird sang that you haven't eaten since yesterday. And I'm going to feed you because she can be scary when she wants to be. So… Shawarma?"

Clint felt his incredibly tense muscles relax, just a little bit. He wrinkled his nose. "Try Thai and we're talking."

* * *

Seven months passed by from the day when Clint first woke up. Those months were by no means easy. The archer was a remarkably brave patient but even he had his limits. When he lost his patience. His hope. Sometimes both. But the team refused to give up on him, even when he roared at them to go away. Especially when he demanded them to leave. Because they saw the fight still left in him even when he couldn't.

Clint's back was still a work in progress and there might always be things that it wouldn't be able to take. It was still uncertain when or if he'd be able to be an Avenger again. But he'd be damned if he gave up now. He owed more to himself and his family, both families.

While the others practically hovered around Clint one member of the team stayed away as much as possible. Until that sunny day. There was hesitation inside Bruce that must've shown on his face when he entered a room in the Tower that'd been turned into a physical therapy centre. Not having actually witnessed the sight yet he was stunned by finding Clint standing. The Hawk relied heavily on his hands and the wooden bars at both sides of him but the man was up nonetheless. It made Clint seem so much like himself, especially with the clean shaven face and the training clothes hiding the lost weight, that Bruce's heart soared a bit.

Sensing a presence Clint looked towards him. For a moment Bruce stiffened until his friend grinned. "Well look who's back!" There was no malice or hurt in those words. But still they filled the doctor with immense guilt.

While Clint had been struggling through a hell to get back to his feet, in more ways than one, Bruce… had been doing the same, in a sense. He'd spent as much of the past seven months as he could away. Most of the time passed by in India. There it was easy to forget about _everything_ , including Hulk, including what he'd done. But he couldn't keep running away forever.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Tony… He called, said that there's a mission. That they may need…" He couldn't voice the name, not in front of Clint.

For a second or two Clint tensed up and paled. It was just long enough for Bruce to spot it. He was leaving, convinced that returning had been a mistake, until the archer spoke. "Oh no you don't. I can't exactly run dramatically to catch you so stay right there and listen to me!" Even if the voice hadn't held more force than thunder those eyes did. "You've been running away for months, now. And… No offense, but you look like you've been through hell." The Hawk's gaze met his firmly. "Don't. Because… Sure, I'm a bit nervous about… The Other Guy. But I'm not scared of you, Bruce. So stop hiding already. The team needs you. The world needs you."

Bruce stared, his battered heart beating madly. Then snorted. "Are you serious? After what I…"

Clint sighed. "Look, I've spent quite a bit of time lay on a bed lately. Which means that I've had a lot of time to think things through. So listen to me carefully." The eyes that met Bruce's were nothing but sincere. "What happened to me… It wasn't your fault. Or mine. I was in a wrong place at the wrong time. Things… just headed south, pretty royally. And if you keep blaming yourself I swear to you, I'll sit into that chair and run you over with it. Understood?"

Bruce wasn't sure if he believed in Clint's words. If he ever really would. But at last some of the weight that'd been sitting on his chest for what felt like ages shifted. It was easier to breathe somehow. Without even knowing it Bruce smiled. "Crystal clear."

It wasn't until then Bruce noticed that Clint's eyes were fixed firmly on something. Curious, he turned his head to give the direction a look. At their end of the twin bars was the wheelchair the Hawk had been fighting furiously to leave behind. It was the opposite end, at least twenty steps away, that the archer seemed to have set his goal on. There was a window and Bruce knew that it opened a spectacular view over the city.

Bruce could've cautioned Clint. Could've asked whether the archer would actually be able to close such a massive distance. But none of that would've done any good. So, a little shyly, he took his place by his teammate's side, ready to offer the kind of support he hadn't been able to provide thus far. "What's the current record?"

Clint focused firmly on the goal. It could only be guessed how much of the man's sudden trembling was from nerves and how much from pain. "Five steps."

Bruce nodded. He tried to keep his expression neutral although his hand was squeezing the railing so hard that it'd turned white. "Then start breaking it."

Clint smirked.

With that they began the journey. Every new steps was a world of pain but also a gateway towards new hope, towards freedom. It'd take a very long time before Clint's body would recover and another while before the man would be ready to face The Other Guy without being at least a little tense. Bruce might never be able to fully let go of the guilt gnawing at him. But at least they were facing this together, side by side.

Bruce decided that it felt good to not be alone anymore.

* * *

The two didn't know that they had audience. The mirror on one of the room's wall was, in fact, a window. On the other side of it stood Steve and Nick Fury.

The closest thing Nick would ever get to a smile lingered on the man's face. His only eye observed firmly as the duo continued on. "Barton's making progress."

Steve actually did smile. "Today's a good day", he agreed. "He's getting there."

"And Banner?"

Steve sighed. For the first time in ages there was no sadness in the gesture. "He's getting there, too."

"Excellent." If there was a suspicious amount of tenderness in Nick's voice Steve wouldn't have dared to point it out. "By the way, do you know anything about this… new full body armor Stark's been working on? And why does it have a pair of wings decorating the back of it?"

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Awwwwwwww! There was a happyish ending, after all. And I FINALLY got to type some Claura! I've been itching to include some romance for Clint for AGES. So… Yeah, I'm a bit excited. (grins)

Are YOU excited? Or did this fall totally flat? PLEASE, do let me know! C'mon, I'm sure that you've noticed how much I adore typing to you guys by now.

NEXT UP: Hypothermia's NOT a very nice thing. Poor Clint experiences this first hand. After that... After movie 1 not everyone was convinced that Clint was one of the good guys again Loki's spell broke. The results? Not pretty.

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there. **And keep the requests coming!** This Clint-whump love we share is both amusing and worrying. (I still blame Jeremy Renner on making it soooo tempting.)

Take care!

* * *

Guest 13: I know! (winces) LOL, I'd tell you if I knew. I've got one horribly mean muse living inside my head…

Hmmm… We'll see, we'll see… I MAY make you happy soon. (winks)

Colossal thank yous for the review! I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

* * *

Guest (1): I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it! Despite the diabolic cliffie. I truly hope that you'll enjoy the final bit of this tale just as much.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Indeed! They're both hurting so, so much right now, in their own ways. (sighs) I really hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.

Monumental thank yous for the review!

Ps: Even if that request was sent to me a million times I'd still LOVE it each time! YES, a thousand times yes! (nods furiously) (So, eh… This is my totally cool and collected way of announcing that request accepted…)


	11. Saving Private Hawksicle

A/N: Phew! I was afraid that I wouldn't manage this today but here I am. (BEAMS) First, though…!

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and support! DANG, it feels SUPER good to know that there are so many other Hawkeye-fans out there. Heh, and it seems that we all want to see him suffer. (As long as he survives, of course, that's important!)

Awkay, because time is running out… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy this one. Dress warmly…?

* * *

Saving Private Hawksicle

* * *

Clint's chest tightened painfully when the information began to sink in. He gritted his teeth. "When's the last time she reported back?"

"Ten hours ago." Nick Fury's eye revealed more than the man probably would've wanted it to. "She was supposed to report again in two hours. With the mission finished."

Clint nodded, focusing on the coordinates and other information spread before his eyes.

"I… can't arrange an official rescue mission, with the current diplomatic issues…"

Clint's eyes flashed. His fist balled. "I've never cared about politics."

Was that a smirk? "I'm aware. Which is why I chose you." Nick sombred quickly. "Just… Remember that you don't have the usual backup."

Clint shook his head immediately. His mind had been made up the second he heard about this. "Give me all the details I'll need. I'll bring Black Widow home."

* * *

Clint was aware that his plan was a vague one. He'd drive as close to the enemy base as he could safely, then advance on foot. Then, if he'd somehow manage to reach his destination in one piece, he'd take down as many hostiles as he could and find Natasha. And finally, assuming that they were both in a good enough condition to make it that far, they'd take off in the formerly mentioned vehicle.

Yes. Vague, someone might even say flimsy. Sadly, Clint had dealt with worse.

Stunningly enough the first five minutes were almost anticlimately calm. He could already see the lights of the enemy base. Those, and five enemies.

Quickly and soundlessly Clint hauled himself onto a nearby tree, then took position and aimed an arrow. He waited patiently until the guards were close enough. Two of them had been taken down before they even realized what was happening. And then it was already too late.

Hawkeye had been taught well to never miss a mark.

It was the enemy number six, whom Clint hadn't even seen at first from the shadows, who turned out to be a problem. Horrified, incredibly blue eyes stared up at him. The hand holding a already aimed gun was so unsteady that there was no way the shot could've ever hit its mark. The boy couldn't be older than fifteen or sixteen. Clint's stomach dropped and knotted uncomfortably, making him feel sick. His hand froze on the bow. And his hesitation cost him dearly.

" _I can see you, Hawkeye. Put away the bow and arrow. Then get down._ " Clint hadn't heard that language in a long time but understood all too well. To his intense irritation he couldn't see the speaker but it sounded like a man of at least his age. " _Slowly. You have three guns trained on you and my friends are trigger happy._ "

Clint weighed his options. Then realized that he had none. He gritted his teeth so tightly that it hurt, then obeyed. His hands were up and his posture was proudly straight when he landed.

Time for plan B, and he _hated_ plan Bs.

A large, dark haired man emerged from the shadows, soon followed by two others. The boy he'd seen first fled instantly, head held down and visibly embarrassed. None of them spoke as the journey towards the base began. Clint's muscles twitched with anticipation. He busied himself with loosening the rope they'd wrapped around his wrists. The work was so easy that it felt almost like an insult.

How little did these people think of him?

Clint was a little surprised when they took him to the higher parts of the building. Usually interrogation areas located in the basement floors. He waited until he could be sure that there were no listening ears aside his three captors. Then he activated plan B.

Clint didn't even need his hands to knock out the first of the stunned trio. One good, old fashioned headbutt and a well aimed, hard kick to the groin did the trick nicely. While number two, a tall, skinny young man, fumbled with his gun the archer wasted no time. He jumped, landing steadily on his arms, then allowed his body to fall with his legs first. One of his knees was already bent and when he finished the backflip it landed directly on his enemy's chest. The youth was securely down and out. Which left him alone with the last one, the only one who'd spoken to him.

Unsurprisingly a gun was already rising. Clint would have to be faster. Without wasting a second he bounced up, closed the four steps' distance between them and slammed at the enemy's face with all his might, causing the gun to drop. The other man didn't like that one bit. The responding punch made Clint see stars for a second but he recovered quickly.

They danced around each other furiously, delivering vicious attacks. Until all of a sudden, surprising them both, Clint had his enemy pinned against the wall. His eyes narrowed. " _Where is Black Widow?_ " he hissed.

The larger man met his eyes evenly, without fear or hesitation. " _Where all the little rats are evetually taken. Down in the cells._ " There was a dangerous flash in the gaze darted at him. " _Don't worry, I'll let her know that you stopped by. It's sweet, really, that you wanted to come here to die with her._ "

Clint really shouldn't have let his feelings get the better of him. Because out of the blue the enemy headbutted him, hard enough make him sway. The kick that followed sent him to the floor, making him land painfully on his bow and arrow holder.

The giant wasn't done, though. Before Clint got the chance to recover a massive hand hauled him up and he was dragged. " _You're going down. But not like that._ "

Clint hadn't seen the balcony before they were already there, the giant pushing him until most of him was dangling on thin air, only supported by the fist squeezing his shirt. There was a small, frozen river down below. There was no telling if he'd survive the fall, or if he'd manage to get out of the water even if he did.

Well, if this was the Hawk's final flight he wasn't going to take it alone.

He had to use his arms and legs to pull it off. Seeing his enemy's eyes widen with stun was well worth the effort. They were plunged into emptiness together.

The fall seemed to last a lifetime and during it a million things flashed through Clint's mind. It wasn't quite the grand 'life flashes before your eyes' experience from books and movies but creeped him out nonetheless. So much so that he barely had the time to twist enough to have his opponent face the fast approaching ice first.

And then the impact came.

Ice was crushed under their weight. The last thing Clint heard before the water swallowed them up was the giant's furious grunt. The water… It was unimaginably cold. For a few hazardous seconds it took away his sanity, convinced his fast panicking head that he was going to _die_. It wrapped around him mercilessly, squeezed and stabbed. Pulled him under. Until he remembered to start fighting once more.

Clint honestly didn't care what happened to his opponent. All he cared about was getting out – out, out, away – before he'd lose his mind, life or both. Defying the weight of his clothes and equipment he struggled towards the hole they'd formed on the ice, his lungs burning from the unforgiving cold and lack of air. Black dots were starting to dance in his line of vision and a tiny, stubborn voice in his head that sounded a lot like Bruce pointed out that it wasn't a good thing.

Clint was frustratingly close to reaching the surface when something grabbed his ankle, starting to pull him back down. His head moved just enough for him to see the giant. Apparently the man was alive, then. A pair of eyes that gleamed in the nearly pitch black darkness stared at him sharply, promising death.

Too bad Clint wasn't going to let himself be offed like that. With what were some of his final remaining moments of consciousness he moved his hand towards where his gun was hiding. He knew that it hadn't been affected by the water or cold. Tony designed it better than that. Through rapidly blurring vision he took aim and fired.

The giant's eyes filled with stun. It was too dark to see but Clint was sure that a cloud of blood surrounded the man. There was a hole in the middle of his opponent's forehead. Then the hold dragging him to his death broke, setting him free.

Not looking back on the sinking corpse Clint began to swim once more, fighting with his all not to give in to the reflexive desire to pull in a breath. He was _not_ going to drown, not when Natasha needed him.

There was already a thin crust of ice covering the hole. After a second of panic Clint slammed his fist at it. Mercifully it broke rather easily. He swung again and again, until there was enough room for him to slip through. He pulled himself to solid ground as quickly as he possibly could, gasping the instant he reached fresh air. He came to regret it when it seemed to burn his throat and lungs, in a way no flame ever could've.

Cold… It was so cold…! He couldn't…! But he had to.

It took far more strength than Clint could've wasted but eventually he was at a safe distance from the water. He was exhausted and trembling to his core but he didn't allow himself to luxury to lie down. Not yet. He could rest when Natasha was safe.

At first he crawled, only stubbornness pushing him forward. Then, as soon as there was a little hope that his legs would be able to handle it, he got up. He sort of had to since he was getting company. Fortunately his welcome parade made the yawn worthy mistake of showing up only one or two at a time. To their credit one hostile followed the previous impressive quickly. But Clint was faster.

His fingers were far too numb to handle his favorite weapon but at least he had the gun. One. Two Three. All the way until eight before he had to change the clip. He had no idea how many explosion like gunshots shook the night. Blood… There was blood all over the shadowy snow… Was this a nightmare already?

Fortunately a moment of clarity followed soon. Reminded Clint that he was on a mission. Gritting his teeth he began to haul himself towards the building that he just fell away from. He could only hope that he'd get to leave it alive this second time.

Finding the cell section took infuriatingly long because he had to avoid security cameras. But finally – finally – he knew that he'd reached his destination. The surest sign was a incredibly familiar female voice swearing loudly.

Feeling giddy and lightheaded Clint grinned. Until a guard stood outside the door he was sneaking towards noticed him. Clint had the element of surprise at his side. One bullet was enough to get the job done.

Hurry, he'd have to hurry. Because without a doubt the guy had been reporting to some higher ups religiously, announcing the progress of the interrogation. It was only a matter of time before backup would get there.

Clint fumbled through the corpse's clothes with trembling, unfeeling fingers. When he finally reached the key he dropped it twice. Getting the door open took three more attempts but at least he managed to open it soundlessly. To find the barrel of a gun greeting him.

Oh yeah, the gunshot…

Clint's only salvation was that the other guy had been prepared for the arrival to possibly be his ally. He ducked down, narrowly dodging a bullet, then fired one of his own. He preferred not watching where it landed. The guy went down with a horrible scream that tore at his ears. Clint gasped, his own line of vision swaying and blurring dangerously. Until he saw red.

"Nat?" He didn't sound like himself. Maybe that was why she didn't react. He stumbled, nearly fell, but once again determination drove him forth. "Tasha, you okay?"

No, she wasn't. She still had heavy winter clothes on so he couldn't see all the damage. But he saw the bruises on her face. A concussion. Her eyes were half-open and bleary. "… idiot! …", was the first thing she managed to mutter.

Clint chuckled. Even if he didn't quite comprehend what the funny part was. "Yeah, you are", he rasped, working on her binds with horribly unsteady hands. "Didn't we agree that you'd never make me do this again?" Why was he slurring? Well, it was hellishly cold, maybe that was one reason. Why wasn't Natasha trembling? Maybe it was because of his wet clothes…

She looked at him. It was easy to see that she could barely keep her eyes open. "… out …"

Clint nodded. Finally the ropes had been taken care of. "Yeah, yeah. Stop rushing me."

Natasha shook her head. "No… Out!" She swallowed, her head lulling to the side before she caught herself. "… was sent… to destroy this…" With those words she collapsed.

Clint's eyes widened while realization dawned, slowly yet surely. Destroy…? "Crap…!"

He scooped her into his arms although it made him sway. "Tasha? Tasha, wake up!" She didn't manage to comply. He swore under his breath. And then was off, as fast as he could. If he knew his partner at all she'd filled the place with explosives. When those would go off…

Avoiding the security cameras was a mighty challenge with the unconscious woman in his arms and with the cold seemingly eating him up in whole. But Clint refused to give up. At some point an enemy voice snarled behind him and shots were fired. It was a miracle that they weren't hit but Clint had no time to appreciate it. He just kept running, away, away. Even after he made it outside, where the freezing air curled around him, seizing his breath. He gasped. And eventually it all became too much. He fell to his knees on the snow, dropping Natasha as gently as possible.

Somewhere behind him the building exploded with a mighty roar but it all seemed to happen in a different reality. All that existed to Clint were Natasha and the cold. Cold which… seemed to be easing, actually. Good. He still felt ridiculously dizzy and confused but at least he wasn't cold anymore. Or shivering.

Home, he reminded himself in the middle of the bizarre hue. He promised Natasha that he'd take her home…

Clint's fingers more slipped than were placed on the watch-like item wrapped around his wrist. Tony designed it to be used in emergencies only. Did this qualify as one? He pressed the button, or at least thought he did. Having no feeling in his fingers he couldn't be sure.

With a sigh Clint finally gave in to the exhaustion. He slumped all the way down, right next to Natasha. "We'll get home, you'll see…", he murmured barely comprehensibly. His eyelids drooped heavily. "We'll go home…"

Natasha didn't say anything, and Clint found himself drifting away.

* * *

The running steps… Were they a dream or actually happening? Although all he wanted to do was sleep Clint had to find out…

His eyes agreed to open just a little bit. There was a incredibly blurry outline of a man approaching. His instincts kicking in despite everything he took his gun, the fact that he couldn't really hold anything be damned, and pointed.

"Hey…! Hey!" That voice… It was so familiar… "Relax, Legolas. It's just me." _Tony…!_ The billionaire's eyes were a little wide and full of uncharacteristic… fear, could it be? "Holy…! When I first saw you…!"

Clint swallowed. Or did he? "Tasha…?"

"She's got a concussion but that seems to be the worst of it. She's being taken to the Quinjet right now." Whatever Tony saw it made the man's eyes flash in alarm. "Hey, no going to sleep on me! Clint…!"

Clint would've wanted to obey. But he was just too tired. Surely Tony wouldn't mind if he slept a few minutes, even if it was horribly rude…?

Lulled by the knowledge that Natasha was safe and he was with friends Clint closed his eyes, falling away from consciousness. And if this was only a dream… He wasn't sure if he wanted to wake up.

* * *

"You'll be in a huge trouble. When we dare to let Romanoff in, I mean. And don't pretend that you're unconscious, it's rude."

Clint… really had no idea what was going on. Which was the biggest reason why he eventually chose to open his eyes, with a great deal of difficulty. The first thing he saw was the all too familiar ceiling of a hospital. Then, as soon as he dared to turn his head, Tony.

The inventor looked like he hadn't slept in days. And very, very pissed off. "At fist you go and make a… Hawksicle out of yourself. Then, just when we thought that 'okay, he's safe now' you go and get yourself a pneumonia!"

Clint frowned. _Hawksicle…?_ His eyes were full of longing as they spotted a mug of water.

Finally Tony's gaze showed some sympathy. "Sorry, buddy. But for now ice-chips are the best I can do. Which, in my opinion, is a very bad and cruel joke." Stunningly gently the man placed three chips into his mouth. They felt heavenly. "Better?"

Clint nodded, ignoring the violent dizzy spell it caused. "Yeah." God damnit, his voice…! He frowned again, rubbing at his throat. In the process he felt… oxygen whiskers…? His frown deepened. "How long…?" He trailed off.

"A week, give or take a day. This is the first time in… five days, I think, we've managed to keep Natasha away. She's going to have some stern words with you. And frankly, so am I when you look less like death warmed up." Tony winced at his own words. "Sorry. That was a low blow." Seeing his deepening confusion the Iron Man arched an eyebrow. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Clint tried, he really did. But the final thing he slammed on… "Cold." Yes, definitely. Very, very cold. He shivered at the memory, which made him tremble harder. "I… fell…"

Somewhere beside him a beeping sound intensified significantly. Signaling that whatever his mind was reaching out for it wouldn't do him any good. Tony tensed up, observing the monitors, and didn't calm down even a little bit until the sound had long since normalized.

Tony then sighed wearily, focusing on him. "Look… Maybe we can continue with this later. Because it looks like you're going to pass out on me in a few seconds, anyway. Just…" The man gulped, appearing almost scared. "For the sake of all our sanity, don't take too long to wake up this time, okay?"

Clint smiled a little and nodded. He would've wanted to say and ask a lot more but Tony was right. Sleep was already coming. This time it cocooned him to a genuine, restful slumber.

The whispered words he heard might've been a part of some weird dream. "When I saw you, laying there… I seriously thought that you were already…" The possibly imaginary voice faded away for a moment. "Don't ever do that to me again."

* * *

When Clint woke up next Natasha was there with him, looking at him with fury in her eyes. Then, in a minute or so, it melted as a response to his rasped apology. And she squeezed his hand gently.

A few moments later Clint noticed a very adorable, knitted blanket covering his legs. For years he wondered where it came from and suspected the hospital staff. That was until a very drunken 'spin a bottle' revealed that Tony tended to knit sometimes when he was stressed out.

* * *

 ** _End of the story._**

* * *

A/N: LOL! Tony knitting, imagine that. Poor Clint! But hey, he got to kick some arse and saved Natasha. So… Yay!

Awkay, I've reeeeeeeeeally gotta get going soon. But, before you guys do… Thoughts? Comments? Do let me know! **And remember that requests are still VERY welcome!**

UP NEXT: We get to see what happens when some agents don't trust Clint in the Loki-aftermath… And then we take a deep, dark plunge into Clint's past in a three-parter that introduces us to Trick Shot.

Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see ya there!

Take care, and have Feathery dreams! (LOL, that was random…!)

* * *

Guest 13: You just made me super happy, I hope you know that. (BEAMS) I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride!

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): I'm SO HAPPY to hear that you enjoyed it! Even with the cliffies. (BEAMS) Heh, I just couldn't resist throwing Laura in.

I really hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): I sort of felt like I owed Clint and Bruce that much. (chuckles) Those two are just too adorable and totally deserved the chance to make peace with each other. Awww, the idea of that special machine sounds awesome!

I really hope that the next one turns out worthy of your expectations!

Massive thank yous for the review!


	12. The Undoing of a Mind

A/N: DANG, it's late! But I just couldn't stop myself from typing AND publishing this. I hope that you don't mind…? FIRST, though…!

THANK YOU, so very much, for your AMAZING reviews, love and support! Upon starting this crazy lil' idea I had no idea that it'd gain this many friends. (BEAMS)

Awkay, before I fall asleep or get any more mushy… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **A STRONG WORD OF WARNING:** This takes place right after 'Avengers', aka in the Loki-aftermath. Which means that we'll get a fairly good, dark glimpse to what might've been going through Clint's head then. Some may find the content triggering.

Awkay, mother hen over and out.

* * *

The Undoing of a Mind

* * *

It was easy when there was still much to do, a million things to take care of. They had to form plans. They had to take down Loki. There, in the eye of the storm, it was deviously easy to forget about the monster made of him.

Afterwards… Afterwards it tumbled down on Clint like a whole skyscraper. He was in pain physically. His back didn't enjoy him crashing through that window plus his head hurt from both Loki's deeds and Natasha's 'cognitive recalibration'. Those, however, would pass by in a few days. Bruises healed. It was his head that was far more scarred.

Loki did a number on him and what he did under the trickster's control would always haunt his nightmares. As well as all the things that happened because of him. So many agents who'd been allies had been killed. Including Phil Coulson, one of the very few people who'd ever believed in him. Rationally he tried to tell himself that it was Loki's doing, not his. He wasn't sure if he'd ever manage to believe it.

It didn't help matters at all that a lot of people appeared beyond suspicious around him. Interviews and psychological evaluations kept coming. Over and over again he had to relive one of the worst things that'd ever happened to him. Been done to him. The psychiatrist listening to him, a young woman with sharp blue eyes and an unkind smile, kept nodding and making notes. Clint wondered what she saw when looking at him.

In the end they announced that he wasn't allowed to go anywhere for a while. However long that may be. Officially they wanted to make sure that Loki's control on Clint had really been broken. The archer wasn't childish enough to believe that it was the full truth.

It was understandable that they didn't trust him when he just attacked them.

The almost a week that followed were lonely and maddening. He was given a tiny room with a bed, a desk, a set of spare clothes and a floor lamp. That was it. The absence of his bow and other weapons was glaringly obvious. It'd been easy to feign trust in him when it was acutely necessary but now what was left of the agency wasn't about to take chances.

The only people were visiting him were the stone faced, middle aged man bringing his food and the equally cold expressioned psychiatrist. Bruce and Tony were busy with their projects. Natasha and Steve had both been called out to a mission. Thor was still visiting home, most likely making sure that Loki was under control. It wasn't as if they were a family or something, or especially as if he'd be a part of it after what he'd done, but they'd seemed friendly and civil enough towards him. The Hawk might've even been pleased to see Nick Fury but knew that the one eyed man was definitely busier than ever in his life. Clint wasn't much of a talker, not really, but it would've been nice to have someone around to chat with who wasn't worried that he might snap at any given moment and kill them. On day four, or perhaps six, he was desperate enough to start talking to Phil.

Clint stared at the ceiling of his tiny room, his jaw and chest both painfully tight. "Nat… told me that you called her over. After I was compromised." He gritted his teeth and attempted futilely to shift to a more comfortable position. "Was it to save me? Or to make sure that she'd take me down if necessary?" He had no idea how he felt about either option.

Phil offered him no answers.

Clint had been fighting sleep with incredible determination. Whenever he began to drift off the memories that weren't nightmares although they should've been seeped into his dreams. They tormented him enough when he was awake. But even Clint had his limits and he was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He was just about to slip into a light slumber when the sound of the door opening made him return to the present in a flash. He reacted before pausing for even a second to think about it.

It wasn't just one person. One… Two… Three… Four… Five shadows moved in the room's darkness. Clint wasn't overly worried about that number. He'd dealt with a lot worse. What made this fast approaching fight particularly unpleasant was that these people should've been his allies.

"For some reason Fury's treating you with silken gloves", a much too familiar voice growled. He sparred with this kid a couple of months earlier. "But we're going to do what he should've done from the start."

Clint had faced far more fights than he could count. This was the first time he fought with people whom he'd trusted with his life during missions. With him having a full control over himself, anyway.

Clint had managed to take down three of the attackers with fairly little difficulties. But apparently he'd been too sleep deprived because he'd missed attacker number six. All the way until the point where there was a sharp twinge on his neck.

A dart.

A sharp, merciless kick sent him to the floor while the whole world began to sink into darkness. "Don't worry", that same dishearteningly familiar voice hissed. "We'll get the truth out of you." That was the last he heard before everything fell away.

* * *

They must've given him a pummeling even while he was unconscious because Clint woke up incredibly sore. At least one broken rib. Possibly three. He didn't dare to even guess what his face looked like because it _hurt_. He was blindfolded but he felt a presence.

"Oooh, he's awake!" The voice of his former sparring partner stung in a way few things ever had. Just a blink of an eye ago they were laughing at some stupid joke together…! The younger man leaned closer. "Are you ready to get started?"

Clint gritted his teeth. He didn't want to do this. Couldn't go through this, not again.

The jolt of electricity was so unexpected that he gasped, would've yelled out loud if he'd had less self control. He shuddered and panted although it made him feel like his chest had been set on fire. The burn of the current seemed to last a lifetime.

"That control Loki had over you…" That voice – Ewan, the kid's name was Ewan – came from directly in front of him. "Did it even exist?"

Of course it did! Didn't it…? All those deaths… His movements had been without hesitation, steel hard and efficient. He fought back, he fought back with all the heart and soul Loki had seen he had. All of it for nothing. If it wasn't for Natasha…

"It did", Clint hissed. _The fucking bastard undid me!_ , he wanted to roar but refused to reveal something like that in this situation. Refused to reveal just what went through the tiny still conscious part of his mind while the rest of it operated free of his will. Refused to reveal how desperate he'd been to make it stop, how deep the damage went.

"So you're all innocent? That blood on your hands… It's none of your fault." Ewan snorted bitterly. "How fucking convenient."

This time the slash of electricity lasted longer, sunk deeper. Took away Clint's very breath. He was almost sure that he felt it grab a hold of his heart as well. His lips opened, for what he'd never know. Nothing came out.

Then came a fist. It hit his face from the side, making his cheek bone bend under its force. The choke hold that followed was, perhaps, the biggest surprise of all.

"I… am… going to kill you", Ewan snarled. And clearly meant every single word. "But before you go… I want you to know why." The hold on his throat became even tighter. It was a small miracle that his trachea wasn't damaged. "One of those agents you killed… She was my fianceé. And she was pregnant."

Clint felt like he'd been shot. Had he been shot? His heart jumped and shuddered before falling all the way to his stomach under the weight of that information.

Then everything inside him simply stilled as he _knew_ that he was going to die.

Clint didn't hear the commotion of people arriving into the room. The roars that followed. Nor did he feel the chair he'd been cuffed to falling backwards, eventually landing to ice cold water. With the blindfold still on his eyes Clint didn't see the water. All he knew was that he couldn't breathe.

No matter how hard he'd fought… No matter how furiously he attempted to make things right… In a small, bitter way Loki still won.

Clint wasn't aware that someone had jumped into the water after him until the blindfold was removed. It took a second or two before his vision cleared enough to show him Bruce Banner's pale, incredibly openly terrified face. The scientist gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, then focused on the cuffs trapping Clint to the chair. The archer himself lifted his head, directed his eyes towards the light shining above the water. All the exhaustion, fear, rage and helplessness from the whole ordeal with Loki smashed onto his shoulders, making him feel like he'd been sinking. Even the panic over suffocating disappeared, leaving him feeling oddly numb. Perhaps that was why he didn't notice how he was once more free.

Not until Bruce was already starting to drag him back towards the surface. Painfully slowly, too slowly. Or perhaps it was just Clint. Not fast enough for him.

Pushing all his strength into the motion Clint brushed Bruce's hand, managing to get the scientist's attention. Their eyes met. Bruce's eyes widened when the man understood, perhaps better than anyone, what the archer was trying to say.

Then Clint gave in to the reflexive inhale.

* * *

And then he was choking again. There was something in his throat. Clint struggled and wiggled the best as he could, trying to get rid of the cause of his discomfort.

"Shh, shh… Try not to fight it, okay?" That voice… But it couldn't be…! "It'll get better soon. Just calm down."

Clint's eyes opened up wide. At first catching a blurry figure that inevitably sharpened to the unmistakeable face of Phil Coulson. The whole world spun before Clint's eyes.

He was dead, then.

A stunningly warm hand grabbed his. There was pain and remorse in Phil's gaze. "Hang in there, Hawk. You'll be alright, I promise." Although full of ache and apology, it was definitely a command.

There was so much Clint would've wanted to say. Apologies. Questions. But this, whatever _this_ was… His tormented mind shut down, wiping it away.

* * *

Whether it was all a dream or not Clint did dream a lot afterwards. Sometimes they were horror stories. Sometimes voices telling him that everything would work out, urging him to keep fighting. Right after a horror footage of him taking the life of a boy who was barely a man someone was humming. Calling him home. Grounding him.

Eventually Clint woke up. It happened surprisingly easily. One moment his eyes simply fluttered open, blinking sluggishly at the sudden assault of light.

His gaze sought almost frantically until it locked on Nick Fury's familiar face. The one eyed man appeared furious. "I decided to come and tell you in person that those idiots aren't in service anymore. The pool building and the abduction area had enough security cameras to provide solid identifications and evidence against them."

Clint nodded, unsure how to feel. Of course he was glad that those who did this to him would be punished. But it was hard to feel a great deal of joy over the matter when a loud, nagging voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that he deserved this. "Fury…"

"You've been intubated. Do yourself a favor and try not to talk too much." If the look in Nick's eyes was anything to go by the man already knew exactly what he'd been about to say. With that the director began to leave, thus revealing Bruce who'd been sitting close to the bed. "I have a meeting to attend to. You two, try to behave." With those words they were left alone.

Clint's stomach knotted. Because although a lot about those… less than enjoyable events were in the dark he remembered the doctor. And inhaling. He swallowed, almost sure that he could taste chlorine water. "Sorry", he rasped.

Bruce's gaze flashed dangerously. "Do you have any idea how close it was? Those guys… They had no idea of the dangers of electricity. They had to revive you three times before you even regained consciousness properly. They broke four of your ribs and one of them came this close…" The space between the man's fingers was absolutely pathetic. Or perhaps chilling. "… to giving you a punctured lung. They beat you up every single time they succeeded in bringing you back. And then they tried to choke you. But you made it through that. Only to give up just when I was about to get you to safety."

Clint shivered and looked away. He was about to deny the accusation, only to find his tongue uncooperative. His whole body was heavier than lead and he clenched his fists painfully tightly. "A moment of weakness", he managed, hoping that his tone was convincing enough.

"Don't bullshit me." Hearing Bruce swear was so rare that it earned his whole attention. The man's eyes seemed darker than usual. "That look in your eyes… I _know_ that look. And I feel like an idiot for not having noticed it sooner."

Clint had no idea what to say to that. In the end he shook his head the best as he could. "You couldn't know." He definitely didn't feel comfortable with talking about this to anyone. And he was very good at hiding things he didn't feel like sharing.

"I should've." Bruce's eyes bore into his. "Do you really think that I don't know how it feels? To have someone take over your mind and body completely? Making you do absolutely horrible things? Because trust me, Clint, there's _no one_ who'd understand better." The scientist sighed. "You need to believe that it wasn't your fault. That you did the best you could and that was all you could do. Otherwise you'll end up driving yourself insane."

For a few moments Clint was completely stunned, or perhaps overwhelmed. How was he supposed to comment that, especially when it came from someone who usually shared absolutely nothing of the workings of his mind? He shifted, twisting himself so that he didn't have to look at the scientist. The words slipped out before he could stop himself. "I keep hearing Loki", he admitted quietly. "All the time. Asking questions." A bitter taste rose into his throat and he rubbed his face roughly with both hands. "The worst part… The worst part is that I don't even remember how much I told him. I just… I keep remembering him thanking me for valuable information." His fists balled again, so hard that skin was nearly damaged. "If I had a choice, right there, I would've…" He trailed off, unwilling to say those words from a pitch black corner of his mind. "I wonder if he knew, if he saw."

Bruce's silence stretched and Clint wondered if he'd said too much. The response that came was soft, almost tender. "I'm glad that you didn't have that choice."

After a second of confusion understanding sparked in Clint. A great deal of warmth swell in his stomach. Finally he was able to look at the man who was becoming a friend. "I'm glad that you haven't had that choice, either", he returned equally softly.

The mood was sort of ruined by Clint yawning gloriously.

Bruce sighed, rubbing his own eyes with one hand. "You should get some sleep. This isn't one of those talks you should have half unconscious."

 _Or ever_ , Clint wanted to point out. His eyelids were drooping heavily but he fought back for a few more moments. "You won't…?"

"The others won't hear about the pool. Or this… talk." Bruce's eyes narrowed. "But only if you promise to never do _that_ again."

Clint nodded. And nearly managed to believe in himself. He relaxed further against the bedcovers, utterly drained but somehow feeling a little lighter than before.

"Sleep", Bruce commanded. "You won't go anywhere from my sight for a while."

Clint would've smiled if he hadn't so far on his way towards sleep. He sighed softly, practically breathed out the words. "I'm not going anywhere, either."

"Good."

* * *

Shortly after being discharged from the hospital Clint disappeared but some sixth sense told Bruce not to worry too much. And true enough, after seven weeks the archer returned. In far more than one sense of the word. The haunted look in the man's eyes had transformed into something far less destructive.

Later that evening Bruce found something from the pocket of his favorite lab-coat. It was a pin, the shape of a hawk rising to his wings. The message was loud and clear

The next time he met Clint the two of them shared a knowing smile.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Oh woah…! That was quite dark. BUT, at least it had a positive ending. (BEAMS) In full honesty the 'Loki aftermath' has been bugging me (what happened? how was Clint?) for AGES so I just couldn't resist this opportunity.

PLEASE, do let me know your thoughts! That comment box down below is very cold and lonely right now… **And remember that requests are ALWAYS welcome!**  
NEXT ONE UP: Clint's past rears its head. Will he be saved before it swallows him up in whole? A three parter reveals just what made the Hawk.

Awkay, it's insane o'clock so I've REALLY gotta go to bed. Until next time, my fellow wannabe-archers! I really hope that you'll join in then.

Take care!

* * *

Guest : I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it! (BEAMS) We'll see what's up next for our beloved Hawk…

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	13. The Creation of Hawkeye, part 1 of 3 (M)

A/N: Hiya there, my fellow Clint fans! (grins) This update took a bit longer than expected because I've been traveling. Which was AWESOME but, unfortuantely, hindering my typing a bit. But now I'm back and ready to continue with this story!

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews, listings, love and support! Seriously, it baffles me that there are so many of you/us out there. Clint seriously deserves every bit of the love he gets.

 **THIS THREE PARTER IS A MIXTURE** of the comics (Clint's family situation was, in fact, just like that, and Trick Shot does exist there, as do a lot of the things described, and there's also Greece), the movie verse and my own imagination.

 **A STRONG WORD OF WARNING:** This three-parter contains quite a bit of rather disturbing material. (Mainly child abuse.) The creation of Hawkeye was a very painful process indeed. Which is why this comes VERY close to earning a M-rating. I'll have to give you a strong word of warning because, understandably enough, quite a bit of people may find those matters highly upsetting.

For those who still wish to proceed… Let's go! It's time to take a dive into Clint Barton's dark past…

* * *

The Creation of Hawkeye, part 1 of 3 (PARTS OF THIS RATED M)

* * *

If he'd been on a holiday Clint might've enjoyed spending time in the warmth of a small, isolated Greek island. But as it was he was on duty and the mission turned out to be far more infuriating than he'd originally thought. He did get the job done, though. Of course he did.

Clint entered his small, rather homey hotel room and was about to prepare for his departure when something caught his attention. Made blood turn into ice inside his veins. His eyes widened a fraction.

Another one of the room's two windows was broken and stuck on a wall was an arrow. Which alone would've been alarming, seeing as the arrow wasn't one of his own. But there was also a brochure attached to the item.

' _Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders_ '

Clint hadn't heard that ominous name in ages. In full honesty he never expected to encounter it again. He should've known that he wouldn't be quite so lucky.

Just then something sharp struck his neck, sending him into darkness before he'd barely realized that it was a dart.

* * *

/ _The first time Clint's father punched him he was four years old. Far too young to understand properly what was happening. Young enough to believe his mother when she, sobbing and hugging him oh so tightly, swore to him that it'd been just a horrible accident. That if he'd be a good, obedient son it'd never happen again. It was the first and certainly the most bitter lie Clint faced in his life._

 _More bruises appeared, one after another._

 _When those weren't enough to satisfy the man followed a broken arm._

 _Looking at his bruises and cast with a frown a young doctor ran a hand through her red hair. Her eyes swept towards where his parents were arguing rather loudly with his brother, as though to make sure that they were occupied. She then focused on him, looked into his eyes. "Clint… Is there something going on at home that you'd want to tell me about?" Most likely seeing something on his face she went on. "Don't worry, whatever you say to me won't get you into a trouble. I just want to make sure that you're safe."_

 _Oh, how badly Clint would've wanted to tell her. To reveal that no, he didn't want to go home. But he was only six and 'home' was the only place in the world he knew. So he lied for the first time in his life, through tears that nearly pooled into his eyes. "I'm okay. The arm just hurts", he murmured. He was only a child in an impossible situation. Was it any wonder that a few tears rolled down his cheeks. "I… I want to go to mommy, and Barney."_

 _Unfortunately his father was later able to read something from the doctor's gaze. The man didn't speak a word on their way back home and the rest of them were too scared to utter a thing, either. As soon as their front door was closed the man's massive hand grabbed Clint hair. The crying, pleading child was dragged to the basement at such speed that he couldn't even stand up. Clint was barely able to shield his broken arm when he was pushed down the last few stairs._

 _The child's heart hammered miserably while he scrambled up as fast as he could, trying desperately not to cry. Because already he knew what was going to happen. "Father, please…! I didn't…!"_

 _"You keep your moth shut about what goes on in this house. Do you understand?" His father's eyes blazed in a terrifying manner. "Be glad that I don't throw you out right here, right now, you worthless piece of filth." With those words as the final verdict the six-year-old was abandoned into the basement's darkness, behind a locked door._

 _Clint had no idea how long passed. To him it felt like years. He was in pain, scared and, as more and more time passed by, hungry. At first he stood behind the firmly bolted door, pleading to be allowed out. No one came and eventually he began to wonder if they'd forgotten about him. Miserable and defeated in a manner no child or adult should ever experience he huddled to a corner, making himself as small as possible, and wrapped his arms around his knees in a feeble attempt to shield himself. Against what, he wasn't too sure anymore. The world, perhaps._

 _He'd fallen into a light, pain filled sleep when all of a sudden he woke up with a violent shiver as the basement's door was opened. His heart jumped into his throat and began to jump wildly as he waited, fearing that it might be his father again. He managed to relax only marginally when, in the little light the arrival had dared to switch on to illuminate the night, his brother Barney tiptoed inside. The boy was holding two sandwiches._

 _"Eat these", Barney whispered, sneaking constant glances towards the door. "He's passed out. But I don't know for how long."_

 _Clint nodded, accepting the offered food gratefully. "Thank you." He did his best to fight against tears while chewing the first sandwich. "My arm hurts", he whispered._

 _"I know." Barney gritted his teeth. "But don't worry. One day we'll get out of here, I promise. Until then I'll teach you how to fight back."_ /

* * *

Clint's eyes flew open and he gasped, desperately trying to figure out what was happening. His head and several other parts of him hurt but it didn't feel like whatever happened had actually succeeded in breaking anything. He wasn't tied or otherwise restrained, either. He tried to figure out if that was a good sign or bad. Knowing his luck…

As quickly as he dared to and soundlessly Clint got up, carefully making his way through the room's unforgiving darkness. He was glad that whoever decided to play a game with him had allowed him to keep his shoes. Broken glass crackled under his footsteps. Clearly his captor had decided to make sure that they'd know when he was awake.

Sure enough, in a few moments a badly distorted voice echoed, coming from somewhere near the room's ceiling. " _What's this? Leaving so soon? Pity. I was hoping that we'd get to spend some more time together._ "

Clint gritted his teeth. His eyes darted around, unable to distinguish anything in the lack of light. "Sorry, but I don't like parties when I don't know who's throwing them."

His unwanted host chuckled. " _Oh, don't worry, Hawkeye. We'll meet face to face soon enough. I've been looking forward to it, actually. I made you a promise, after all, once upon a time._ "

By then Clint had managed to find a door. After a quick inspection that discovered no trap wires he dared to lay his hand on the handle. "What might that promise be? Over the years a lot of people have promised me all sorts of things." Most of those things weren't exactly pleasant.

" _I promised that one day, I'd return and kill you._ "

A shiver crossed Clint. He refused to let it show or be heard. "You'll have to be a lot more specific than that", he pointed out.

" _I'm fairly certain that I'm the first one who ever gave you that particular promise._ "

For a second, perhaps two, Clint's heart seemed to actually stop. Because all of a sudden he knew, with utmost certainty. A small, barely audible gasp slipped past his lips while his eyes widened. "Buck…!"

" _Oh no, you're not going to call me by that name._ " His companion's voice sounded far harder than before, distorded as it still was. " _I made you who you are today. I taught you, kept you alive, only for you to betray me._ " All of a sudden the voice seemed to be much closer. " _I created the Hawkeye. And I'm also going to be the one who destroys you._ "

Clint had no hope of seeing the arrow coming before it slammed at his shoulder, creating a perfectly similar wound to the long since scarred one on the other shoulder.

* * *

/ _Buck Chisholm, or Trick Shot as allies and enemies alike knew him, had seen a lot of bizarre things in his life. But when he was called to meet 'a promising new student' he had no idea what he was in for. "I don't do teaching", he growled._

 _"Trust me, for this one you will."_

 _He was told that his student was an orphan. And young, although it wasn't revealed just how very young. When he first lay his eyes on his would-be-protégé he groaned and swore loudly. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me…! Is that brat even ten?"_

 _The boy lifted his chin defiantly. "I'm old enough to use a bow", the child snapped with a respectable amount of venom. Seeing his arched eyebrow, however, the boy seemed to pale slightly. "Sir." Which marked the first and only time the kid ever used a honorific with him._

 _For a few more moments Buck stared. Wondering if the universe was playing a joke on him. Then sighed heavily, accepting defeat under those fierce, equally defiant and scared eyes. "Fine. Show me what you can do, brat. And make it worth my while."_

 _Without the slightest bit of hesitation the child got to work. Six arrows were fired at a rather impressive speed. Without the unmistakeable fire in the boy's eyes the motions might've been called desperate. Despite himself Buck found his interest piqued._

 _And then the boy was done. Panting heavily the child stared at the results of his work. Buck turned his head to do the same. For the second time since they met his eyebrow bounced up._

 _Four bull's eyes and two arrows only a slight distance off from it._

 _Buck had to admit that he was curious. He turned his gaze towards the boy. "You're not completely hopeless, I'll give you that. You need practise, though. What's your name?"_

 _The child looked at him as though wondering if he was playing a cruel joke. Those eyes still flared, full of determination and fight that didn't seem to come from this world. "Clint. My name's Clint Barton."_ /

* * *

Clint gasped, fighting with his all not to scream under the shockwave of pain. For a dazed moment he wondered what the flash in his eyes was all about until he realized that the lights had been switched on. For a while everything spun alarmingly.

" _My apologies for the unfair start. But you see… After all these years I got a little impatient._ " The other man didn't sound apologetic at all. Where was that voice coming from? There was a torturous pause. " _You're not going to pass out yet, are you? That'd be highly disappointing._ "

Clint gritted his teeth, hard. "Nah, still here." Sure, it hurt like hell. But he'd had wore. This… This he could stand, especially since there was no telling what might happen if he collapsed. And to an extend he could appreciate the irony of an arrow sticking from him. Now if only his heart hadn't been thumping wildly. Adrenaline thundered through his veins.

" _Good! In that case we can get started._ " The door began to open. " _I couldn't help noticing that you have exploding arrows. Very impressive, I'll give you that. And risky. I'm glad that I trained you well enough to be able to carry such things around without hurting yourself. You see… It's highly important that every decent archer develops their own, special trademark. Their own personal touch. Do you still remember what mine is?_ "

Clint felt color drain from his face. All of a sudden the burn in his injured shoulder felt ominous on a whole another level. "Poison arrows." The perfect way to ensure that even the slightest brush would secure the kill. Sometimes the victims didn't even notice the arrow before they already fell dead, without the slightest clue what took them down.

" _Well, it's nice to know that you haven't forgotten me entirely._ " On some odd, twisted level his unwanted companion, the darkest ghost of his past, actually did sound touched. The door was fully open, revealing a thick forest. Full of trees to use for cover or as a perch. Under different circumstances such a landscape might've been ideal. " _Now, I don't want to be unfair to you. Your bow and arrows are right there in the forest. And trust me, I haven't done anything to them. I didn't take even a single arrow although I must admit that I felt tempted to._ " Honest, all of it. Despite all the things the other man had done he still had his own code of honor. " _Now go and find them so we can face off properly._ "

Clint snorted. His stomach twisted uncomfortably while the burning in his shoulder intensified. He wished that he could've just torn off the offending item but he knew that even if he'd been able to it would've done more harm than good. "How is it fair when you've already poisoned me?"

" _We're all dying men, Hawkeye. The only question is who manages to stand firm the longest._ " There was heavy sigh, tinged with nostalgia. " _Now come and face me before the poison in your veins takes over so we can finish this._ "

Clint was already on the move.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dang, poor Clint! Both in the past and present. (winces) We'll see just how this encounter ends. And how much more we'll learn about what he's been through…

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? **Requests?** Because those are still very welcome. Do drop a line or two into the box down below! In the aftermath of Halloween it's hungry.

Until next time, my fellow Hawk-fans! I really hope that I'll see you all there. Be prepared for TONS more Clint-whump. And comfort/team bonding, too.

Take care!

* * *

GalliumKnight: (bows, beaming like sunshine) Gosh, you're making me blush with delight! I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it so much. Hopefully what's to come will be as captivating. Because there's certainly A LOT more to come…

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): Awww, I'm thrilled that you're so excited! I really hope that the next three parter meets your expectations. Ah, such an awesome idea will DEFINITELY be typed sooner or later. (grins and rubs hands together)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): (blushes) I'm VERY happy to hear that you think so! Ya know, I think I've been neglecting Thor thus far. Soooo, I'm BEYOND excited to accept that prompt! Who knows, it may pop up as soon as right after the next three parter. Because seriously, I can SO see that happening!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: Yay! I'm really glad that you're enjoying the ride. (BEAMS) There'll TOTALLY be some fluff. Agents of SHIELD… I'm not sure how well I know them just yet BUT, I'm not turning my back on that idea, either! I've watched a few episodes of the series by now so we'll see. But the Avengers team (dare I say family?) will definitely be heavily present.

I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride!

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

DanishGirl: WELCOME ABOARD! (beams) I'm absolutely overjoyed to hear that you've enjoyed the tales thus far so much. I really hope that you'll keep having good time with this collection.

Tons of thank yous for the reviews!


	14. The Creation of Hawkeye, part 2 of 3 (M)

A/N: I'm baaaack, a day or so earlier than expected! (grins) UNFORTUNATELY, next week's update won't pop up until Sunday, since I'm away from my laptop. BUT, let us not get ahead of things! Before starting with this chapter…

THANK YOU, a million times, for your FANTASTIC reviews, support, requests and love! I totally makes me all giddy and happy to know that our Hawk has so many fans. But then again, who in their right mind wouldn't adore him?!

Awkay, as I should've been in bed hours ago… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Creation of Hawkeye, part 2 of 3 (PARTS OF THIS RATED M)

* * *

Tony decided that he'd definitely had more unpleasant business meeting locations than Rome. It helped his mood that the negotiations were actually going quite smoothly. He was willing to dare to call the meeting a success.

Of course he should've known better than to celebrate before it was all over.

He was just heading for a lunch with his soon to be partners when a very beautiful woman with impossibly lively eyes approached him. "Excuse me, Mr. Stark?" He decided that he liked her accent. She handed an envelope towards him. "This was just delivered to you."

Cold shivers ran through Tony, confirming his suspicion that he wasn't going to like this. After a Stark style grin and a thank you he focused on the item. Inside it he found coordinates, along with a tiny bottle full of greenish liquid and a brief message. And a drawn picture of a hawk that'd been pierced by an arrow.

' _Bring that antidote here in less than six hours or the Hawk has flown his last._ '

Tony had a sinking feeling that the business meeting was over.

* * *

/ _It took absolutely all Clint's willpower to keep himself from trembling or even running away. But pride rooted him to the spot. So he stood firm, his head held up high defiantly. Ready to face what was coming for him._

 _Buck, or Trick Shot as the man always insisted on being called during these performances, smirked. With the blindfold covering the archery master's eyes it was impossible to tell how much of the expression was a mask. And then an arrow was leveled at him. "Now, be a good boy… and stay very, very still", his mentor adviced him. "Unless you want me to miss my mark."_

 _Clint snorted. His eyes flashed almost threateningly. "I'm not going to run and hide, old man", he reassured the circus star._

 _Their audience chuckled. Electricity, tension and anticipation were heavy in the air. Making the air thick. Not a single pair of eyes looked away. The level of adrenaline was palpable._

 _And then the arrow was sent on its way, right at Clint._

 _There was a gasp that went through the entire tent. A lot of people leaned forced, anxious to see absolutely everything. Clint focused on not closing his eyes, instead stared at the arrow. Watched how its feathers shuddered as air caressed them._

 _There was a thud that sounded as loud as a gunshot when the arrow met its mark. For exactly three seconds it was impossibly quiet, save the furious beat of Clint's heart. Then the apple that'd been placed on top of Clint's head broke in half and the whole tent exploded to deafeningly loud applause._

 _There was an unreadable look on Buck's face when the man removed the blindfold. For a moment they looked at each other until the archer turned towards the audience, bowed and began to take his leave. Clint, however, wasn't finished._

 _Earlier he'd been introducing his skills to the audience, amusing them with hunting rubber ducks. With a rapid, swift motion he took his own bow and a single arrow. It was flying before he barely knew what was happening._

 _With a ferocious thud his arrow hit the nose of a clown decoration that'd been directly above Buck's head. His mentor froze. The audience erupted to a storm of laughs, clearly imagining that it was all a part of the show. The eyes that Buck darted at Clint revealed that the true spectacle would happen behind the scenes. And all of a sudden the boy began to regret letting his temper get the better of him._

 _Twenty minutes later, after two encores sealing the show, Buck cornered him in the backroom. The man's eyes were full of lava. "Don't ever do that again", he man hissed in a voice that would've chilled just about anyone._

 _Clint gritted his teeth. "You ambushed me with tasking me as a target board." He shrugged. "Consider us even."_

 _The punch was swift and forceful, almost enough so to send him down. Buck's eyes blazed, that fist already raised for a second attack. "This is my show. You respect my rules, or you walk."_

 _Clint's eyes narrowed. The burning in his veins was far more intense than the one on his cheek. "Do you honestly imagine that that slap was the worst I've ever taken?" He took a step closer, ignoring the fact that there was a head's worth of height difference between them. "Just know this… If you ever do something like that again I'll aim at a different target." With that promise he turned sharply and walked away, feeling a pair of smouldering eyes on his back as he went._ /

* * *

The trees were no challenge for Clint, even with the arrow sticking from his shoulder and the poison coursing through his veins. Furiously ignoring the hellish inferno of pain and constantly growing, eerie weakness he climbed up, finally finding a sufficient scouting point. His sharp eyes darted around, seeking a glimmer of hope or a trace of a throat. He couldn't help wondering which one would come first.

His heart thudded one time too many when he finally saw it. Close to a tree top, of course. Anything else would've been too easy, stuff for amateurs.

It was his own, comfortingly familiar set of a bow and arrows.

Clint frowned, trying to focus enough to evaluate the potential risks. Without a doubt Buck was observing him. He was also willing so suspect that his former mentor had booby trapped the entire area surrounding the treasures. But did he have a choice? Really, honestly? Sure, he could just crouch there, nice, still and invisible. Until the poison finally took effect and he'd drop dead. Or then Buck would get bored and come for him. Whichever might happen first.

Clint swore under his breath and braced himself. This was _not_ going to be pleasant, at all. But he'd never once given up in his life and he wasn't about to start now.

With the agility and grace of a feline Clint slid down from the tree, then inspected his environment. All was still. A little too still to his liking. The warmth and humidity of Greece wrapped around him mercilessly, nearly stealing his breath. Or then it was the poison. The Hawk gritted his teeth as he began to advance.

He slid through the distance separating him from his trademark equipment soundlessly, shielded by the shadows. He was an agent and a former assassin, after all. He could do subtle.

Reaching them was the easy part. Deciding whether it was safe to approach further was far more tricky. Clint's eyes sharpened while he crouched, trying to see even better. He couldn't spot anything that would've seemed alarming. Still he knew better than to let his guard down. Just like he knew that he _needed_ his equipment, desperately.

In the end he sneaked closer as carefully as a thief, all his senses on high alert. His bow felt comfortingly familiar when he was finally able to touch it. Safe. Despite being injured and possibly dying Clint couldn't help feeling comforted, just a little bit. Until he saw a shadow moving.

Several things happened in a flash. Clint sent an arrow through the air. In a couple of seconds a hiss that didn't come from the wind told him that he'd hit at least something. He didn't have the time to feel satisfied. For just then there was a slight rustle. He turned around, an arrow already at a ready. He was a fraction of a second too slowly.

A brand new arrow struck the area dangerously close to his abdomen, sending him into a world of hellish agony.

* * *

/ _It was after a very busy string of performances Clint fell in. The boy, of course, refused to admit such weakness. Until he collapsed in the middle of a tight rope practise, performing a mighty fall to the safety net._

 _Buck was just on his way to berate his unhealthily stubborn, unwanted student when he heard voices from the younger archer's room. "… on, Clint." Barney sounded exasperated. "You're burning up and sweating like crazy. Get up, just for a little bit. Then I'll let you sleep."_

 _"… 'ut up", Clint muttered quietly and grumpily, clearly in a great deal of discomfort._

 _"Oh yeah?" Barney's patience appeared to be wearing thin. "Sit up, right now, or I'll start singing one of those Elvis songs dad always howled."_

 _That seemed to stir something to life. Clint swore in a way no kid of his age should've been capable of before bedsheets sighed. It was at that point Buck peered into the room, intending to enter. He froze by the doorway._

 _Apparently Barney was helping Clint change his shirt. Which gave Buck a clear view to Clint's back. He shuddered despite himself at what he discovered._

 _Long, angry scars marred the pale skin. They'd either come from shards of glass or a knife. Or from a violent whipping. Amongst it all cigarette burns could be seen, a lot more faded but still all too clearly present._

 _All of a sudden Buck felt sick to his stomach. While he kept staring Clint pulled on a shirt, then crawled back underneath the covers. Barney observed him with a frown until the boy finally spoke out, careful not to distract his brother. "It's incredibly rude to stare", Barney pointed out._

 _Buck didn't have it in him to feel embarrassed. He apologized with a shrug, his eyebrows furrowing. He felt tempted to ask but didn't quite know how to voice the question._

 _Eventually Barney looked at him. There was something incredibly dark in the boy's eyes. "There's a reason why Clint has problems with authority. That's what those put in charge over us so far have done to him."_

 _Buck's jawline tightened. He didn't quite comprehend why his chest did the same. "Are you expecting an apology?"_

 _Barney shook his head. "Nah. Fat lot good, those words have ever done." The boy focused on his brother, eyes still hard and almost terrifying. "Just so you know, very soon I'll take him away from here."_

 _Buck's eyebrow rose even higher. Now that was a surprise, although perhaps it shouldn't have been. "And you imagine that he's going to want to leave?"_

 _"Of course he is. I'm all he has in this world." Barney sounded so certain that it was chilling. "He knows better than to let me down."_ /

* * *

Buck turned his head sharply and with a growl, irritated by someone interfering with his plans. Furiously focused and ready to fight despite the arrow sticking from his side. What he met made his eyes widen a fraction. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

His companion shrugged. It was impossible to miss the fact that the other was fully prepared to attack him. "Being dead is boring."

Stun soon turned into something close to rage. Buck's eyes narrowed. "Keep your nose out of my affairs", he snapped as loudly as he dared to, knowing that despite being injured even further Clint was listening.

"What, and let him kill you?" Barney Barton's nose wrinkled. "Nah. You're already a dead man walking. For the sake of fun I'll let you keep tormenting each other a little bit longer. And then, when you least expect it, I'll take down you both. Or maybe I'll let him kill you, after all, like you're wishing him to. Either way I'm going to enjoy this a lot a more than you."

Buck gritted his teeth. His hold on his own bow tightened. "This is the last warning", he hissed. "Stay… the fuck out of my affairs… or I'll give you more than petty sibling rivalry to worry about. Don't forget who taught you."

"Don't worry, I won't forget." Barney's words were without a doubt a threat. "I never, ever forget those who toss me aside and abandon me." The younger man gave him a tiny wave. "Have a fun dying." With those as his parting words the supposedly dead fiend jumped down and disappeared like a shadow. Or a nightmare.

Buck didn't have very long to dwell on the unexpected encounter. Because during their exchange Clint had disappeared from his line of sight. And it was one master archer against another. A teacher against their student.

* * *

/ _Clint couldn't exactly think of the circus as a home. But he also knew just how much worse it could be so he chose to adapt. Allowed fire and determination to grow inside him._

 _Buck continued to train him. Far more often than not with very little patience but Clint grew used to that. Despite their frequent clashes something like mutual respect began to form between them. On the day Clint was able to achieve three bullseyes on separate target boards blindfolded Buck nodded with clearly visible acceptance in his eyes. Clint wondered if that was what it felt like to have something like a father figure in his life._

 _Another performer of the circus, Jacques or Swordsman, as his stagename went, also began to pay attention to his skills. Under the man's guidance Clint's skills as an acrobat grew dramatically. Combined with archery those tricks created quite entertaining spectacles._

 _Both of his teachers were there when Clint performed his most daring trick so far. His heart pounded as he stood close to the tent's highest spot, staring at the equipment spreading down below. And jumped._

 _There were several bars on his way, which he grabbed as he progressed. Making his body spin and bend to incredible positions. Defying all reason and logic. Around and around, downwards, a spin after a spin. Until he reached a small, metallic podium that was still dangerously high from the floor. There was a purple piece of fabric waiting for him. He covered his eyes with it and then, with no hesitation despite how adrenaline stormed in his veins, stepped to a tightrope._

 _Clint wasn't afraid, not really. There was a safety net to catch him and he'd walked the rope so many times that its shape had to be etched on his feet. Besides, hesitation would've only broken his balance. With elegant steps he reached the other side, where he felt the warmth of flames. Now came the tricky part._

 _Clint willed his hands not to tremble as he took an arrow and a bow. He swallowed thickly before putting the arrow to the fire, lighting it up. Knowing that wasting time would only get his hands burned he aimed and let it go. In a few seconds there was a roar as flames caught a hold of something. That was when Clint finally removed the blindfold._

 _Of course he'd known what to expect but actually seeing it… He couldn't help but grin. On the exact opposite side of the tent, far away, a very large picture of a hawk rising to its wings was in flames. Like his very own declaration of war._

 _When he reached the floor his two mentors were still admiring the results of his work. "You know…", Jacques thought out loud, his lips pursed. "If you want to be a proper circus performer you'll need a stagename."_

 _Clint glanced towards the man. Trying not to notice how his heart thudded with anticipation and hope. "Any suggestions?"_

 _"How about Hawkeye?"_

 _Clint's grin threatened to split his face as he wondered if he'd finally found a place where he could belong._

 _But nothing good was to last forever. Because Barney observed the scene as well, his eyes dark and full of a storm threatening to erupt. He felt the world crumbling down around him._ /

* * *

Clint gasped, breathless from the immense agony. For a few moments the whole world spun dangerously before his eyes. Nearly fell out of focus.

The archer actually stumbled for a step. Then, with the iron hard will of a warrior, picked himself up and found cover instead. Concentration was hard to find but he succeeded eventually. Adrenaline sharpened his head to a chilling extend. He pressed a hand against his new injury with a low, furious growl.

He was definitely bleeding but he was fairly certain that the arrow hadn't succeeded in puncturing any vital organs. In full honesty he was a little surprised to be left alive. Apparently this little game wasn't over just yet. He also noticed that the second arrow looked different and wondered with dread if he had more than one person to worry about.

 _Fantastic…_ , he mused sarcastically.

That was when movement caught his eyes. He readied his bow in a flash but before he had the chance to use it his target disappeared. He smothered the desire to snarl from frustration, knowing how dangerous it would've been to catch attention.

The poison was making it increasingly difficult to remain still. And eventually he found himself beginning to tremble. The bushes beside him rustled, betraying him. That was all it took.

Behind him the nature whispered signs of someone taking cover and settling to aim for the perfect shot. The Hawk spun around, working his hardest to do so with as little noise as possible, and aimed. Sun shone on something metallic at least thirty steps away. Believing in no coincidences he let the arrow fly.

So did his opponent.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Those of you familiar with the comics already know how the circus thing came down. (winces) But how is Clint's meeting with his past going to end? And who contacted Tony and why? In the next chapter we'll see if this all has at least a happyish ending…

Thoughts? Comments? Rants…? PLEASE, do drop me a line or two! **And never hesitate to make requests. I LOVE them!**

Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll meet you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): GOSH, I really hope so! It's FANTASTIC to hear that you enjoyed the chapter so. Hopefully the rest of the story won't disappoint, either.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: HOORAY! I'm overjoyed to hear that you've had a good journey. Hopefully the rest will reward your expectations!

It's always AWESOME to meet a fellow Hawkeye fan! He's totally my favorite Avenger, too, mainly because he's so very HUMAN amongst the rest of them (thus also the most vulnerable, despite his skills). Which is why I just couldn't resist the temptation to type this collection. (grins) You're awesome, too!

Massive thank yous for the fantastic review!

* * *

Guest (2): Yay! I really hope that the rest won't fall flat in your book, either.

AH! I'm typing this in bold in case someone else is wondering. **My goal is to update this collection every weekend, mainly because I love this so much.** (grins) Soooo, expect updates between Friday and Sunday.

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	15. The Creation of Hawkeye, part 3 of 3 (M)

A/N: I'm a little early this time. I'll be away from my laptop for most of the weekend and didn't have the heart to make you wait any longer after the previous cliffie. See, I am capable of being nice. Well, nicish… (Is that a word?)

THANK YOU, a billion times, for your AMAZING reviews! And how about that, we've passed the limit of 100 followers! (When there's 200+ reviews I've totally gotta come up with something extra special for you. Pfft, like you guys hadn't earned something special already…!) My gosh, it makes my heart sing that this collection, and especially our favorite archer, has gained so many friends. (HUGS) I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the mad ride.

Awkay, because I've been a real monster with the cliffies lately… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the flight. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

* * *

The Creation of Hawkeye, part 3 of 3 (PARTS OF THIS RATED M)

* * *

/ _Clint had been foolish enough to imagine that he'd finally found his place in the world when hell came down on Earth once more._

 _It was very subtle at first, as is often the case. He heard whispered rumors of the circus' money having gone missing. At first he didn't think much of it, although it sparked rage to know that someone had stolen from his… well, home. And then he saw Jacques handling a large sum of money. Money that couldn't be the man's own._

 _Their eyes met and held. Clint, despite being younger and far smaller, stepped forward bravely. "You robbed that, didn't you?" He didn't bother trying to hide his disappointment and wounded fury. His fists balled while he prepared to fight._

 _Jacques sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. Then approached very calmly. "You're a clever boy, Clint." Those eyes scanned him from head to toe, without a doubt seeing every single weak spot. "Why don't we make a deal. You keep your mouth shut and I'll give you one third of that money."_

 _Clint's eyes narrowed. "That's not your money to give away", he pointed out, his voice full of venom. His eyes nearly overflowed but he fought back remarkably stubbornly. The situation was dangerous. It was late and there was no one within earshot, and there was no telling what the man would do to him. The Hawk paid no attention to those acute concerns. "We trusted you!"_

 _Jacques' eyes held a hint of sadness, only for a moment. The Swordsman approached him once more. "Another lesson for you, kid. In this world… Don't ever trust anyone."_ /

* * *

Clint winced as he felt the arrow brush his side violently. Shaking it off quickly he lifted his gaze when he heard rustling, then a faint thud. Apparently his arrow had found its mark.

How he could still stand was beyond him. The poison was burning his whole body like an inferno and he had a much too clear idea of how much blood he'd lost. Maybe it was sheer willpower. Had to be.

Buck wasn't all the way down when he reached the man, rather on one knee, breathing heavily. Clint was a little surprised to see two arrows sticking from the man. Apparently his aim had been better than he'd imagined. One had sunken greedily to Trick Shot's shoulder, the other to his leg. Neither wound was bleeding heavily.

Buck's eyes were pure lava and fire when they bore into his. "These… What the hell are you playing at?" his former mentor spat. "You could shoot better when I first met you!"

Clint shrugged, standing tall. It was incredible how calm and composed he felt all of a sudden, how clear his head was. Maybe it was the shock. Or maybe he was dying. Chilling, really, how little he managed to focus on worrying about that. "You know that I could've ended you if I wanted to", he pointed out. "I wasn't aiming for a kill shot."

Buck spread his arms. A small trail of blood seeped from the wound on his shoulder. "What the fucking hell are you waiting for!" the man barked out.

Clint's eyes hardened while he put away his bow. "You're dying, aren't you?" he realized. Stunned to discover that the fact pained him. Or then it were the wounds. "And you came here to make me finish you off." Exhaustion was taking over and this was all far too overwhelming. "I don't do mercy kills."

Buck gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt to watch. The man was starting to tremble. "I don't deserve your mercy", the archery master growled, the words crawling from deep within his throat.

Clint shrugged again. No matter how much it hurt. "No, you don't", he admitted. Far too many unpleasant memories sharpened his tone. "But maybe you deserve a one more chance to earn a little mercy."

Buck stared at him for a few moments. Then, as quickly and gracefully as his injuries allowed, the older archer got up, never once breaking eye contact with him. And leveled an arrow at him.

Everything was eerily still and bizarrely calm as they sized up one another. Letting years upon years of disappointment, rage, hurt and loss sweep through them. Then, just as unhesitantly as he lifted it, Buck lowered the arrow and put it away. "You deserve a little mercy, too, Clint", Trick Shot commented, his tone a great deal softer than before. With those words as his final verdict the man turned around and began to walk away. "I'd suggest you don't follow me. I've contacted one of your… allies with an antidote and coordinates. He should be here shortly."

Clint stared at his former mentor's distancing back until it disappeared from sight, unsure what to feel. The pain that'd been raging inside him became numb and hollow. Then, his injuries and the poison finally taking the best of him, he slumped to the ground and closed his eyes, drifting away.

* * *

/ _It was a pure coincidence that Buck had to return to the circus' office. Alarm bells went off in his head the second he saw a faint beacon of light. They were confirmed by the blood stains that seemed to be everywhere. Despite his best attempts his eyes widened a fraction at what he discovered._ _"Goddamnit, kid...!"_

 _Clint lay on the floor, completely still and breathing in a way that immediately struck Buck as horribly wrong. The kid had put up a good fight, he could tell that much from the bruised knuckles and blood under fingernails, but in the end his opponent had been stronger. There was an unnerving amount of blood covering the Hawk's face and a lot of bruises were already visible. Beaten half to death. Wrath boiled inside Buck._

 _True, he wasn't exactly a model citizen but he wasn't a monster, either._

 _Clint emitted a small, pathetic moan. Buck was at his side instantly. "Who did this to you?" he demanded in a hazardous hiss._

 _It was clear that Clint wouldn't stay even half conscious for long. The young man swallowed loudly. "Swo… Jacq…"_

 _Clint sunk into the dark, there. The next time he opened his eyes Barney was there. Irritation and anger flashed in his brother's eyes. The Hawk gulped, even if it hurt hellishly, and would've shifted to a more comfortable position if he'd dared to. "Ba…"_

 _"You're a fucking idiot", his brother barked. Those eyes lit into a blaze. "You were offered a great deal. And you condemned us to this hellhole. It's your fucking fault that we're stuck here!"_

 _Clint shivered and sunk deeper against the bedcovers. He did his best to hide the tears that wanted to erupt. Fortunately his consciousness was swept away, there._

 _When Clint woke up again Barney was gone. This time Buck was there, working on something with his back to him. The younger archer was pleased to discover that he was able to move a little without blacking out from agony. "What… did you do to Jacques?"_

 _"That would be none of your concern." Buck approached him with a couple of pills. "Now that you're finally awake take these. They'll help with the pain."_

 _Clint was in too much physical discomfort to question. He took the medicine and the water that followed gratefully. He would've wanted to ask where Barney was but eventually decided that he was already hurting enough._

 _He tensed up when Buck reached out a hand. It wasn't until seconds later he realized that it was to adjust the light, which was hurting his head. The man gave him a wry look that seemed to hide something underneath. "I'm not going to hurt you, you idiot. Sleep."_

 _Clint wasn't sure if he actually trusted or if the exhaustion simply became too much. Not that it would've mattered much. But he did fall asleep, there._ /

* * *

"Clint."

The voice calling out to him brought him back to awareness. Almost. Everything swayed until he finally saw Barney's face. His heart jumped.

Clearly seeing his distress Barney smirked. "It bites, doesn't it? To be abandoned, with an arrow sticking from you." His brother, or maybe his brother's ghost, leaned closer. "Shh… It'll be over soon. You're already on your way to hell, can you feel it?" The other's eyes filled with an incredible amount of malice. "And I'll be right there waiting for you, brother dear."

Clint's eyes burned. He was out of it enough to want to cry, maybe he did. "Barney, please…!" It was horribly hoarse and slurred. He wasn't sure what he wanted to beg for.

Barney cackled and brought a finger to his lips. And then Tony Stark's worried face replaced his brother's. "Clint, can you hear me?" When his eyelids drooped a stunningly gentle hand tapped at his cheek. "Hey, stay awake! Stay with me! Clint…!"

But Clint was forced to stop fighting. At least for a moment. The world went black.

* * *

/ _Clint would've needed a hospital but such couldn't exactly be risked in their situation. He was young but not too young to understand that his remaining mentor had too much to hide. With Buck's more or less reluctant help the young archer recovered._

 _Barney's absence was loud and clear. Until one late evening his brother showed up, with a nearly terrifying look on his face. "I'll be leaving tomorrow. And you'll come with me."_

 _Clint blinked twice. His chest tightened uncomfortably. "Where are you going?"_

 _Irritation flashed in Barney's eyes. The boy swatted the back of his head with one hand. "It doesn't matter, dimwit. All that matters is that we'll get out of here." Barney grinned. "It'll be amazing! We'll see so many places. I'll finally get the time to be something!"_

 _Clint frowned. Cold crept to the core of his being. "But… What about the circus? Barney, this is our home."_

 _He'd never, ever forget the look that filled Barney's eyes right there. For a moment he thought that his brother would hit him. The boy could've as well done so. "Well, I'm your brother. The only family you have left." Barney leaned closer, a threat in his gaze. "Now listen to me carefully. Either you come to the buss stop tomorrow and leave with me… or you don't have a brother anymore." With that Barney marched away, leaving Clint with his ultimatum._

 _Clint didn't sleep that night. Couldn't. Come morning his mind was made up. He wrote a hasty note to Buck, packed his few belongings and ran towards the buss stop, hoping that Barney was still waiting for him. Once he got there his heart fell._

 _There was no Barney. Or buss. He'd been five minutes too late._

 _Clint had stood there in pouring rain for at least half an hour until Buck's car pulled over. He couldn't read the look in his mentor's eyes. "Ready to go back home?"_ /

* * *

Clint woke up with some difficulty. There was beeping. And a sterile stench that instantly made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Mainly because he knew exactly where he was. He lifted his hand to rub his face but ended up slapping himself lightly.

"Hey!" There was movement and he nearly winced at the screech of a chair against the floor. "Are you finally done with your beauty nap?"

Clint groaned. He tried to turn, the muscles of his back begging for rest, but regretted it instantly when pain flared in his stomach. "… ran over by a truck?"

"Nah. Two arrows." Tony clearly aimed for a light tone but didn't succeed fully. "If you hadn't come so fucking close to dying on me I'd tease you about the irony."

"Language", Clint muttered instantly. He blinked and squinted, willing his eyes to adjust to the room's light. Little by little his friend's silhouette began to clear out.

Tony groaned. "Please don't. One walking swear jar in the team is enough." That… sounded oddly fond, actually. The inventor looked at him for a few seconds and frowned. "Are you… okay? Do you need pain meds or something?"

Clint sighed and shook his head. "I'm good." Well, at least the inferno in his stomach was subsiding. The physical side was manageable.

"Okay." Tony offered him a mug of water and waited until he'd had a few moments to enjoy the cool liquid before helping him put it away. "What happened, anyway?"

Clint's jaw tightened. He had no idea how to explain this… "An old friend decided that he wanted a bonding session", he decided on at last, hoping that it was enough. Of course it wasn't.

"A friend, huh? Well, that explains why I didn't find a body." Seeing his look Tony went on. "If you'd wanted the bastard dead I don't believe for even a second that they would've walked away alive."

Clint wondered what to say to that. This was the last topic he wanted to talk about. "It's complicated." There was no explanation more pathetic, he decided instantly.

If Tony's dry look was anything to go by the man agreed. "You were shot by a poisoned arrow and left to die. Yeah, 'complicated' is a good word."

"I wasn't left to die", Clint corrected, deep in thought. The memories were fuzzy at best but he was fairly sure that he remembered his last talk with Trick Shot. "I was left to live." That was when he noticed a piece of paper in Tony's hold. His chest clenched. "What's that?"

Tony grinned. "Oh, just something I found a while ago." Apparently it was a brochure, one the archer knew entirely too well. "A circus, Clint? Seriously?"

Clint felt incredibly cold as the words ' _COME AND SEE THE AMAZING HAWKEYE!_ ' stared back at him, taunting him. The tsunami on memories was a little too much, especially in his current condition.

"Clint?" Tony seemed worried again, which might've amused him some other day. "Hey, just… Breathe, okay? Sorry! I… I didn't know that it was a sore topic."

Clint gulped, fighting a small war to get his body and mind under his own control once more. He was left trembling in the aftermath. "It's okay. Just… Don't tell the others, okay?" He tried to lighten it with a frail joke. "The idea of me on a tightrope might be too much for them."

"Even Natasha doesn't know?" Tony asked, appearing genuinely surprised.

"Nope. And I'd rather keep it that way." Clint's eyes strayed towards the sweeties on the tiny table beside his bed. "Are those Good & Plenty?"

"Yeah. According to Romanoff you like." Tony made a face while offering them to him. "You're an odd bird."

Clint chuckled and chucked two candies into his mouth. His stomach and shoulder roared protests against the motions but he ignored them. "So they say."  
For a little while it was comfortably silent. Clint was even close to drifting back to sleep. Then, of course, Tony pressed on once more. "Who's Barney?"

If Clint had a candy in his mouth he might've choked on it. Every single muscle in his body tensed up and the heart monitor's beeping intensified. "Where did you hear that name?" He sounded far more defensive than he would've liked.

"You muttered it, just before you were out cold." A new line appeared to Tony's forehead. "Did he do this to you?" That was almost protective.

Clint felt trapped. Out of breath. In the end he gave the only honest answer he could. "Look…" He ran a hand through his hair. "There are… some things in my past that I don't want to talk about." _A lot of things._ "Because… I don't want you to think differently of me." He gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt. "So… Let's leave it at that." Was he pleading? He didn't really care.

Tony looked at him, for a moment seeming to see and know far more than the man should've. Then shrugged. "Everyone on our team has a past, Tweetie. We've all done stuff we're not exactly proud of. That's why we were brought together in the first place. To give us a chance to not screw up this time around."

Clint didn't know what to say. Soon a tiny, weak smile appeared to his lips. "That… was terrifyingly deep of you, Tin Can", he commented, his voice a little too hoarse.

Tony smirked and shrugged. "I have my moments." The scientist searched for a moment, eventually revealing a deck of cars. "Look, I've spent the last day staring at you snoozing and trying to resist the urge to draw a moustache on you. I'm _bored_. So, how about some Uno?"

Clint just had to chuckle at that. His eyes gained the beginning of a spark while he pushed himself to a better position. "How do I know that you didn't draw me a moustache?"

Tony's smirk wasn't exactly reassuring while the billionaire fiddled with the cards. "You won't know until you'll manage to haul your butt out of the bed. It's a risk you'll have to live with."

As they began to play, comfortingly familiar jabs and quips flying back and forth, Clint found himself relaxing. It wasn't like the ache and guilt would magically disappear. But he'd been lucky enough to find people who accepted him even with his past, no questions asked. And perhaps one day he'd learn to focus his sight fully on the future instead of looking over his shoulder in regret. Maybe they all would.

* * *

/ _Clint stayed with the circus and Trick Shot. What else could he have done? He improved his skills. Focused on leaving his past behind. And then he was invited to what honestly didn't sound like anything better a breaking and entry._

 _Buck's eyes were hard and evaluating. "In full honesty, I'm not sure if you have what it takes to handle this job. But I could use your skills."_

 _Clint's eyes narrowed. Both of his fists balled so tightly that it hurt. "What you're planning is a crime", he pointed out sharply. Was this really happening? Was this what his life had become?_

 _Buck's jaw tightened. "No. This is us, taking back what's rightfully ours." The older man leaned closer. "Do you come with me? Or do you walk away? Because if you leave there's no coming back."_

 _Clint felt like a wild beast that'd been chased to a corner as he nodded tensely, his stomach knotting painfully._

 _It was late at night when they made their way to a massive mansion. Sneaking past the security cameras wasn't a challenge. The real difficulties began when they made it inside. Because there were five security guards waiting for them._

 _While Buck handled two of them Clint did the same. Quick, efficient. Bile rose into his throat as he watched the bodies fall down. He knew that he should've advanced further immediately, continued onwards without looking back. But it was the first time he took a life. And as he stared at the corpses he suddenly realized that it wouldn't be the last. The realization lay such a weight on his shoulders that it nearly brought him to his knees._

 _His moment of remorse ended up costing him dearly. Steps approached further in the hallway and Clint realized that if he wouldn't act fast there was no escape. His hands shook ever so slightly as he lifted his bow a one more time, readying himself for the grim task._

 _A shadow moved. That was enough. The arrow flew almost soundlessly, finding its home. There was a small, almost groan like sound of pain a second before his opponent went down. It was barely audible but still enough to turn Clint's blood into ice. His eyes widened behind his mask._

No, no, no…!

 _Clint hurried onwards although he didn't want to see. He froze a slight distance away from the injured man. Because although it'd been ages since they last met he recognized Barney. Just like he knew exactly how much damage the arrow plunged to his brother's stomach might've done._

 _Before he knew properly what was happening Clint was down on his knees beside Barney, assessing the damage, struggling to find his voice. But what could he have possibly said in this situation? What words would've done any good? Behind the mask tears filled his eyes while his heart ached and hammered furiously._

 _He barely heard Buck approaching before the man spoke. "The bastard's triggered an alarm. The cops will be here soon. Let's go."_

 _Clint shook his head, unable to look away from Barney. He had absolutely no idea what to do. But he did know that he couldn't just leave his brother. "No." Couldn't Buck understand?_

 _Clearly not. His mentor groaned in annoyance. "Stupid brat… I'm not going to get caught because you decided to get sentimental!"_

 _"He's my brother!" Clint cried out, sounding every bit as young as he was, and stood up, subconsciously placing himself between Barney and his mentor._

 _Buck lifted his mask, so that he could see the man's stone hard face. The eyes leveled at him were far darker and colder than usual. "Is that your final answer?"_

 _Clint gritted his teeth. And nodded. Because he refused to become the kind of a man who walked away from a fallen brother. "Yeah", he announced with every little bit of conviction he could possibly muster. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving him."_

 _Buck's response was instant and shocking. Clint barely had the time to see the man's bow move before an arrow pierced his shoulder. Black flames danced in the older archer's eyes. "In that case, don't bother coming back to the circus", Trick Shot barked through his teeth. "Because the next time I see you, I'll kill you. There's no room for turn coats under my roof."_

 _Clint's heart thudded painfully while Buck marched away and he half gasped, half hissed under the sheer agony radiating from his injury. Mind numbing, all of it. His eyes stung horribly while he turned them towards Barney, stared at the still, bloodied form of his brother. "I'm sorry", he murmured, wincing when ache spiked up once more. A few more tears rolled. "I… guess it's like dad said, huh. We've got the Barton-luck."_

 _Barney remained unconscious. Clint was about to tend to his brother until he heard noise. That was when he remembered that Buck mentioned an alarm having been triggered. He swallowed loudly, tensing up._

 _Once more Clint looked at his brother. Hoping from the bottom of his heart that it wouldn't be the final time. "Hear that?" he whispered. "Help's here. So don't you dare die on me."_

 _Only seconds before people began pouring in Clint limped away, blatantly ignoring his injury. It wasn't like the arrow would've been what hurt the most, anyway. He disappeared into the night, knowing all too well that as of that day he had no home or family._

 _Clint was lost, hurt, abandoned and wounded. Like one of those stray dogs his dad used to drag behind their house to be put out of their misery. And he remained lost for a very long time, until it was the right time to find a real home._ /

* * *

A couple of weeks later Clint's eyes were more than a little glazed over when he stared at a tombstone, despite all the time that'd flown by feeling the pain fresh and new. A familiar, horrible guilt rose inside him, threatening to consume him. He swallowed and breathed, in, out. As though reminding himself that he still could.

 _Charles Bernard 'Barney' Barton_

"I'm sorry", he murmured. And was fairly sure that he'd never uttered anything quite as honest in his entire life. His fists clenched painfully tightly and he looked up, focusing on the dark, heavy clouds drifting by. "About everything. That… it went so badly wrong, somewhere along the way. That I couldn't…" His jaw tightened.

Clint breathed again. Managed to regain control. "You're my brother and I let you down. And… Although I'll never forgive myself… Maybe I can do better for my new families. Maybe it'll wash away some of the blood on my hands." He had the Avengers and his own family to protect, now. And he'd be damned if he'd repeat past mistakes and let them down, too.

Suddenly he tensed up at the slight, strange whisper in the air. It came from somewhere behind him. Filled him with dread and something else he couldn't name. "Barney?" Of course he knew that it was ridiculous. His brother had been gone for a very long time. But the feeling swelling in his chest...

Only the wind answered him.

Clint shook his head and swallowed down the bitter disappointment. Then, finally, he summoned his courage and faced the name on the stone once more. He didn't know about the single tear that rolled down his cheek. "I'm sorry", he repeated, even if the words were of no use. And decided that enough was enough. He caressed the tombstone with his hand upon leaving. "Happy birthday, Barney."

Clint did what he'd done all his life. He stood tall and walked on, walked it off. Survived. And he was determined not to give up just yet.

Natasha wasn't the only one who had some red on their ledger.

* * *

Quite far away, in the cover of trees, Barney kept aiming an arrow at Clint's distancing back for a couple of more seconds before lowering it.

One day they'd meet again properly. They'd duel until only one of them was left standing. But now wasn't the right time.

"See you around, Clint."

* * *

 ** _End of short story._**

* * *

A/N: I know, it wasn't 100 percent sorted. But at least Clint's slowly gaining some peace with his past. (sighs) The poor thing! Thank gosh he now has people to stand beside him.

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? Was that any good? PLEASE, do let me know! It always has me all giddy and excited to hear from fellow Hawkeye-fans.

Ooooh, and before I forget! I've now looked a bit further into this collections. So, my dear readers, here are the following four stories:

The Undead Buried – Clint is buried alive and while he fights for his life the team struggles to find him before it's too late.

Why Hawks Hate Snakes – A mission with Natasha becomes increasingly hazardous to Clint when he's bitten by a snake. They complete the mission but will the evac come fast enough to save Clint's life?

The Hammer of God – Sometimes Thor forgets that some of those he fights beside are mere human. Clint pays the price for that. Will even a trip to Asgard be enough to save him?

The Tale of a Werehawk (a two or three parter) – The team could've never known to expect what'd follow when Clint is bitten by a strange wolf. When he begins to change into something decidedly not human they turn to Dr. Strange in hopes of a solution. Will it comes fast enough? Because there's a hunter with silver bullets after their hawk turned wolf… (I'm actually REALLY excited to include some supertunatural elements, heh!)

How do those sound, folks? **Do keep the requests coming, I LOVE receiving them!** And, as a further bonus… Soon enough I'll be sealing a typing project. To honor that, I'm planning on launching a new 'Avengers' one in near future. One that has a somewhat loose tie to this latest part of this collection, actually!

The story starts from where Coulson first persuades Clint to join the Avengers. Gaining the Hawkeye's trust doesn't come easily. Then a mission gone wrong changes everything…

Whadda ya say? Would any of you want to read such?

Awkay, that's a LONG author's note! I'm actually pretty busy right now so I've gotta get going. Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest 13: I'm overjoyed that you've enjoyed it! (BEAMS) We'll see how the tale ends… Hopefully it won't fall flat in your book.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: I'd say! (winces) Hopefully he'll get out of this in one piece. I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it!

Oooooh, I looooooove your ideas! You're not the first person to request Clint getting bitten by a snake. Needless to say I'm not averse to it. (grins) And I have a MASSIVE soft spot for sick-fics, so such will totally appear!

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

GalliumKnight: (grins and offers a large amount of popcorn) GOSH, it makes MY day that you enjoyed it so! I really, truly hope that you'll enjoy the final bit of this tale as much.

Massive thank yous for the review!


	16. The Undead Buried

A/N: It took me a bit longer than usual but the new update is now here. Hooray…? Before getting to it, though…

Tons of thank yous for your fantastic reviews, listings and support! You guys are amazing. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, because I know what you came here for… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

ADDITIONAL WARNING of the theme of getting buried alive.

* * *

The Undead Buried

* * *

"Clint? Hey. Wake up."

Clint frowned, aching and annoyed. He was exhausted. Why couldn't he just be left alone for five more freaking minutes…?

"CLINT!" This time the voice echoing in his pounding skull was far louder, a great deal more urgent. "Wake up!"

Clint's eyes flew open and he gasped, something lingering in the air making him cough heavily. He groaned and squinted, desperately trying to figure out what was going on. Didn't he just open his eyes? So why was it still dark?

Clint's heart began to beat a lot more frantically while rather unnerving possibilites whispered in his head. He swallowed thickly, moving his arm to test that he still could. His hand froze as soon as his fingertips brushed against something he recognized after a prolonged pause.

A flashlight?

Clint was already getting the feeling that he wouldn't like this. Gritting his teeth against the way his stomach dropped he grabbed the flashlight and switched it on. In about three seconds he wished that he hadn't.

There was wood above him, unnervingly close to his nose. And when he investigated further he realized that he'd been closed into a wooden box so small that he barely fit in. The realization made him feel incredibly cold, stole away whatever little breath he still had.

He'd been buried alive. The bastard they were after… The guy buried him alive.

Clint's heart hammered close to his throat while he counted his options, fighting against the instinctive panic with all his willpower. He could try screaming, of course. But it'd waste precious oxygen and if the asshole who put him into the box was still there… Well, the chances of that guy being helpful were fairly slim. Which left him with his own help to rely on. Although, would he really get the coffin to break before his fists would? Because there was no way he would've been left with his weaponry. And what if he would somehow manage to smash the wood? Who knows how much dirt would fall on him and potentially either crush or suffocate him. Plus there was the issue of his captor potentially keeping watch. So… What? He'd just lay there and wait for death? No way in hell!

"Hey!" Clint bellowed, all too aware that he was wasting his breath. Literally. He banged at the wood, unleashing some terror influenced fury. "Asshole! You didn't finish the job! I'm still alive!" Even if his captor wasn't there perhaps his team still was. There was no harm in hoping, was there. Although he received no answer. His eyes began to sting and he told himself firmly that it was due to the combination of slow suffocation and all the dust lingering in the coffin. "HEY! I'M STILL ALIVE DOWN HERE!"

Only silence answered him.

* * *

The mission had been a nasty one. Thor had been unable to attend because Asgard needed him but the rest of them were all too certainly there. And much too aware of the fact that they were down their very own archer.

After making sure that Bruce was out cold, exhausted by Hulking out and the lullaby, Natasha and Tony began the frantic process of going through the enemy base's security footage. Starting from the explosion that knocked out her and Steve. What they discovered didn't fill them with comfort.

Clint, who'd made his perch a bit further, was there instantly. Thankfully Big Green was busy tearing down the other half of the massive laboratory or the Hawk would've received a rather unpleasant welcome. Quickly and efficiently, his face full of worry, Clint assessed his unconscious friends. Then tapped at his ear comm to contact Tony. " _They're alive, just got knocked out. We have to get them out of here, fast. Take down the software so we can get going._ " The archer then tensed up and straightened his form, preparing himself.

Although she'd seen him in action several times Clint's speed still stunned Natasha. Without missing even a single second the archer shot down ten hostiles who'd obviously made the mistake of underestimating him. The five that followed were prepared and more of a challenge. With a groan and a look of frustration Clint took cover, then kept fighting. After a second Natasha noticed her friend's purposeful motions. Clint was leading the attackers further and further away from her and Steve.

"That guy's insane", Tony muttered, only a slight change in tone revealing his true feelings over the matter.

Natasha didn't bother responding. Because on the footage Clint had already managed to take down the five new attackers and was contacting Tony again. " _You done already?_ " Yes, Tony was. Relief appeared to Clint's sharp eyes. " _Good. Get Cap and Widow out of here. I got rid of the hostiles but I have a feeling that I'm not alone._ "

As though to confirm Clint's words they saw a dart flying. It hit the archer directly to the man's neck. Clint's eyes widened and he had the time to whisper " _Crap…!_ " before the footage was cut and the screen filled with black.

Tony swore in a way that would've earned him a glare from Steve. There was a stunning amount of worry in the Iron Man's eyes. "What do you think the bastard did to him?"

Natasha shook her head, her chest tightening painfully. She squeezed the desk before her so hard that her knuckles turned white. "I don't know." And she hated it. "But we have to find him quickly."

* * *

For Clint time dragged on. Was he even awake anymore? He groaned and wiggled when his muscles began to grow numb. His head _hurt_ and he just wanted to get out of this mess he'd somehow gotten himself into.

Once more he banged at the wood although the gesture didn't come out as strong anymore. He was running out of energy far faster than he would've cared to realize. "What are you, a coward!" he growled, struggling not to guess how deep he'd been buried, if his voice even managed to carry anywhere. "Face me fairly! Don't… Don't just put me here…!"

There was a small, barely audible creak. Clint froze, his eyes widening a fraction. What…? He shifted the flashlight, darting it towards the part he'd just assaulted. His heart lurched.

There was a fine hairline fracture. Apparently his earlier assessment had been incorrect. Breaking his wooden prison wouldn't be a challenge. Keeping it together, keeping the earth above from rolling in and smothering him, on the other hand…

 _Shit, shit, SHIT…!_

Clint gulped, his gaze darting around in the dimly lit tiny space. He was starting to feel lightheaded. How long had he been unconscious? How much air did he have left? It wasn't like he would've actually wanted to know but…

He would've wanted to kick the coffin with all his might to unleash some of the pent up frustration but quickly reminded himself that he was already in a big enough trouble. So he held still. Tried to breathe. Yes, breathing sounded like a brilliant plan right about now.

Where was the rest of the team, anyway? The last thing he remembered was hearing was an explosion. Shouts. Grunts. Was any of them alive? Had they been buried, too? He'd never, ever admit it to a living soul but in those moments of despair and worry even hearing Tony's voice would've felt like a precious gift.

Of course they were all alive, he told himself firmly. Convinced himself into believing so because it was the only thing keeping him sane. They were all alive and well. And soon they'd come looking for him. He'd just have to stay alive.

He'd just have to breathe.

* * *

Steve's blood boiled in a way he wasn't comfortable with while he sat across the table from Isaiah McDonald, the only hostile they'd managed to catch alive. At least three of the man's associates had gotten away. Right now that didn't matter. "What did you do with Hawkeye?"

Isaiah arched an eyebrow. "Hawkeye? Is he that archer of yours?" The man's eyes darkened while he leaned closer. When he eventually spoke his accent was far thicker than before. "Today you bastards boxed twenty-two of my men. Three of which were my brothers. I thought it only fair to box one of yours in return."

Steve's blood ran cold. It was incredibly hard not to let the panic show. _NO…!_ "What's that supposed to mean?" he barked.

Isaiah shrugged. "What? Where's the fun if I tell you everything?" The man wasn't exactly subtle when checking the time. "You're probably too late, anyway. It depends on how good lungs the little bird has. Either way, I'd hurry back if you want him to stand even a snowball's chance in hell." The criminal sneered. "Surely the good Captain wouldn't want to lose a member of his little gang of freaks?"

Steve's line was crossed right there. He bounced up so quickly that his chair fell. There was no telling what he would've done if Natasha hadn't barged in just then. Determination burned in the Widow's eyes. "We've gotta go, now! Hawkeye activated his tracking device."

Steve was instantly on the move, trusting their unwilling visitor to the company of five guards. The criminal snickered behind his back. "Tick, tock, Captain. Don't look so sad. At least you may get the chance to take his body home."

As the door slammed closed Steve wanted to throw up and was beyond grateful that Natasha didn't say anything while they hurried on.

* * *

In. Out. In. Out. Good, good. Nice and easy…

Clint squinted his eyes, his jaw tightening. Although his head was growing dimmer he told himself to focus. Ordered himself to hang on with tooth and nail.

"I… I killed… what, fifteen… of your men…", he growled. It didn't matter anymore if the one who put him into this mess was listening. "I'm not… going down… like this. I'll keep… breathing, you hear me? For the… spite of it." And he meant it.

He'd made it through bombs. Bullets. Falls. Smashed bones. Internal injuries. He was _not_ going to go down buried alive.

In… Out… In… Out… He could do this.

* * *

None of them wanted to return to the laboratory of horrors. But if that was where Clint's signal led them… Well, their options ended there.

Tony frowned, his eyes never once leaving the small device he was holding. "I don't get it", the inventor admitted with clearly apparent reluctance. "He should be almost right here but all I can see is sand and ruins."

"Tony…!" Steve gasped while Natasha stiffened.

Tony shook his head, deaf to his teammates. "Maybe this piece of junk is broken. Or…"

"Tony!" Steve's tone was more than enough to command his attention. Let alone the look in the man's eyes. "Look."

Tony did. His heart almost certainly skipped a beat. "Jesus…!"

Less than ten steps away from them a wooden cross had been shoved to the sand. It took a second before he noticed the picture of an arrow carved on it. The realization was like a jolt of electricity.

Instantly they were already running, hoping with their all that they weren't too late already.

* * *

Clint was lingering on the edge of gray when he heard something. Thuds. Muffled sounds. At first he thought that he was hallucinating until they came closer. And closer. Then something very hard hit the surface of his prison.

" _Clint!_ " Tony's voice was far tighter than usual. Was that… worry? Nah, he was imagining things. " _Clint, now would be a very good fucking time to start answering me!_ "

They were trying to get to him. The sounds from before were growing louder. His raspy, pathetic voice barely carried through. "… so long?" His heart was practically singing with joy. It'd be okay. Everything would be alright.

More muffled voices erupted outside at the sound of his voice. Tony's pause was torturous, only eased by the continued noises of the rescue drawing nearer. " _Sorry about that. But we're right here now, Birdie. Stick around so we can drag your feathery ass out of there. Do we have a deal?_ "

Clint's eyelids drooped while he smiled a bit in the dark.

" _I need actual words, Clint!_ "

Tony using his first name beckoned him out of the bizarre hue even more forcefully than the man's uncharacteristic tone of voice. Clint licked his lips and sighed. He was exhausted but… "'ryone okay?" he rasped. He had a feeling that he'd pass out soon but he needed to know…

Was that a snort? Certainly not a sob. Right…? " _Yeah, you idiot._ " Tony sounded disturbingly affectionate. He made a sluggish mental note to tease the billionaire about it later. " _We're all in one piece. Ready to join forces and give you hell for this when we get you out._ "

Tony kept droning on, without a doubt talking to disturb himself from panicking. Clint welcomed the familiar voice with joy. Without noticing it he closed his eyes. Became deaf to the echoes of his rescue, oblivious to how little air he had left.

It'd all be okay, he'd just have to breathe…

* * *

"He's not breathing!"

The fact that Natasha sounded terrified alone was enough to induce terror. But the sight of Clint, horribly bruised and nauseatingly still with his eyes closed… That was something else entirely. For a second, two, Steve stared, barely able to breathe himself.

Tony's eyes were wide. "He… He was just talking to me!"

At last Steve regained control himself. "We have to get him out of there!" he snarled, his voice the booming order of a Captain. "Right now!"

Despite their own bruises and mild injuries the three of them were remarkably quick. They hauled Clint from the wooden box to solid ground. Natasha was the fastest and pulled out a knife, slashing more quickly than a thought could travel. The fabric covering Clint's chest was torn. It spoke a lot about the severity of the situation that Tony didn't even try to crack an easy joke.

Steve knew better than well that they couldn't waste any more precious time. He gritted his teeth painfully tightly to collect his thoughts and began the compressions. He chose to ignore the bruising Clint's chest already had. Additional bruising wouldn't damage the archer, inability to breathe certainly would.

One… Two… Three… He kept repeating the cycle of thirty over and over again, relieved beyond all belief that he could do it without growing tired. He was starting to lose it, though. Because under his hands Clint was still completely still. A horrific shade of blue was already sneaking to the Hawk's lips.

"Clint, you moron!" Natasha's eyes were burning. And suspiciously moist. "You're not doing this to me, do you hear!"

Steve swallowed, feeling sick. His own eyes were getting bleary and achy. It'd been several minutes. He didn't know… "Natasha…" He couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence, that grim verdict.

Natasha seemed to understand enterily too clearly, anyway. Her eyes flashed in a way he'd never seen before. "NO!" With a stunning amount of force she pushed him out of the way, taking his place. No one would've dared to point out the treacherous, lone tear trailing down her cheek while she slammed her fist at Clint's unresponsive chest. Then again. And again. "I'm not letting you leave, Barton! BREATHE!"

She never got the chance to strike a fifth time. Because all of a sudden Clint's whole body seemed to convulse as he pulled in a greedy, wheezing breath, twisting himself to his side. He gasped and coughed, still unnervingly pale and a little blue but alive. His eyes were half open and dazed while he blinked, visibly trying to understand. "Wah…?" He wheezed yet again, then groaned and rubbed at his chest. "… Thor's hammer …?"

"Nah." Relief shone bright in Tony's eyes. "Something much more dangerous." The inventor nodded towards Natasha.

Clint turned his head. Under different circumstances the confused look on his face might've been amusing. "Tasha…?"

She shrugged. Once more in perfect control over herself, as though she'd never slipped. Her hand was grabbing Clint's in a iron hard hold, though. "Your respiratory system needed some recalibration."

Clint chuckled. Then winced, squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a second. "Thanks…" His voice dripped with sarcasm and relief.

It wasn't until then, fully certain that everything would be alright, Steve could breathe easily. In. Out. "I'm sorry that we took so long." And he meant it, from the bottom of his heart.

Clint, who'd by some miracle managed to sit up, shrugged. "'s okay." He sounded sincere. "'knew you guys 'ld be here. I heard you. All of you."

Steve smiled although he had no idea what, exactly, the archer meant. Tony first stared, obviously wondering if the other was serious, then flashed his famoust Stark grin. Natasha's hand tightened around Clint's while her face betrayed nothing.

The med evac finally graced the shaken foursome with their presence twenty-five minutes later. As they were escorting Clint away, observed firmly by both Tony and Natasha, the Hawk turned towards the Captain once more. "'o me a favor?" The archer bit back a cough. "Burn… that box for me… Yeah?"

"It'll be my pleasure", Steve swore with utmost honesty.

* * *

Bruce never fully found out what, exactly, happened. He heard that afterwards Clint was in need of medical attention and saw for himself that all four appeared uncharacteristically shaken. For the upcoming four months Clint's room at the Tower had lights on every single night. Bruce knew because of his own restless nights. Sometimes they even ended up chatting until the morning about nothing in particular when they were both not exactly in the condition to be alone. Clint also didn't seem happy with the dark and closed spaces, even going as far as refusing to set foot into the Tower's elevator. It also took months before the trio that brought him back stopped appearing tense and worried whenever Clint disappeared from their sight during missions. Which happened a lot. Quite often Bruce felt tempted to ask what, exactly, happened.

But everyone was still alive. Everyone was still breathing. And eventually they were all alright. That was all the information the scientist really needed.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Uh huh, buried alive… SERIOUSLY nasty. But thank gosh our Hawk was saved! Heh, of course he was. (grins)

Sooo… Any good, at all? Back to the drawing board? The vote's yours!

UP NEXT: Poor Hawk ends up into a trouble with snakes. After that Thor learns a horrible lesson of how fragile humans can be… And then, we'll take a dip to the supernatural when we face the case of a Werehawk… How do those sound to you?

Awkay, I've really gotta go and get some sleep. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

GalliumKnight: (BEAMS) Yay! I'm thrilled that yo uhad such a good time.

And yup, those are all upcoming additions to this collection. (grins) There'll be plenty of havoc up ahead. Poor Hawk…! I REALLY hope that the next one meets your expectations.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: (grins and bows) Heh, I couldn't resist the thought of Clint having a secret even from Natasha. I'm super happy that you enjoyed it!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: Awww, you can't even imagine how happy you made me! Ooooh, and better than the last in your book? (BEAMS) I'm super intrigued by Clint's past and VERY happy to discover that I'm not the only one.

I really hope that you'll enjoy the next adventure with the Hawk as much!

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: Yosh! I'm really happy that you're so excited. I really hope that you'll keep having a good time with this collection!

Ooooh yes, we'll TOTALLY see that story in this collection! I LOVE that consept.

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	17. Why Hawks Hate Snakes

A/N: Hiya there folks! And to those of you who celebrate it… 'Hope you had a great Thanksgiving!

Awkay, before unleashing this new beast properly… THANK YOU, a billion times, for your AMAZING reviews, listings and love! My gosh, it makes my heart sing that my favorite Hawk has so many friends. (BEAMS, and hugs) I really hope that you'll keep having a good time with this collection!

Now, because stalling is always rude… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the madness ahead. Snakes a'hoy!

* * *

Why Hawks Hate Snakes

* * *

The more time passed by from Loki and the nightmare the Trickster brought along the more Clint felt like he might simply burst. People who used to be his comrades didn't trust him anymore. Hell, _he_ didn't trust himself.

How do you bounce back from losing yourself so completely?

Apparently by gritting your teeth, standing right back up and moving along. Because nine weeks after it all a reluctant looking psychiatrist announced that Clint was ready for field duty. Clint himself wasn't much happier but relaxed the tiniest fraction after the announcement that Natasha would join him on his first mission.

Their task was to find an agent who'd betrayed the agency before the man would sell highly important information to a small terrorist cell in Colombia. Via definitely _not_ legal routes they even discovered when the information would exchange hands. It sounded simple enough. Until the duo of Strike Team Delta found themselves from a jungle.

Clint discovered a perch quite easily from the trees. His eyes scanned around, catching several shadows moving about. "Six hostiles", he announced to his ear comm. "One of them seems to be our boy. At your three o'clock."

While Natasha moved to handle their primary target, taking down two others along the way, Clint launched four arrows at lightning speed, taking care of the other threats. On the ground the traitor had finally spotted the danger and was attacking Natasha viciously. She put up one hell of a fight but in the end the desperate man threw her to the ground so that her ankle bent to an uncomfortable position. Hopefully it was only twisted, not broken. Clint's eyes narrowed and he would've screamed into his ear piece if he hadn't feared that it'd lead Natasha into a bigger trouble. And blow his cover. So instead of making a sound he pulled out an arrow and aimed.

It was almost a second too late when he noticed that he wasn't alone either, after all. There, a mere breath away from his hand, lingered a snake. And although he didn't now anything about snakes he could tell that this one wasn't happy.

Clint weighed his options. To help Natasha and risk getting attacked himself? Or to let…?

Well, there wasn't any choice, was there? Gritting his teeth Clint sent off the arrow, already preparing himself for the fact that this one was going to hurt. For less than a breath nothing happened. And then the beast decided that he'd crossed a line.

The pain was so intense that for a few beats Clint couldn't think. A bizarre, breathless gasp left him as the snake's teeth sunk to his hand, slicing eagerly through the skin between his thumb and index finger. When the pest started a disgusting and incredibly painful pumping motion the Hawk couldn't take anymore.

He shook his hand violently because it was a much better alternative than cutting the limb off entirely. The snake seemed to enjoy the challenge for it tightened the grip, intensifying the agony. At that point the archer decided that he refused to be a chew toy. Concluding that it was well worth the sacrifice he took a small knife and plunged it mercilessly through the reptile. While a logical part of his head tried to scream that preserving the creature might be a good idea, so the species could be identified, Clint just wanted it _gone_. He didn't care where it landed. It wasn't far enough.

Unwilling to face the bite wound just yet Clint looked towards Natasha instead. His arrow had hit the mark. The man who attacked her lay on the ground and wouldn't be getting up. "You alright?" he asked immediately.

Natasha, who'd moved aside from where she'd been out in the open, took a second before responding. " _Yeah. Of course._ " She sounded perfectly in control over herself, as always. The familiarity of it was a comfort.

Clint chose to take her word for that, just this once. He pulled in a breath. "I think that was the last of it. But we'd better scram before more people come looking. Did your friend down there have the time to call for backup?"

" _Nope. I kept him nice and busy._ " Natasha sounded impatient. He couldn't fault her on that. " _Now get down here, Birdie. I'm fed up with this place._ "

Clint shared her sentiment exactly. Without wasting another second he jumped down and, following some sixth sense, tracked her down. Relief coursed through him as he assessed that save some bruising she seemed fine. And pissed off. Her eyebrows furrowed when she noticed the wound on his hand. "Is that a snake bite?"

Clint shrugged, feeling a little cold and shaken although he would've never admitted it. "We both got a little hostile. I was bigger and meaner." He gritted his teeth. "I'm fine." And more than a little stunned by the fact. He swallowed, wondering if for once luck was on his side. "Maybe it was the harmless kind."

"Yeah, maybe." Natasha didn't seem to be full of optimism. "Whatever the case we've gotta get that wound looked at. Now let's move it." She squeezed his shoulder with uncharacteristic tenderness. Her eyes also weren't as devoid of emotion as she probably probably would've liked. "Idiot."

Despite physical discomfort and his still fried nerves Clint just had to smile a bit. Because he heard all the things she would've never, ever voiced. "You're welcome." As they began to move he noticed the way she was limping now that there was no acute danger. His eyebrows furrowed while worry twisted around his stomach. "Do you need a hand?"

Natasha gave him a half-hearted glare. "I'm not that bad off, Birdie. Offer an arm and I'll break it."

Nonetheless they walked a step or two closer to each other than before, both trembling just a little bit from the fading adrenaline.

* * *

Natasha absolutely hated being injured. And today she had a particularly good reason to be irritated. Because it took them over an hour to reach the safehouse, where they could finally call for an evac. Also, more importantly, they could finally take care of Clint's wound. It didn't look horribly threatening but her instincts were telling her to stay on alert. She wasn't pleased to discover that it might take over ten hours before help would get to them.

" _I'm sorry, Widow. But you know how complicated the diplomatic issues are. Sending the two of you there without an official permission was already a massive risk. If I send a full team…_ "

Natasha's eyes flashed. She squeezed the table before her so hard that her knuckles turned white. "I don't give shit about diplomacy!" she hissed.

"Tasha." Clint seemed vaguely amused. Maybe even touched. "Give me the phone, will you?"

Natasha's left foot tapped with impatience while she observed the rather brief conversation that took place.

"Black… Red… Yellow… In which order? I don't know. I had a snake hanging from my hand! You think I stopped to admire it?" Clint gritted his teeth while listening. "The color of the head…?" His mouth opened until remembrance flashed in his eyes. "Black. I remember with how badly I wanted to chop it off. Why?" Clint listened quietly for a few moments. Very, very quietly. Far too much so. "Yeah, copy that." And so the conversation was over.

Natasha's patience hadn't improved throughout the eerie phone call. "Well?" she demanded. "What's the verdict?"

Clint shrugged. There was a tiny grin on his lips. "I received strict orders not to die. Apparently I shouldn't of this one so stop frowning at me." He got up and stretched. He was obviously sore but she'd seen him in a worse shape. _A lot_ worse. "So, while we wait for our chariot… Canned food?"

* * *

Clint fought stubbornly to hide his rising level of anxiety as time kept ticking by. He now knew exactly what bit him. Or at least he had a fairly solid guess. Too bad that also happened to be the bad news.

With his luck he really shouldn't have expected anything harmless. According to the information he now had the beast that attacked him was a coral snake. Fortunately that particular snake's poison wouldn't kill him in an hour or two. It might take a great deal of time before the symptoms would appear. Unfortunately the rescue, now armed with an antivenom, wouldn't be there for at least another eight hours. It'd take some time before the team would be able to enter the country without causing a diplomatic and bureaucratic nightmare. Plus there was the problem of actually reaching them. They'd activated their tracking devices, of course, but with the thick jungle surrounding them no one would be able to get to them with a simple, quick march.

Clint could've told Natasha about the whole situation, of course. Should've, really. But was there any point? There was nothing she could do to help him and all she'd get out of the information was unnecessary panic. Besides, chances were that he'd be able to hang in there just fine, with little to no symptoms, until the rescue crew would get there.

He'd just have to suck it up and deal with it.

The first five hours were very much tolerable. Apart from mild throbbing and swelling the bite showed no signs of itself. Clint already dared to start relaxing when the symptoms finally came rolling in.

He was just getting some more ice for Natasha's ankle when he started seeing everything double. He swayed and frowned, for a moment wondering what was causing the ailment. As though on cue the bite wound began to throb. He swallowed thickly, leaning his hand against the wall for support and trying to decide what to do. In the end he realized that he couldn't do much more but face the music as bravely as possible.

Obviously sensing that something was wrong Natasha looked at him with a frown. Or apparently two Natashas, as his eyes told him. "Clint?" Her voice echoed painfully in his ears. "What's wrong?"

Clint blinked twice, slowly. "I… I'm just feeling… a bit funny." Why did he sound like he'd had one or two too many?

Alarm lit up in Natasha's eyes. "It's the venom, isn't it?" She swore loudly in several languages upon reading the answer from his eyes. So fast that it startled him a bit she was there, helping him to the couch. "You're expected to share these things", she snapped. A good eye caught that she was a shade or two paler than before.

Clint swallowed thickly. His head was starting to hurt and he couldn't quite smother the wave of fear starting to creep in. "'Sorry." He wondered if it was even comprehensible. He tried to smile, even if just a little bit, because he didn't like the glint of near terror in her eyes. "'Help's coming."

Natasha nodded. The steel hard look on her face didn't look natural. "I know. So you'd better stick around, you hear? You'd never forgive yourself if you went down because of a fucking snake." And neither would she, if her tone was anything to go by.

Clint took her hand and squeezed the best as he could. Even if it was mostly just his muscles acting up. "'not going anyw'ere", he murmured.

* * *

The hour and a half that followed felt endless to Natasha. Eventually Clint started to have problems with sitting up on his own so she moved behind him, wrapping both arms firmly and stubbornly around him. Letting him know that he still most certainly wasn't allowed to give up. She knew that keeping him talking would've been a good idea but couldn't take hearing his slurred voice any longer. Clint had always been a infuriatingly talkative person. To have that ability reduced to the level of a small child only learning to speak was a far louder threat of him being taken away than the paleness and sheen of cold sweat on his forehead.

Eventually he began to tremble. At first she imagined that he was feeling cold until she saw the alarm in his hazy eyes. Muscle spasms, then. Bad ones. It took a lot of self control of Natasha to keep her own body from starting to shake as a response.

And then his hand stopped squeezing hers properly. Alarm flared through her like wildfire. "Clint, you doing okay?"

Clint swallowed hard. It was paiful to watch how hard he fought to not look scared. "'Hand's a bit numb, is all", he managed in a voice she barely recognized. "Legs, too."

They both knew all too clearly what was going on. The venom was a neurotoxin. Clint's muscles… He was losing control over them. It was only a matter of time before it'd start messing with his heart and then… She really, really didn't want her thoughts to go there. Instead she held him even tighter, with all the determination she had.

"… smothering me …", Clint pointed out. Despite everything he sounded almost amused. Well, he did have a weird sense of humor.

Natasha shrugged. She didn't dare to loosen her hold. "And you keep scaring me half to death like this. Consider us even."

In her arms Clint tried to shift to a more comfortable position, which didn't seem to exist. His eyes were barely open and the words were horribly slurred. But to her they were entirely too loud and clear. "If I pass out… Tell Phil… I quit."

Natasha shook her head. Talking past the lump in her throat was a mighty struggle. _Damnit, Clint…!_ "Nah, no need. He knows you won't." She was _not_ letting him quit on her.

Clint sighed, then winced. His twitching and spasming muscles were obviously giving him hard time. "Hmm… No, I won't", he agreed at last. His nose wrinkled like he'd just tasted something incredibly foul. "No more snakes, though… Gotta tell Phil that."

Natasha wanted to tell him to shut up before he'd shatter all of her remaining self control. But she couldn't bring herself to. They both jolted when a thrumming of steps approached the hideout all of a sudden. In aninstinctive gesture to protect them both Clint's hand slid towards where his gun was hidden, even if he had to realize that there was no way he'd be able to use it in his current condition. The tense wait lasted for two seconds until the door was thrown open and the evac team stormed in. At the sight of the antidote being prepared Natasha was finally able to breathe properly.

* * *

Clint was in the middle of a nightmare where he lost control over himself once more, body and soul, when he woke up with a loud, strangled gasp. His eyes darted around wildly, slowly recognizing the space around him. His eyebrows furrowed.

This wasn't Loki's base but an aircraft…!

And then Natasha's face appeared to his line of vision. She appeared horribly tense but at the sight of his eyes open some of the worry lines faded away. "Welcome back." Fingers grabbed his. It was _wonderful_ to actually feel it properly. "You got the antivenom. You'll be fine. Now sleep some more, we're almost back home."

Clint frowned, unwilling to surrender to the shadows spreading at the edges of his vision. "You okay?" He was still slurring a bit but this time it was out of sheer exhaustion, not caused by the poison.

Natasha gave him a look that clearly asked if he was serious. "Yeah, I'm perfectly fine as soon as the sprained ankle heals. And you'll be, too." She smirked devilishly. "At least until Tony finds out about this. He's going to have a field day."

Clint didn't manage to feel the alarm he should've. Instead he smiled and closed his eyes, quite frankly happy to be alive. Happy to have Natasha's heated lecture over getting hurt and Tony's merciless teasing waiting for him.

He squeezed Natasha's hand and didn't let go even after he eventually fell asleep.

* * *

Few people knew how deeply Nick Fury really cared about his agents and he very much preferred it that way. And Clint, a wild soul that'd been handpicked by Phil Coulson himself, was… special, in a way. So when Nick heard that the Hawk had been injured – _again_ – the one eyed man most certainly wasn't pleased. Someone very, very brave might've dared to suggest that he was upset.

Some long hours later Nick stood at the base's medical wing, with a stunned looking doctor beside him. The older man, a gifted former surgeon in his early sixties, shook his head. "Agent Barton… He's going to be perfectly fine. I have no idea how, though. The poison was in his system for a very long time and the damage could've been catastrophic. Seeing him recover this quickly, knowing how grave his condition already was… I don't know how it's possible."

Nick looked into the room where Clint was sleeping peacefully, a tiny smile on his lips. And right beside him on the bed Natasha slept as well, still holding his hand. Someone might've mistaken it for something romantic but Nick knew better.

Nick didn't smile. Of course he didn't. The corners of his lips simply happened to twitch. "I have a theory, Dr. Ewans."

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Ouch! Poor Clint. I'd imagine that getting bitten by a snake isn't a lot of fun. (winces) But awww, thankfully he had Natasha there with him.

A SIDE NOTE: I fought SO HARD to resist a 'Snakes on a Plane' style reference, especially during Fury's scene…

Sooo… Any good, at all? Or to be arrowed down? Here's your chance to talk, folks! And **remember that requests are always welcome**!

NEXT UP: In the 'Hammer of God' Thor learns a horrible lesson. And then we dive into the world of supernatural, where we meet the world's one and only Werehawk.

Until next time, ya all! I REALLY hope that I'll meet many of you there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest 13: Possibly the most gruesome yet! (SHUDDERS) And GOSH, that story sounds absolutely horrible! I'm really glad that she made it, although it's bound to hount her still.

I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed the story!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): GOSH, such kind words…! (HUGS) Hey, not creepy stalking at all! Actually made me grin at my laptop.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): DANG, you make me feel absolutely overjoyed and flattered! (BEAMS) I'm beyond happy that you've enjoyed this collection so. Fret not, with how excited I am the updates are bound to remain regular. (grins)

OH MY GOSH, your idea is absolutely BRILLIANT! YES, a thousand times! Hmm, maybe after a few more stories because it'd deserve to be a two-parter. But it'll DEFINITELY see daylight, possibly quite soon.

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I'm ECSTATIC that you enjoyed it so! Although the whole topic is absolutely horrible. (shudders) Thank gosh Clint made it through!

Heh, I'm so excited about this lil' collection that the updates are bound to remain regular.

ENORMOUS thank yous for the review! You rock, too! :)


	18. The Hammer of God

A/N: Phew! It took me a day or two longer than I'd planned. Mainly because it took longer than I'd expected to try and find at least some footing with Thor. But here it is! Yosh…?

First, though…! My fellow Renner/Hawk fans, THANK YOU SO MUCH for the love and support you've given this collection! It's been a FANTASTIC ride for me and it's a huge pleasure to have so many of you joining it with me. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I want to avoid getting too mushy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE:** After 'Dark World', before 'Age of Ultron'. Thor's still under the impression that Loki died.

The hammer's going down, folks!

* * *

The Hammer of God

* * *

The mission was a tricky one from the beginning. It wasn't made any easier by the fact that their enemy clearly had a far better surveillance system than they'd known to expect. What waited for them was close to an ambush.

But they made it through, somehow. Fought back remarkably well. Clint felt incredibly proud of his team while doing his best to keep watch on them all. An arrow after an arrow flew while he did whatever a mere human amongst a group like that could to keep them safe.

Natasha grinned but didn't give away his location when he took down an enemy she'd fought longer than he felt comfortable watching. " _Thanks. But I could've handled him._ "

Clint smiled, adrenaline rushing through his veins. "I know. But I was starting to feel useless."

She sped off, darting further into the woods at a speed that didn't seem entirely human. Clint himself turned towards where he'd seen Thor facing off five attackers. The sight of the hammer rising wasn't unexpected. Too bad it wasn't until at that moment Clint realized that in his haste to look out for everyone else he'd made a critical mistake. He'd ended up way too close.

Clint's eyes widened when he realized what was about to happen. There was no way he'd be able to get down from the tree fast enough. "Thor, don't…!"

But he was hopelessly too late. Mjolnir went down, sending a shockwave through the entire landscape. Their enemies went down and those who didn't knew better than to stick around for a second round. The ground cracked and bent under the massive force. Trees went down, as though bowing in respect. Trees, such as the one Clint currently occupied.

The last thought Clint had before he was free-falling was ' _Oh, fuck, this is gonna hurt…!_ '.

* * *

Thor looked on with satisfaction as the battle was finalized, the enemies still left running away with their tails between their legs. In his hand Mjolnir seemed to shiver from delight for a moment or two. The fight had been gruelling but successful. "North side has been secured", he announced, his eyes still scanning through the environment in case of something he might've missed. Because he felt like he'd missed something and he didn't like it.

" _And they call me a show-off_ ", Tony snorted.

" _Good work_ ", Steve commented, blatantly ignoring the billionaire. " _Now let's move it. We've sort of lost the element of surprise._ "

" _Right._ " Even Natasha sounded out of breath. " _Hawkeye, what's your location? We could use a good pair of eyes._ "

The silence that followed succeeded in being the loudest thing in the entire battle.

" _HAWKEYE! You'd better start answering us!_ " It felt wrong to hear Tony sound scared. Still there was no response.

Thor felt his stomach plummet all the way to his toes. It was a foreign feeling that he'd only experienced a few times in his life. A horrible feeling. Something akin to what he faced when his father sent him away from Asgard, at the loss of his mother, and when Loki…

Thor's eyes widened while a horrible cold sped through his blood stream.

* * *

Clint heard voices talking. A lot of noise. But it all seemed to come from a different world. He stared at the sky spinning wildly before his eyes, dazed and confused, and wondered what the hell happened to him. Should he try to move? No, for some reason that didn't feel like a good idea. He was quite happy to just stay exactly where he was, nice and still. It was getting pretty hard to stay awake, anyway. Maybe he should take a little nap…

"CLINT!"

The Hawk blinked sluggishly, unable to decide what was real and what wasn't. Did someone actually call out to him? Should he answer? He was in the middle of a mission… What if the enemies heard…?

In the end his body called the shots for him. A violent spasm of agony went through him without the slightest warning and he groaned pitiably, instinctively attempting to curl up. A big mistake. The complete, utter _hurt_ was there once more, spreading through him without any mercy. He gritted his teeth through it, shivered but didn't make a sound. And in a few moments the inferno was finally over.

 _Breathe through it_ , he told himself. _Just breathe through it, you big baby. You've been through worse._ He had, hadn't he?

Actually… No. Because in what might be one of his last moments of clarity he finally understood what was happening to him. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the bitter absurdity of it.

Well, he did always envision going down in a battle…

Only, the battle wasn't over yet. Very vaguely he heard Steve's voice through his ear comm. It was time to seal the fate of the enemy base. Good. There was noise nearby, too. It took Clint longer than it should've to realize that someone was approaching him. Whatever little adrenaline there was left in him spiked up instantly. His beloved bow had fallen just a hair out of reach but it wasn't his only weapon. His hand was eerily steady while he took his gun and aimed.

One… Two… Three enemies? What the hell did they want from him? Didn't they see that he was already done? Oh well, their mistake. 'Underestimate the enemy and you're dead' was a pretty basic rule, really.

Clint fired exactly three times because more wasn't needed to get the job done. Even if his body was shutting down there was nothing wrong with his aim. With a mixture of satisfaction and disgust he watched how the enemies went down. His breaths came out in nearly desperate, agonizing pants while he listened and waited. His gun was still held ready for more enemy activity now that he'd been forced to give away his position.

Once again life surprised Clint, this time positively. There was some more rustling. But instead of an enemy he heard Tony. "Hawkeye!"

* * *

Tony wasn't above admitting that his heart was pouding from near panic while he approached Clint's position. All sorts of unpleasant thoughts were beginning to rise in his head. "Hey, Feathers! Now would be a really fucking good time to…" He trailed off, completely and utterly. His whole still armored body froze.

Clint wasn't pinned down by anything, which was the only good news. Not that it would've been a lot to cheer over. Because despite the facts that there wasn't a lot of blood, or that the archer was still somewhat conscious and defiantly holding a gun, Tony could tell that things were _bad_. The Hawk's breathing sounded horrible and there was a thin trail of blood running from his mouth. And Clint wasn't moving, which alone struck terror through Tony. If there was one thing Clint Barton just _wasn't_ it was still. Or that pale, for the matter.

It took several seconds before Clint finally seemed to realize that it was him. Slowly, slowly the gun fell and the archer attempted to smirk. "… 'ook you lo' enough."

"Well, I was kind of preoccupied, with the battle and all." Tony's voice was far more high pitched than he would've liked. At least he was finally able to move. And think, to an extend. "What's the damage?"

Instantly a mechanical voice reported each and every bit of damage done to Clint's very much un-shielded body. Each new piece of information delivering a blow straight at Tony's heart. Because despite the fact that he wasn't a medical man he understood.

Prognosis negative.

Clint seemed to have gathered as much. There was a sombre look on the fading archer's face. "… a goner, huh?"

Tony shook his head stubbornly and revealed his face to show Clint the fierce determination in his eyes. "No way in hell, Pigeon. I'll get you out of here so I can give you a proper beating for startling us like this. You're _not_ allowed to die, and that's an order."

Clint smiled faintly, which looked horribly wrong with the blood staining his lips and with the apologetic look in the Hawk's eyes.

Tony was spooked out of his chaotic thoughts and possibly saved from a panic attack by Thor's appearance. He'd never seen the kind of a look on the thunder god's face that lingered there right then. Fear, worry and such guilt that might've crushed anyone. The question was loud and clear. It killed Tony, almost as much as seeing how Clint's time was running out, to crush Thor's desperate hope. Unable to utter a sound he shook his head. He didn't like the way his eyes felt and at the moment he was very glad that out of the blue it was raining. Wasn't it?

Thor shuddered like someone had struck _him_ with the hammer. For a second, two, the Asgardian was utterly still. Then shook his head. "No!" boomed a voice that had to travel through the entire forest. "We're not giving up. Not yet."

Tony wasn't fully sure what to do when Thor began to pick up Clint's broken body. A distant part of him noted that it was really, really worrying how the archer didn't protest at all. "I, ah…" The billionaire swallowed against the violently growing lump in his throat. "I don't think it's a good idea to move him." Although Thor was being gentle. Uncharacteristically and unnervingly so. Under different circumstances the bizarre sight might've made a good joke.

Thor's jawline tightened. And there, along with the rain, was there something else running down the thunder god's cheeks…? "The healing methods of this planet won't be enough for him. I'm taking him to Asgard."

A small, dangerous glimmer of hope lit up in Tony's chest. "So you'll be able to save him there?" Because if there was still a fighting chance, even if only a tiny one…

Thor's eyes darkened. Despite the still blatantly visible sea of guilt the thunder god lifted his chin proudly. "I want to try."

* * *

On the very edge of consciousness Clint heard muffled, barely comprehensible voices. Felt a touch that might've been nothing but a dream. Or maybe he was hallucinating. A dying person was allowed to hallucinate, he decided groggily.

For a moment, just one, he opened his eyes. Only to discover that he was held against another person. At first he was about to fight back despite knowing full well that his body wouldn't be able to handle it. But then he recognized the person. Forgetting to be embarrassed he relaxed, deciding that if these were his final moments at least he'd get to spend them with a friend.

Then there was a blinding bright flash of light and everything faded away.

* * *

Once again Clint heard voices. This time they boomed, made him fear that his aching skull might crack. "… a mortal here! Again!"

"So you're saying that I should've left him to die? Because that isn't how my mother raised me." There was a foreign touch to Thor's voice. An arry of emotions, could it be? "You sent me to Earth to grow up because you weren't able to assist me with that. Remember? It's with help from people like him I was able to become worthy. With the help of mere mortals. They have taught me to face the responsibilities of my actions."

Clint felt touched although he wasn't even close to being in a condition to figure out why. He struggled, attempted to stay awake a bit longer, but the pull of the dark was too strong. He faded out, feeling perfectly safe although he perhaps shouldn't have.

* * *

Clint floated. Dreamt. Lingered in some bizarre world inside his head. Healed. Then sunk somewhere so deep that even dreams didn't exist there. And finally opened his eyes, slowly and with a blink of confusion.

 _What the…?_

It took a very long moment before flashes of memories began to make sense. There was a battle… Thor's hammer… A fall, crashing down with the trees… It hurt like hell. Until it didn't.

Clint blinked a couple of more times, something inside him tightening uncomfortably. How did he not die instantly? Or did he? Was this what being dead felt like?

Clint shifted, instinctively struggling to get up because staying down _wasn't_ an option. Instantly his body reported loud objections. He groaned and swore under his breath.

"Carefully", a voice that took a moment to sound familiar adviced. Well, was it a wonder that he barely recognized the speaker when the other sounded unnaturally hoarse? "You were injured badly. It will take a while before your body recovers."

Deciding that it was worth whatever discomfort might follow, Clint turned his head slowly to see Thor. The Asgardian stood at the other side of the room, looking at him as though fearing that he might fall apart any given moment. While the hammer wielder's posture was as proud as always signs of exhaustion could be read from his face. Along with a massive amount of guilt. Clint would have to do something about that.

Clint decided to start with attempting a grin. He hoped that it came out right. "Yeah, well… I'm not good at taking it slow. Just ask Nat." He then frowned and looked around, all his instincts screaming alarms at the fact that he couldn't recognize his surroundings. He _did not_ like waking up in a place he didn't know, even if he had a friend for company. "Where are we?"

"This is Asgard." For a second, just one fleeting one, Thor appeared… nauseous, almost. "Your injuries left no other alternative."

That really, genuinely surprised Clint. That Thor had actually gone so far for him. And especially that he'd been allowed to stay for… Yeah, how long? "And how long, exactly, have I been here?" He was pleased to discover that his voice sounded almost familiar again.

Thor shrugged. "We Asgardians aren't very good at keeping track of time." Someone else might've appeared sheepish but gods from foreign worlds didn't do sheepish.

Clint grinned, secretly wondering how Jane might feel about that bit. He then took a deep breath, blatantly ignoring the fact that it felt like his chest had been set on fire. _Freaking broken ribs…!_ "Could you, uh… help me, a bit?" This was humiliating, really, but he didn't exactly have a choice. "I don't know about Asgardians, but… We humans… sort of need to use a bathroom, every once in a while. If you don't have any a bush will do. I'm getting a bit desperate."

Mirth flickered briefly in Thor's eyes. Clint considered it a win, even if it was at the expense of his own dignity. It was difficult to say which one of them was more tense while the hammer wielder first helped him to a sitting position, then up, slowly, slowly.

Clint's head didn't seem to approve of the upright position. He gasped, grabbing Thor a bit tighter without noticing it, and swayed dangerously. Everything spun madly before his eyes.

Thor's supporting arm tightening as a response made black spots dance in his line of vision. "Clint? Are you alright?"

Clint nodded, very slowly and carefully. Well, at least he was gradually convinced that he wouldn't pass out… "Yeah…" As they eventually began to move he cast a brief look towards his friend. "And hey, Thor? Thank you."

Thor looked at him as though he'd said something completely outrageous but commented nothing. And while their painstaking journey continued, step by a hurt filled step, Clint's still fuzzy head knew one thing for certain. They both had recovering to do.

* * *

Clint had always been a curious person by nature. Especially when he was bored. And especially after what felt like a lifetime of _nothing_ but laying down to do he was in a desperate need of something to occupy himself with. He'd been familiar with field work, all types of it, for ages, for crying out loud! He didn't do downtime. Even when he was injured. Especially when he was injured.

Defying the fact that his body didn't feel exactly ready for such a strain Clint first struggled to a sitting position. Then, as soon as he was convinced that he wouldn't collapse immediately, he got cautiously to his own two feet. It was pathetically wobbly at first, even worse than Bambi's first encounter with ice. But after a few moments and several deep breaths that ached horribly he dared to start moving. He just hoped that the inhabitants of the building wouldn't find that intrusion to their privacy he was about to perform too great of a crime. Even with his dark sense of humor he didn't appreciate the thought of being killed by those who saved his life.

The building was amazing. Full of luxury. It breathed this air he couldn't even begin to describe.

Clint knew from the beginning that his first solo walk wouldn't carry him far. After about thirty hard fought steps he realized that he'd found his current limit. Breathing hard Clint stopped and leaned against the wall, peering into the room next to him. What he discovered made him blink several times, not quite trusting his eyes.

It was a nursery. The furniture and toys were very different from those on Earth but there was no mistaking the air of love. The child that was looked after there had been loved very much. From the footsteps on dust Clint could tell that someone still visited regularly.

How someone of Thor's size could possibly sneak up on anyone was beyond Clint. But that was what happened. "What are you doing out here?" The god sounded worried, not homicidal. That was promising. And at least he wasn't caught by Odin.

Clint grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. But I really needed something to do." He nodded towards the room. "You had a really adorable nursery."

A strange, nearly pained expression appeared to Thor's face. It took a few moments before there was any response. "That… wasn't my room but Loki's."

Clint shivered violently from surprise. He stared at the nursery with brand new eyes. "Oh…!" How was it possible that…?

"Believe it or not but he was a rather normal child, once upon a time. On Asgardian standards, anyway." Thor seemed to be talking more to himself than him. "He was my brother, despite everything." There was no missing the ache, no matter how hard the other tried to hide it.

Looking at the room Clint couldn't keep himself from wondering where, exactly, everything went so very wrong. Judging by the torn expression on Thor's face the Asgardian wondered the same thing every single day. The god's grief was subtle but very much visible if he looked carefully enough.

Clint sighed and watched how shadows danced in the once happy room. "Look… I'm sorry that I can't be sad that he's gone. But… I know something about complicated brotherly bonds. So, I get what you're going through." He didn't ask Thor to talk to him if the Asgardian ever felt like it because they both knew better than well that it'd never happen. It would've been too awkward and considering Clint's brief past with Loki he would've hardly been the right person. But the Hawk wanted his friend to know that he understood.

Thor seemed genuinely, humanly, stunned for a heartbeat. If it was someone else Clint might've said close to tears. Then, quickly forcing himself to regain control, the hammer wielder nodded. Nothing else needed to be said.

Eventually Clint saw the way Thor was staring into the room and decided to cut whatever trail of thought the other had. "Here's the thing… I may have gotten a little lost on my way here. And I don't want to take the risk of stumbling into Odin's bedroom. Mind helping out?"

A knowing look appeared to Thor's eyes. Along with both worry and amusement, and that infuriating, ever present guilt. "And you can't take a single step without…" The god frowned. "How did Stark put it? Yes, without falling flat on your face."

"Yeah."

* * *

Against all the odds stacked up against him Clint recovered from his injuries. Slowly but incredibly stubbornly the archer crawled his way through the excruciating recovery. Healed. Got to his own two feet. The whole experience taught Thor a brand new respect towards humans.

Eventually it was time to take Clint back to Earth. Thor knocked but apparently didn't wait long enough. Because when he entered the room Clint was changing his clothes, a shirt only halfway on. For the first time Thor saw the full extend of the damage. He froze.

Clint's back and side… There were old battle marks, of course. But Thor's gaze focused on the fresh ones. They were basically a one big, far from properly healed bruise. It didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out how much damage had been on the inside.

When he was a child Thor swore that he'd protect Loki. When he was older he swore to himself that he'd protect the Earth. So many broken oaths…

Clint, of course, noticed him. The archer put on the shirt as quickly as possible and gave him a small, tight smile that was impossible to read. "That staring is starting to creep me out a bit", the Hawk attempted to joke.

Thor swallowed and shifted his weight to another leg. He couldn't quite name what was going through him. "I… apologize."

He wished to move of to other topics but of course the archer wasn't deterred quite so easily. "Thor. I'm only going to say this once so you'd better listen carefully." Clint's eyes were filled with fire that made him appear as tall as Thor. "There was nothing more you could've done for Loki. And what happened to me… That wasn't your fault, either. Just bad luck. There are things even Norse gods don't have control over. So stop beating yourself up. Because I've seen that look in your eyes before and it'll eat you up in whole if you let it."

Thor's eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't entirely sure if he was able to follow Clint's reasoning. "You were injured because of me", he pointed out, even if voicing it made him feel ill.

Clint's jaw tightened with what might've been irritation. "No, I got unlucky. It's thanks to you I'm still alive."

It would take a lot of time before Thor would believe that. Chances were that he'd never quite get there. But he could tell that Clint really, honestly didn't blame him. The archer was still alive and soon enough well, ready to fight beside him again. Thor decided that he'd be ready, too.

"To home?"

Clint's grin was unbelievably radiant. "Yeah, Goldilocks. To home."

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Heh, my first proper outing with Thor. Hopefully I did him justice – wouldn't want to face the wrath of a thunder god, after all… And WOAH, I think that's the closest we've come to losing Clint in this collection! Hooray to Asgard.

Soooo… What's the verdict? A hit or miss? PLEASE, do leave a note! It's almost Christmas and the poor little comment box is hungry and lonely.

NEXT UP, the result of a scientific experiment leads to the birth of Werehawk. After that… Heh, I'll keep you in suspense for a while. More shall be revealed after the next two/three parters first chapter. (smirks)

Awkay, I've reeeeeeally gotta get going now. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see ya all there.

Take care!

* * *

 **Guest 13** : Heh, we'll see what's to come. I really hope that it meets you expectations!

I'm OVERJOYED that you enjoyed it! (BEAMS)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Guest** : Like I could even if I tried to! (chuckles) It's a joy that you're looking forward to more.

Massive thank yous for the review!


	19. Tale of Werehawk, 1 of 3 (AoU fix it)

A/N: It's DEFINITELY time to post another bit for this collection of mine. DANG, I've gotta admit that I'm really excited! (grins) FIRST, though…

THANK YOU, a million and one times, for your AMAZING reviews and support! This collection has received SO MUCH love. You can't even imagine how happy I am!

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's sink our teeth to the newest chapter! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

LOTS OF CLINT / MAXIMOFF BONDING IN THIS THREE PARTER! BECAUSE THIS IS MY VERSION OF A 'AoU' FIX IT STORY. Yay?

ADDITIONAL WARNING: Author has been under the influence of lots of sugar while typing most of this. I apologize.

* * *

The Tale of Werehawk, part 1 of 3 (AoU fix it)

* * *

/ _Pietro only had seconds to make his decision. A fleeting moment that somehow stretched to what felt like ages. Good thing he was fast._

 _His first thought was to shield Clint and the little boy with his body. But in the end self preservation won and he did something far more reasonable. Something a little less dramatic, perhaps, but at least Wanda wouldn't seek him out from the afterlife to kill him again herself. Besides, he very much wanted to live through his first heroic act if he had the possibility._

 _Clint squatted down, folding himself over the child and closing his eyes, preparing himself for what seemed to be the inevitable. Bullets flew. And Pietro… He was moving before he realized properly what happened._

 _And Pietro didn't stop, for even a heartbeat. He pushed Clint and the boy out of the harm's way, hoping that he wouldn't cause any permanent damage. The sensation of a bullet slamming at him barely registered in that instant of pure chaos. The three of them fell down just as the echo of the gunfire died out and Pietro panted, his eyes wide and adrenaline momentarily wiping away any knowledge of the bullet wound he now sported._

 _Alive. They were all still alive. Pietro grinned at the sheer euphoria that came over him from that realization. "Didn't see that coming, did you, old man?" With that he collapsed, the wound he'd sustained finally taking the best of him._

 _What Pietro didn't know was that not much later, after making sure that both the kid and Pietro were tended to properly, Clint collapsed as well to the chairs beside where the injured speedster lay. Without any fuss or drama. Their wounds mirrored each other perfectly._ /

* * *

When the Avengers heard that a supposedly throughoutly shut down Hydra base in Romania had showed signs of activity they were instantly alerted. An enemy like that wasn't to be taken lightly, especially with the blow they'd given it. Considering what they'd prepared for what they found was incredibly anti-climatic.

The cold, damp old building was of majestic size. But that was everything remarkable about it. After three floors of dust bunnies serving as his greatest foe Clint began to feel vaguely irritated. _This_ was what he left his family, including his still tiny baby boy, for?

" _Well, isn't this exciting_ ", Pietro's voice muttered through the ear comm, the sarcams anything but veiled.

Clint just had to grin. It never failed to amuse him how much the speedster reminded him of the young, hot blooded brat he once was. "Shut it, kid. Saying it out loud is jinxing it", he adviced, his eyes darting around the suspiciously empty hallway.

" _I'll keep that in mind,_ dad _._ "

One corner of Clint's lips twitched upwards. He was about to respond something witty until the hair in the back of his neck stood up, everything inside him preparing for a threat that he couldn't see yet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the hallway's shadows move. Was that… a wolf? His eyes widened a fraction. "What the…?"

It was doubtful if even Pietro would've been fast enough to dodge it. There was a blur of motion and then something was biting his neck. Really, honestly biting him.

Well, biting was new. Or perhaps not quite. There was Belfast…

Clint's reflexes kicked in long before the shock faded properly. He swung mercilessly with the gun he'd somehow managed to not drop. Harsh, but far less violent than giving in to the temptation to actually pull the trigger, which was what a very large part of him wanted to do. Before deciding whether to kill the threat or not he wanted to find out for sure what it was.

He pressed his hand determinedly against the injury and looked properly. His eyes widened in a nearly comical way at what was presented to him. Too bad there was nothing comical about the situation.

The being he'd taken down… It wasn't human, not quite. But it wasn't an animal, either. He could recognize clear human features. The facial structure, even most of the body structure… But the hint of a fur and those teeth most certainly rather reminded him of a wild beast.

Clint groaned, acutely aware of the blood seeping generously from his wound. Of a wound that was pulsating and throbbing hellishly. "You've gotta be kidding me…!"

"Hawkeye?" It took longer than it should've before he realized that Wanda's voice didn't come through his ear comm. Lifting his head he found her approaching with a healthy amount of caution, visibly ready for anything. She frowned at the sight of him holding his neck. "Are you…?" Her gaze fell on the knocked out creature and she tensed up. "Stupid question."

Clint swallowed, hard. He was immensely grateful that at least the beast hadn't torn his carotid artery but the wound was pulsating and throbbing in a way he didn't like. He was also starting to grow lightheaded. It was getting difficult to focus. "That… He… I don't know… just jumped at me and bit me." He shook his head, trying to straighten his spinning and buzzing head. "I have no idea where that one came from."

Wanda was very, very pale all of a sudden. Her eyes… Did they grow misty, for just a second? "I do", she nearly whispered. Her accent was thicker, as it always was when emotions threatened to take a hold of her. "He… His name was Marco. He was also in the program, became an enhanced. But… We were told that he died. That his body couldn't handle the changes." It was heartbreaking, really, to see how genuinely shocked she seemed over having been betrayed so badly. It was very easy to forget that for a very long time, too long, those people and that life of willing guinea pigs had been all she and Pietro knew.

Clint would've wanted to say something smart, something that would've chased those new shadows of guilt and betrayal from her eyes. But he just didn't have the strength anymore. The floor was reaching out to greet him. Or was it the other way round?

It became dark before his philosophical debate was finished.

* * *

Pietro and Wanda had always had a connection, even before it became enstrengthened by her powers. He could feel it when she was in danger and she felt his troubles in return. Which, as she often scolded him, he got into far too often. So when he felt her sudden spark of startle he didn't question it but ran before she ever reported through her ear comm. It didn't matter to him that they were researching a potentially dangerous building. There couldn't be anything in it that would be fast enough to catch him and the thought of possible traps refused to register. What he found made his stomach drop although he would've never admitted it.

Wanda appeared a little pale but she was obviously perfectly unharmed. Clint, on the other hand… She was pressing rather firmly against the wound that'd somehow appeared to the archer's neck. Seeing Clint still alone felt horribly wrong. The ashen color of his face accompanied by the faint flush on his cheeks only made the dread grow exponentially. Pietro was about to ask what the actual hell happened until he saw the being lay on the ground. His eyes widened a fraction under the realization, the recognition.

"Hawkeye's injured." Wanda's voice was just that one touch tighter than usual which only he could possibly detect. Her hand was squeezing the archer's wound slightly more fiercely than would've been acutely necessary. Pietro understood why.

They had a rocky start, to say the least. Then Clint made them work for not only their spot amongst the Avengers but also for a chance at a brand new life because he saw their potential. Because he saw that they needed and deserved the push. Clint was always subtle about it but the twins knew that he looked out for them, kept an eye on them. The rest of the team did as well, of course, but the archer… was different.

They couldn't spend enormous amounts of time together since Clint had his own missions and on occasion he disappeared off to something never explained, sometimes for almost a week. But when they were all at the Tower for down-time the Hawk did his all to make it feel _normal_. He was the one who seemed to appear magically whenever one of them was woken by nightmares and watched stupid movies with them until the morning. Sometimes saying nothing, sometimes groaning at the movies with them. When the twins got into a trouble during a mission it surprisingly wasn't Steve but Clint who gave them the most berating. The archer hinted how to best prank Tony, and then feigned innocence when it all came down. He encouraged them to explore the city and meet people who had no connection to the insanity they called their daily lives. Reminded them of the importance of mundane, _ordinary_ things like cleaning up and doing the dishes. Taught them to cook because they were little kids when their parents died and the people they grew up with since didn't exactly find such stuff important. A couple of months ago, curiously on the anniversary of their parents' death, Clint gave them a pair of budgies. When they asked why Clint tried to lighten up his sombre answer with a grin.

/ _"With a job like ours, it does good to have something waiting at home to come back to."_ /

It was strange, all of it. The whole becoming Avengers, properly becoming a part of something instead of being used as tools. Since their parents were gone all they'd been taught was how to be weapons. Clint seemed to be trying to teach them how to be humans.

So was it any wonder that by the time Natasha and Steve arrived Pietro was also kneeling beside Clint, trying in vain to rouse the Hawk? The wound had stopped bleeding, finally. Which was where the good news ended.

"Bruce found something that looked like a medical wing. He's waiting", Natasha announced. Her voice sounded as firm and in control as always. It might've been convincing if one didn't see the faint, well concealed spark of intense worry in her eyes. "How is he?"

Wanda's jawline tightened. "He hasn't woken up since passing out a few minutes ago. And he feels feverish. Something about that bite…" It didn't even need to be finished, really. Everything about the whole situation screamed that something was badly, horribly, disastrously wrong.

Natasha seemed to tense up a little further and the line on her forehead deepened. She nodded towards the still firmly unconscious attacker. If the being's appearance surprised her she didn't let it show. "And your friend?"

The twins exchanged a look, feeling identical flashes of guilt and sorrow. A friend indeed, back in some other lifetime. "Out cold", Pietro announced.

"Tony and Thor will be here in a minute to make sure that he's confined securely." As though sensing the lingering hesitation Steve went on. "For his safety and ours. Wanda, keep an eye on him in the meantime." With that order the Captain picked up Clint's unnervingly limp form, gently and carefully as though handling thin glass. Understandable enough. There was no way of knowing how much jostling the ailing Hawk would be able to handle.

Pietro exchanged solemn nods with Wanda before moving to follow the older Avengers, since no one actually told him not to do so. He would've never, ever admitted it to a living soul but his chest felt far tighter than usual and there was uncomfortable squirming in the pit of his stomach. So very few people outside the inseparable duo that was him and Wanda had ever believed in him. The thought of losing one of those people didn't sit well with him.

The medical room was well equipped. It also felt cold in far more ways than one and held a horrific, sterile reek that made Pietro's stomach turn with its familiarity. He'd spent enough time in a room just like this one to know exactly what it was.

However, now wasn't the time for bad memories. Bruce had tended to enough badly ill people to be used to it but still the man's lips tightened with worry. "Put him on the table", the doctor ordered. His professional tone didn't sound quite right. "At first I need to take a look at the wound. How much blood did he lose?"

Natasha's stern exterior didn't even crack but her hand was holding Clint's incredibly tightly. "Not enough to need a transfusion." Pietro preferred not knowing how she knew that.

Bruce nodded. "Good." The man took a deep, evening breath. They all knew just how important it was that he'd keep it together. "Then lets get to work."

Pietro watched carefully as Clint's wound was tended to. It wasn't as bad as it could've been but still deep and awfully red. A couple of drops of something greenish yellow oozed from it.

Bruce sighed heavily when the work was finally done. "I'll have to try to find something to help with the inflammation and fever. There must be something in here."

Natasha nodded sharply. "Go", she agreed. Then turned her eyes on the speedster. "You should also wait outside."

Pietro frowned. What the hell…? "Why?"

Natasha gritted her teeth, hard. "Because I've seen how Clint can get when his fever spikes up like this and it's not pleasant to watch. And if he was awake I think he'd prefer as little audience as possible." She looked towards Steve. "I may need your help to hold him still."

* * *

In the meantime Thor and Tony managed to haul the bizarre being to one of the nauseating, far from inviting cell like rooms they'd discovered while exploring the building. Obviously the true monsters who used to work there were used to dealing with 'hostile material', as had been documented on numerous files. Disgusting, all of it.

When they began to cuff the still unconscious being Wanda stepped forward. "I'll do that." Surprisingly it sounded more like a plea than a command. "He… He used to be a little boy, played with Pietro and me. So… Let me."

Tony gave her a look. His gaze held a warning. "I'm sorry, but he seems to be beyond our help."

Wanda's eyes flashed. "You have no right to decide which monsters can be saved and which ones can't", she hissed. Then, with a couple of breaths, calmed herself. "You may find something to reverse it, with Bruce. It might help Clint, too, if he was infected from the bite."

Tony gulped and looked at the creature that was beginning to groan and whine softly. About to wake up. "Let's just take one step at a time, yeah? First we need to wait for Clint to wake up."

Wanda nodded. One step at a time. It took some getting used to, after having been taught to be at least five steps ahead. "I'll go and check up on him."

As she left Tony looked towards Thor, who was gazing at the ceiling, appearing deep in thought. He tapped at the Asgardian's shoulder gently with his fist. "Hey, enough with the frowning. You've seen how tough Pigeon can be. He'll be fine."

Thor shook his head barely visibly. "Clint's condition isn't the only matter we should be concerned about. We may be watched."

Tony moved his gaze subtly to see a security camera that had a red light blinking on it.

* * *

Bruce retreated for his search to a laboratory at the other end of the long hallway, clearly planning on staying well out of earshot for whatever was to come. Pietro didn't mind. He'd go and find the doctor if his help was needed. In about an hour Pietro began to understand why Natasha demanded him to leave the room.

The screams that echoed from within the sickroom were almost enough to chill his blood. They barely sounded like something coming from a human being. Pietro didn't want to even imagine the terrors of the past that might've caused such sounds.

A couple of minutes after the noise began Wanda made her way to him. Her eyes were far darker than usual and held nothing short of sadness while she sat down beside him and took his hand. He squeezed back instantly, seeking and offering support that was more natural to them than breathing. Sitting there in silence they both willed themselves to believe that this, too, could somehow end at least somewhat happily.

Eventually the screams first turned into barely audible whimpers, then faded away entirely. Pietro told himself that Clint simply ran out of breath and energy because anything else was unthinkable. A few minutes later Bruce dashed back into the room, a furiously determined look on his face. Almost simultaneously Thor and Tony appeared, demanding answers that the twins just didn't have. A heavy silence of frustration, worry and irritation fell on the tense group.

After a tiny eternity the trio emerged. Natasha and Steve appeared a little shaken despite how hard they fought to hide it. The rest of them could only guess just what happened in the room. Bruce ran a hand through his hair. "Clint's stable, for now. I don't know why he's reacting to the bite like that. I'll have to study our unwilling guest."

"Is he awake?" Tony, always the impatient one, demanded.

"Not yet." The possibility that the archer might not wake up at all hung thickly in the air. "We need to give him time."

* * *

In a few hours Clint's fever broke. Still it wasn't until the night that followed before he began to show signs of waking up. Natasha, who'd been infuriatingly close to falling asleep, immediately snapped back to full awareness at the feel of him stirring. She moved a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead, pleased to discover that his fever was still gone. "Hey, sleepy head. Open your eyes, will you? Because watching you dozing off is getting really boring."

Slowly and clearly with much effort Clint's eyelids eventually agreed to budge slightly, revealing a sliver of his atypically hazy eyes. "Hey", he rasped. He shifted, instinctively attempting to get up, and was clearly unhappy upon discovering that he couldn't quite manage it. "How bad?"

"You worried the kids", Natasha announced. Not even trying to hide exactly how she felt about the matter now that they were alone. Her eyes narrowed, the unnatural cold that'd been wrapped around her body since Wanda's announcement of his injury finally beginning to subside. "Try not to do it again, careless idiot."

Clint smiled, just a little bit, obviously still incredibly exhausted. He seemed to see more than he was supposed to and she hated it. "I'll try", he murmured. "Now… Do you think you could help me out? Because Stark would never let me live it down if I didn't make it bathroom…"

Natasha's nose wrinkled. She bit back a laugh. "Say no more."

They made it through the trip surprisingly well. Despite his paleness and fatigue Clint sounded like his own, infuriatingly stubborn self once more. Natasha was able to breathe easily once more while she swatted the back of Clint's head, hard.

"I deserved that one, didn't I?" Clint groaned with a wince.

"Yes, you did", Natasha agreed darkly.

* * *

Bruce wanted to check up on Clint. After all, it was less than a day from when he'd been out cold with a very nasty wound on his neck. "Blood pressure's a bit elevated but at least the fever's gone down", the doctor reported. The man's shoulders seemed to slump a little from relief. "I don't like how that wound looks, though. It seems to be getting infected."

Clint groaned, loudly. "Fantastic. Just my luck." The archer seemed to remember something and frowned. "Look, the thing… that attacked… me…" All of a sudden he was slurring. And then, without any warning his eyes rolled back and he slumped down, starting to seize.

For a second, two, Bruce and Natasha were too shocked to react. The scientist was quick to compose himself, having a lot of experience. "Don't try to restrain him but make sure that he doesn't hit his head!" he instructed, possibly a little more sharply than he'd meant to. "We need to make sure that he keeps breathing and…" He trailed off, his eyes widening.

Blood was spilling from Clint's mouth. A rather generous amount of it. Natasha swore loudly in Russian. "Did he bite his tongue?"

Bruce stared at their struggling, still convulsing friend. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest. "I don't know." And he hated it.

As unexpectedly as it started the fit was over. Clint lay eerily still, firmly out cold. At least he was breathing normally and had a strong, far too quick pulse. That was great comfort.

Gulping down the panic Bruce inhaled sharply, then moved to inspect Clint's mouth and see the potential damage the Hawk had inflicted upon himself. He wasn't prepared for what he found. Bruce was almost certain that his heart forgot a beat.

Clint was sporting a pair of large, chillingly sharp fangs.

* * *

Not quite far away enough for comfort, in a tiny apartment that wouldn't have felt like a home to anyone, a cell phone began to ring. A large, calloused hand picked it up. "What?"

" _We have a problem._ " There was a brief pause. " _Security cameras at base eighteen just picked up something… interesting. It turns out that experiment twenty-one is alive, after all. And succeeded in biting Hawkeye._ "

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

" _What you're paid for. Clean up the mess. And if Hawkeye lives through the changes… Clean that up, too._ "

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Ooooh boy, this DOES NOT sound good…! Clint's already got fangs and we'll see what other changes he'll have to go through. (gulps) And who the heck is that guy at the end?

Soooo… Comments? Like it? Tolerate it? Want to poke it with a stick? PLEASE, do let me hear from ya!

Awkay, it's time to get moving. Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll stop by again there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: We sure did! (gulps) But thank gosh it all turned out well!

Heh, I'm thrilled that it sounds like you like the plotline of the next one. It's been spinning around in my head SEVERAL TIMES and finally decided to take this form. I really hope that you'll enjoy it!

Mmmmmmm, I loooooooooove sick fics so your prompt is a REALLY delicious one. (actually licks lips) It'll totally see daylight!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: (BEAMS, and blushes) My gosh, I'm BEYOND overjoyed that you enjoyed it so! Poor Clint and Thor indeed, though.

Oh, your prompt made sense and I LOVE it! (gets all starry eyed) Ya know, I may be posting twice on the Christmas week. This'll totally have to see the light of day somewhere close to the holidays!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

guest 13: A pleasant surprise, I hope? (snickers) I'm OVERJOYED that you enjoyed it so!

Humongous thank yous for the review!


	20. Tale of Werehawk, 2 of 3 (AoU fix it)

A/N: Phew! It took me longer than I expected but I was DETERMINED to get an update published today. (chuckles) So, here we are! Hooray?

First of all, however… MY GOSH! The reviews and listings… Are there seriously that many other Feather Clubbers out there? This makes my heart sing! I REALLY hope that you'll all keep having a good time with these tales.

Awkay, because I'm already half asleep in front of my laptop… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **NO** BRUCEXNATASHA ALTHOUGH THIS TOUCHES THE TOPIC OF BRUCE'S DEPARTURE IN 'AoU'.

* * *

The Tale of Werehawk, part 2 of 3 (AoU fix it)

* * *

" _Clint?_ "

Clint frowned, not quite willing to leave the cocoon of the gray hue. He felt safe and comfortable. He knew that it'd _hurt_ when he'd wake up. It always freaking hurt when he woke up after getting himself into a trouble. Wasn't it healthy self preservation to try and stall that as long as humanly possible?

He slipped away once more. It could only be guessed how long he wandered. Hid away from the world of agony. Until…

A hand grabbed his, squeezed tightly. Unwilling to let him slip away after coming so close to reaching him. And despite himself Clint found his fingers tightening as a response, his stubbornness lifting its infuriating head, refusing to let him just give up. Noticing his most likely absolutely pathetic fumbles towards consciousness the mystery hand held his even tighter, almost enough so to hurt. Beckoning him back far more loudly than any words ever could've.

It was a mighty struggle, made every single muscle in his body ache from the strain. But he'd be damned if he gave up now. So he did what'd been basically his day job since the Avengers were assembled. He jumped right in, joined the fight and crossed his fingers, hoping that by some freaking miracle he'd make it through in one piece.

Clint's vision wasn't in tip-top condition when his bleary eyes finally opened slightly, peering confusedly. There was… a gray blob right next to him. A very human shaped one. His eyebrows furrowed.

That… was unexpected…

Eventually, far too slowly for an archer who'd learned to trust his eyes beyond everything, his vision came back to him. Not that the sight before him would've made a lot more sense even afterwards. Clint blinked. Stared. Blinked some more. Nope, he wasn't hallucinating. Maybe. Or was he? He had a vague guess that he'd been feverish…

'The blob' next to him was, apparently, Pietro. Who was fast asleep, a hand wrapped around his in a irony hold. The younger man seemed to be dreaming, judging by the way the speedster's nose twitched with a spectacular, truly adorable pout. The youngster's hair was tousled and stood up in unimaginable angles. Clint didn't like seeing the dark circles around the kid's eyes. When was the last time Pietro slept properly?

And while he was at it, when was the last time Clint himself was awake?

Clint hated interrupting what was clearly much needed rest but had to get answers. Gently, nearly feebly, he reached out his free hand – hooked on an I.V., wasn't that nice… – and poked at the speedster's head. Pietro growled and swatted the offending limb, like someone chasing off a fly, but didn't stir. Clint unleashed a far from mature giggle, unable to stop himself.

He was on some _good stuff_ , wasn't he? Which might explain why the pain that he'd been anticipating didn't come rolling in waves. He definitely wasn't complaining.

Clint was preoccupied by fighting the urge to poke at Pietro again when the room's door opened and Natasha's familiar voice startled him. "Leave him alone. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get him to sleep when he's worked up by something? On day three Bruce was considering drugging him."

Clint froze at that knowledge. His fuzzy head seemed to be having difficulties with processing the information overload. "… day three? …" And what was that about Pietro having been worked up…? His eyebrows furrowed with displeasure at the shadows around Natasha's eyes, which her paleness made stand out. "… you need sleep …", he decided with a firm nod that made everything in his line of vision sway.

Natasha ruffled his hair, rolling her eyes. "So do you, idiot. So go to sleep."

Clint's frown deepened. Something was wrong, badly wrong. Why couldn't he remember…? "… am I sick?" Well, it sounded logical. Maybe he wasn't injured at all but ill.

Not for the first time he cursed Natasha's flawless poker face. "Yes, you are. So sleep."

Clint's mouth was really, really starting to hurt. As was his neck. And whatever medication he was on was becoming too much on his hiccupping consciousness. So asleep he went.

Clint never remembered to untangle Pietro's hand from his.

* * *

Sometimes it's a blessing, to not know everything. In Clint's case as well. It was for the best that he wasn't aware of the trio observing him from the other side of a mirror window. Or that the bed he lay on had firm straps on both sides of it, designed for ankles and wrists. Such that had been used lately, to a point where his skin had angry red marks. Nor did he see the line of worry that appeared to Natasha's face as soon as he was out cold.

It took several long moments until the trio watching relaxed fully. "That was the first time in three days he was lucid." Tony looked towards the man at his right, desperately clinging to whatever optimism he still had left. "And we didn't have to strap him this time. That's a good sign, right?"

Bruce gritted his teeth. "I hope so." The scientist looked towards Wanda, who was still staring at the sight inside the room intently. "Are you sure that it's safe for Natasha and Pietro to be inside?"

Wanda nodded firmly. "I'm sure", she confirmed. Her fists balled with determination. "I wouldn't let my brother in there if it wasn't."

Bruce was about to question further until Steve's voice flooded through his ear comm. " _Bruce? Your friend's here._ "

Bruce took a deep breath. Preparing himself for who knows what. "Alright." His voice sounded off. "I'll be right there." The scientist's eyes swept towards the duo beside him. "Keep an eye on them?"

Tony nodded firmly. The overly serious look on his face was almost endearing. "Of course." The fact that the billionaire resisted the easy 'like a hawk' joke was enough of an indication of just how badly wrong things were.

Once Bruce had left Tony focused on Wanda for a moment. "I may not have your powers but I can tell that something's going on and I'm not going to like it. So what is it?" There was a suffocatingly heavy moment of silence. "Clint… Is he getting worse?" His voice sounded smaller than it should've but not defeated. _Never_ defeated.

Wanda swallowed hard. It looked almost like she'd felt sick. "Clint, he… He's still fighting it. You have no idea how hard. But…" She wiped her eyes swiftly and subtly although they were dry. "I don't know how long he'll have the strength to carry on."

Tony knew what that meant. Of course he did, he wasn't called a genius just for the sake of a show. For the most part, anyway. He gritted his teeth painfully hard and watched Clint, who appeared deceitfully peaceful in his drug induced slumber. "Then we'll add a little speed, that's all", he decided resolutely. There was no way in hell they were throwing in a towel.

* * *

When Bruce neared the building's main entrance there was a man glad in a long, black jacket waiting. The man's dark hair appeared well groomed despite the fact that rain and a heavy wind had embraced the curls. Sharp eyes, the color of which was impossible to tell for sure, looked around with genuine, scientific curiosity.

Steve and Thor appeared almost simultaneously with guarded looks on their faces. Understandable enough. They were inside an abandoned enemy base and one of their own wasn't exactly well. A sudden new face, no matter good intentions they came with, was bound to raise quite a bit of suspicion.

Seeing Bruce the stranger smiled. "I'll have to admit that I was surprised when you called. It's… been a while."

Bruce shifted with discomfort. "This is Dr. Stephen Strange. I met him when I first went to India. I was hoping that he'd be able to help with Big Green." There was clearly a lot more to the story and at a more convenient time the two other Avengers would've certainly asked a few questions. "Stephen, these are…"

Stephen smiled. "Oh, I know exactly who they are! I've been keeping an eye on your amazing team." He looked at Thor, obviously pleased to face an Asgardian for the very first time. "And you… are truly extraordinary. I have a lot of questions for you." He then clapped his hands together, growing far more sombre. "Now, before we get side tracked… Where's the patient?"

* * *

Tony had seen first hand just how _not_ well Clint usually took having to interact with doctors. Which was why he offered to go and get everyone coffee and something to eat when Natasha, the new guy, Bruce, Steve and Wanda entered the designed sickroom with solemn looks on their faces. Call him a coward but he wasn't interested in seeing it all crash down when he had the chance to avoid it. Tony felt sorry for the archer who had to feel incredibly crowded. If the Hawk was in any way aware of the real world anymore.

Tony banished that chilling thought with throwing himself wildly to the task at hand.

What Tony found upon returning was exactly what he'd expected. Or perhaps marginally better. Natasha was leaning against the wall, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. Her whole frame appeared unnaturally tense, as though she was still prepared to fight. The reason became apparent when the shouts met his ears.

Tony winced. _That doesn't sound promising…_ "I take it Feathers didn't like the Doc too much?"

Natasha unleashed a brief, dark growl. " _That_ would be Pietro." She opened her eyes and looked towards him, appearing every bit as exhausted as someone was expected to after three days of barely any sleep. "Clint woke up ten minutes after we entered the room. At first he was still high, giggling at everything like a sugar high five-year-old. Then he saw the blood drawing needles and decided that he was done being Mr. Nice Guy."

Tony blanched. Yes, he could see how that might not sit well with Clint. "You had to strap him again, didn't you?" It felt horrible, wrong, even if he realized that it was necessary.

Did Natasha actually gulp? Was she capable of appearing… scared? "Yes, we strapped him, Tony. He broke the straps, with ease. That's how strong he's become. In the end Wanda stepped in and convinced him to go to sleep."

Tony had to let it all sink in for a moment. It didn't, not really. "And Road Runner's throwing a fit because…?"

Natasha gave him a dry look. "We're all ' _throwing a fit_ '. He's the only one who's decided to be vocal about it."

Tony decided that her assessment made sense. Right there he also decided that he needed a distraction. Intead of trying to take a peek into the room he stood beside Natasha, his back against the wall, and cluthced at the bags of takeaway food so hard that it hurt. "Dr. Strange, huh? Is no one going to point out that our new helper has a name that sounds like he's a super villain from some comic book?"

For a second, two, there was something dangerous in Natasha's eyes until understanding dawned. She shrugged and obviously hid a grin. "Pietro did."

Tony smirked. Proud of the kid and pleased that Natasha took his bait instead of striking his teeth in for making a joke out of this. "I knew I'd like that brat."

They both looked to the side immediately, their reflexes trained by quite a bit of field experience, when the room's door opened and someone stomped out. Neither was particularly surprised to see Pietro. "They finally kicked you out, then?" Natasha mused wryly, audibly unimpressed.

Pietro gritted his teeth with a deeply unhappy expression. "Apparently I was being a distraction", the speedster spat. "I just…"

"Yes, 'you just'." Despite trying to hide it Wanda appeared shaken when she emerged from the room. "A walk. Now."

For a second a protest could be seen on Pietro's face. Then, after a single look exchanged with her, he swallowed it. The twins left in a silent agreement. Deciding to check up on them half an hour later Tony found the duo outside the building, holding hands so tightly that it had to hurt.

Once again the Iron Man realized just how young the twins really were, especially in comparison to everything they'd been through and lost. It made him feel vaguely ill. He sneaked away soundlessly, unseen, leaving the visibly trembling siblings alone.

* * *

Over the course of the five days that followed Bruce and Stephen ran a lot of tests. Courtesy to the spectacular amount of equipment that'd been left behind. Obviously Hydra spared no expense. They studied and poked, to a point where Clint announced that it felt like instead of some freaking wolf he was turning into a labrat. The doctors didn't like what they discovered. Even one little bit.

Like any good doctor should Bruce was planning on breaking the news to Clint first. He should've known to expect that such wouldn't be possible with people as stubborn as Tony and Natasha in the picture. Those two eventually cornered him behind the mirror window that separated them from Clint, who was either asleep or feigned remarkably well. They didn't like the news, either.

"His body… It's already been through too much." Bruce felt vaguely ill and couldn't look at his friends. "Stephen and I are working like this because… because I honestly don't know how much more of these changes he can take."

"Then we'll all fight harder!" Natasha snapped. Her sheer terror transforming to the same rage that kept her alive for so many years. "He's not giving up and neither are we."

Bruce didn't remember the last time he would've felt such despair. Perhaps on the day he left the team after Sokovia, imagining that it was the only way. He sought Natasha's eyes but she refused to meet his. Things… had been tense after the six months he spent away. Someone like Natasha didn't taka abandonment lightly. "I'm not giving up", he attempted to defend himself. His chest feeling tighter than it should've. "I'm just… I'm not sure if we can…" He couldn't even voice it.

"He's not going to die!" Tony snapped.

" _Uh… Guys? Mind keeping it down, just a bit?_ " Clint's voice, although it barely carried all the way to them, managed to startle them. " _My head really, really hurts._ "

They all stared at Clint, ashamed and mortified. How much had he heard? Everything, of course. Too much. Bruce swallowed against the horrible taste that filled his mouth. "Clint, I…"

" _I know._ " Clint tried to smile bravely but it didn't quite come out right. " _And I'm not planning on checking out, okay? We won't let Hydra win._ " He attempted to shift to a more comfortable position but didn't seem to find it. " _I'd kiss even Stark for a painkiller, though._ "

Tony smirked tightly, marginally relieved. "Ouch, Pigeon. That hurt."

Pleased beyond all belief to have something to do Bruce fetched all the necessary equipment and made his way to their patient. Clint didn't quite manage to sit up but obediently revealed a proper spot for the injection. The compliance ended when Clint's eyes spotted the label on the vial.

Bruce stopped as soon as he noticed how Clint stiffened. "It's just a painkiller, I promise." He hated the fact that the archer couldn't bring himself to trust him, even if he understood.

Clint didn't seem entirely convinced. The Hawk's eyes strayed from him to the syringe. "No more narcotics", the archer demanded, sounding a little hoarse and off due to sheer exhaustion and his brand new teeth. "I… I rather take the pain than get my head all fogged up."

Bruce clicked. Loki's shadow was still dark and heavy. He could only nod, feeling a slash of sorrow. "Okay. It's a promise."

* * *

A non narcotic medication could only help so much. The night that followed was full of pain for Clint. He had just enough strength to be able to walk around in an attempt to feel more comfortable. And that was what he did. He paced around like a restless caged animal, limping and hissing. The full moon shining brightly from a cloudless sky seemed to be mocking him.

But apparently he wouldn't be suffering alone. Because just after one in the morning Pietro sneaked in. The kid's grin was the most natural one Clint had seen in days. Clearly Bruce hadn't shared everything with the twins. The archer was glad. "Isn't it past your bedtime?" Clint couldn't resist teasing.

Pietro shrugged, appearing relieved for some reason. "I'm surprised that an old man like you is still awake." The frown lasted for less than a blink. "Maybe you should sit down, though. You're swaying."

Clint hated having to admit that the kid was right. While slumping to the edge of his bed he noticed that the speedster hadn't come empty handed. His eyebrow bounced up. "What's that?"

A chess set, apparently. It was rather adorable how… shy, almost, the usually cocky teenager appeared. "I'm bored half to death and annoy Wanda. Do you play?"

Clint smirked. "I'll have you know that I've played chess a lot since I was a kid", he announced. "You're going down."

Clint's pains didn't disappear magically, of course. But for the couple of hours that followed he felt more comfortable than even once in the past few days. He welcomed that with open arms.

* * *

Dr. Stephen Strange wasn't only a man of science but also an outsider. Someone who could look at the team's situation without being overcome by emotions. What he saw worried him.

Day by day Clint lost a little bit more control over himself as the beast inside began to take over. With a great deal of help from Thor Stephen and Bruce had managed to obtain samples from the safely contained creature that bit Clint. It was blatantly obvious that whatever had been done to the poor thing's body the archer was going through the same. If they wouldn't stop the transformation, quickly, there'd be nothing left of the man who once was Clint Barton. In many ways.

Clint's violent episodes were becoming increasingly severe. It was heartbreaking to see what facing the damage he caused, without a fault of his own, did to the Hawk. Every bruise and bleeding nose seemed to affect like a stab. It was bizarre, really, that Clint was even able to focus on anything like that with the agony his own tormented body was going through.

That night a day after Clint's game session with Pietro Clint went through an episode that led to the fifth set of restraints being broken and Steve getting knocked on the floor. The fourth dosage of sedatives finally lulled the suffering Hawk into sleep in Natasha's protective arms. It was impossible to tell which one of the two was shaking worse.

"He stopped, Bruce", Natasha whispered. Everyone else but the two and the firmly unconscious archer had left to get some much needed sleep. They didn't know that Stephen was listening. "Clint stopped when I told him to. He's still there."

Feeling like he was intruding and, frankly, not sure if he wanted to hear Bruce's answer, Stephen left soundlessly. He found his way to the other trapped being. He sighed, watching how the innocent man turned into a beast roared and banged at its cage. "The things they do in the name of science…" He pressed his hand against the wall separating them. The creature looked at it and growled. "I'm terribly sorry that we came too late for you. But I truly hope that you can help us save another."

* * *

Clint's eyesight had always been exceptional. But this, he decided, was ridiculous. His eyes hurt hellishly, desperately attempting to keep up with the changes that they wouldn't be able to handle in the long run. It felt almost like they'd been set on fire and torn off simultaneously. But gosh, the things they were capable of…! Even the tiniest detail didn't avoid his attention. Even in the dark, which was definitely new. If Clint hadn't known how much damage it was all doing to him he might've been excited.

He wasn't quite as pleased by his enhanced hearing. Yes, it was kind of 'cool', as Pietro put it, to be able to hear _everything_. A breath, a heartbeat, a mouse running around inside the walls… It was all very much audible to him, so loud that he seriously feared his ears might explode. A couple of times he caught them bleeding. Which couldn't in any way be a good sign.

Something was also happening to his sense of smell. Nothing slipped his attention on that front, either. He was surprised to discover that while a lot of reeks in the building made him feel beyond uncomfortable the by now familiar scent of his team was like balm on his fried nerves. It promised comfort. Safety. Even if he wasn't entirely sure that they'd be able to provide such this time.

Then there were the nearly constant pains and aches. His body was changing, dramatically, his insides and bones included. And it was _excruciating_. Like each and every little bit of him had been torn apart. Sometimes it took absolutely all his self control to avoid screaming out loud. He didn't always succeed.

There was nausea, too. Which shouldn't have been a surprise although it was, considering what was going on inside him. At first keeping down solids became a impossibility. Then the same thing happened with soups. And then he was on a I.V. once more. He didn't have the energy to feel disgruntled by it, which alone was unnerving.

None of that was the worst part, though. The discomfort and his decidedly non-human senses he could live with. He could even take the possibility of this all being the end of him eventually, especially if he didn't think about it too much. The hazard he posed on the others when he lost control was the one thing he _couldn't_ handle. After Loki he swore to himself that ' _never again_ '. And here he was, as the friend who attacked them whenever he lost control.

How long had it been? A week? Two? Years? In the dead of a troubled, nightmare and agony filled night Clint woke up from a light, uneasy slumber to a intense need to feel sick. He slammed a hand to his mouth and scrambled out of the bed, blatantly ignoring the fact that he could barely stand. He had no idea how he made it to the bathroom. Did he black out, somewhere along the way? It didn't really matter. The next thing he knew was that he was throwing up, very loudly, and leaning heavily against the toilet.

Clint heard the steps long before the hand appeared, rubbing light, soothing circles to his back. Careful not to press too tight, since the arrival was perfectly aware of the torment his spine was going through. After a few seconds more of intense retching Clint leaned towards the welcomed comfort, unleashing a deep, shuddering sigh.

"Feeling better?" Bruce asked, mindful to keep his tone low.

Clint nodded. It took several moments before he managed to find his voice. "That… was unpleasant", he croaked. That was when he noticed the streaks of blood in his vomit. He flushed quickly before the other got a hunch of them. The team already worried too much.

Bruce gave him some time to regain his composure. "So that was the last of it?" The doctor went on after his faint, barely visible nod. "Do you think you'd be able to try to stomach anything today?" They'd been through those 'test rounds' what felt like a million times over, trying anything they could get their hands on.

Clint swallowed hard. For a while he was sure that he'd throw up again. "I… I'll pass, yeah?" He refused to look towards his friend, instead focused on the white porcelain. "Because… Because for the past couple of days… I've really, really wanted raw meat. And I… I just can't go there, Bruce. I can't." It would've been losing the fight. Losing humanity. Because it wasn't just the meat he wanted. "I'm craving to hunt, too."

Bruce tensed up. Clint wouldn't have blamed the scientist on leaving. But instead Bruce sat down beside him, wrapping a loose, almost tentative arm around him when it became apparent that he wouldn't be able to sit up on his own. "You're not a monster, Clint, even if you may feel like one." The doctor's voice was full of such conviction that it made the archer's heart swell. "And we'll fix this. Just hang in there for a little bit longer."

Clint sat absolutely still. Exhausted to the bone, hurting beyond all imagination. But far from ready to give up. "Okay."

Bruce nodded. "Good." A couple of heartbeats passed by. "Do you feel ready to leave the bathroom?"

Clint shook his head and leaned heavily against Bruce without noticing it. Nor did he realize that his eyes slipped closed. It took his improved hearing to catch how Bruce began to hum softly a bittersweet melody.

Clint was quiet for so long that Bruce wondered if the archer had dozed off. Then, startling him, came a barely audible murmur. "You're not a monster, either."

The only answer Bruce managed was squeezing Clint's hand, his eyes stinging in a very suspicious way.

* * *

The couple of days that followed were even harder than the previous. Shattered what little hope Clint had managed to harbor. He was out of control more often than not. It reminded him far too much of his experience with Loki. When he – or whatever he was turning into – threw Natasha to a wall so hard that her lip was split the Hawk decided that a line had been crossed.

When Clint managed to have a relatively painless moment of absolute control over himself he decided that his chance had arrived. With as much composure as he could muster he excused himself to the bathroom and, pulling together whatever little strength his withering body still had, made his grand escape through the window. It hurt like hell and left him drained but at least he made it through.

He forgot about one tiny detail, though.

Wanda stood there waiting for him. She didn't look happy. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

Her disappointment hurt. But ending up harming her would've been far more agonizing so he endured it. "I… I won't be able to fight it back much longer. And when I reach that limit… I want to be as far away from you all as possible." He hurried on before his lucid moment or her patience would run out. "You can keep monitoring my whereabouts. If I'll need help you'll know. And… If I'm still me I'll come back when the cure is ready." 'When', never 'if', not even now, in the moment of the darkest despair.

Wanda frowned. It was blatantly obvious that she didn't like his plan one bit but she also didn't exactly have any alternative. "And what if you're not 'yourself'?"

Clint smiled. Best as he could, anyway, being nearly in tears of fatigue and pain. "You guys will find me", he pointed out fondly, meaning it. "You always do."

Wanda's eyebrows furrowed even further. "I hate this plan", she announced, just to make sure he knew. She folded her arms. "I'll be watching over you, closely. My idiot of a brother nearly got killed saving you and I'll be damned if I'll let you get yourself killed now." Clearly sensing his guilt she went on. "Besides, your little pep talk set my head straight. I guess I owe you."

Clint wanted to say something horribly clichéd and nauseatingly mushy, right there. Instead he settled for something different. "Keep the others from killing each other."

Wanda gave him a dry look. Her eyes revealed the truth. "I'm making no promises."

They didn't hug. It just wouldn't have been their style. But with the look they exchanged they might've as well.

With that bizarre farewell Clint began to limp away with as much dignity as he could manage. He felt her eyes on his back the whole way. He could only hope that he wasn't making a disastrous mistake.

* * *

Just out of the reach a figure observed his departure. Noticed the changes on him. And grinned.

Quickly and smoothly the watcher took a cell phone and dialed. "I won't be able to get to the original target. But the second one is in motion. Do my orders remain the same?"

" _Yes._ " There was no hesitation. " _Clean up the mess as extensively as possible._ "

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: The mess continues to deepen. Poor Clint. (winces) Bah, who am I kidding. Surely I'm not the only one here to whom Hawkeye-whump is a guilty pleasure.

As for Dr. Strange… I hope that you don't mind him joining the game for a bit. He won't have a very large role BUT he does serve a purpose. When it comes to his looks, in the honor of the oncoming movie I can't help but imagine him looking like Benedict Cumberbatch. Any other Cumberbitches out there…? (grins) I'm not averse to the comic appearance, either – he looks really cool! All in all, I just hope that I'll do the character justice. Even if just a little bit…?

Soooooo…. Good? Decent? Anywhere close? Absolutely horrible? The word's yours! The box down below is starving… And Christmas is just around the corner, ya know…?

SPEAKING OF WHICH…! I'm afraid that you'll have to wait for an update until next Saturday or Sunday because I'll be separated from my laptop for the holidays. BUT, when I return – provided that typing goes according to plan – you'll get a double update. Because there's this Christmas themed prompt for this collection that I just HAVE TO unleashed before the holidays are totally over. (THE PROMPT: Clint's Christmas shopping with his kids when some enemies appear. After ensuring that his kids are safe he begins a fight for his life. Heh, I can't wait to get to type the mini-Hawks!) How does that sound?

Okay, it's REALLY late and I should definitely be asleep by now. Until next time, folks! I really hope that you're all on board for that one. Take care! And, of course…

 **HAVE AWESOME HOLIDAYS!**

* * *

Guest218: In my opinion you did perfectly! (BEAMS) Gosh, I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as much.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: I'm OVERJOYED that you enjoyed, despite at first being unsure if this would be your cup of tea! (Which I would've totally understood.) I really hope that you won't be disappointed by what's to come, either.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: We'll see… Right now the poor guy sure is having it rough. (winces)

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I'm SUPER thrilled that you've enjoyed the plotline thus far! We'll see just what's to follow… And I just couldn't resist bringing in the twins. I love them too much. (grins)

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	21. Tale of Werehawk, 3 of 3 (AoU fix it)

A/N: YUP, I'm back! A few hours later than I'd hoped for but oh well… Before getting to the actual business, though…

THANK YOU, a million times, for the AWESOME reviews! You're sooooooo good at making my already immense Clint-whump grow still. Poor Hawk…! (chuckles) We'll have plenty of tales ahead of us and I really hope that you'll enjoy them as much as I adore typing them.

Awkay, because the clock once again isn't a friend… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **MENTIONS OF CLINTXLAURA AND TONYXPEPPER.**

* * *

The Tale of Werehawk, part 3 of 3 (AoU fix it)

* * *

The rest of the team wasn't pleased when they found out about Clint's decision. Natasha simply vanished for an hour. She came back with bloodied knuckles. Wanda and Pietro had a very, very loud argument. Anyone with eyes could see how badly Bruce was fuming. It was a small miracle that Big Green remained contained. In the end Dr. Strange led the scientist to a small room at a further edge of the building. When they returned Bruce's eyes were aware but slightly hazy. There was a needle mark on the man's arm. None of the others commented.

"You hide it well, I'll give you that." The approaching steps were slow but not hesitant. "'Can't say that I'd blame you. So do I."

Slowly Steve turned his head to look at Tony. He gritted his teeth before trusting himself to talk. "I'm not angry", he argued. "I would've probably done the same thing in his shoes."

Tony eyebrow arched. "Oh, really?" The billionaire went on without giving him a chance for further protests. "You're the leader of this impossible, insane group. And probably the most righteous guy who's ever walked this planet. Sometimes it makes me want to punch you in the face. But you're also the second angriest man I've ever met. The only difference is that you don't turn into a green giant when it gets too much." Seeing that the words hit home the inventor turned to leave. "Blow off some steam. Destroy a punching bag or two. Maybe then you can be the Captain America Clint and we all could sort of use right now." With that as his closing line Tony left, hoping dearly that the subtle change he'd seen in Steve's eyes was for the better rather than for the worse.

About twenty seconds after Tony's departure Steve looked down. His eyes widened. The metal railing he'd been squeezing had come close to bending under his brutal hold.

Steve destroyed five punching bags before he was ready to go back to the others.

* * *

Oliver Trask had been working for Hydra for a very long time. Along with many other employers. He was favored because he was both skilled and discreet. He always got the job done without asking any unnecessary questions. His latest assignment ended up being his hardest one yet. And his last.

Clint Barton was a tough man to track down. Especially when the archer obviously noticed that he was being tailed almost immediately. For five days they played cat and mouse, dancing infuriatingly close before Oliver lost track once more.

The famous Hawkeye wasn't called the world's mightiest marksman for nothing.

On day six Oliver's target finally got sick of the game. He was going through a small forest area, all senses sharp and his instincts ready to spot absolutely anything. Well, almost.

There were no arrows. Or even bullets. Only a low, dangerous growl, that of a threatened wild animal. And a flash of deadly sharp fangs. And then, a breath later, Oliver was down, those teeth sinking right at his jugular. Tearing him to pieces. The last thing he saw of this world was a pair of eyes that looked human and anything but all at once.

* * *

At a Hydra base a phone rang. The news were grim. " _Trask failed._ "

A bottle of very expensive alcohol flew at a wall. It took several moments before there was a growled response. "Then send in a team. Bring that… _freak_ down, whatever it takes."

" _You know as well as I do the number of dead trial subjects we've had. The changes are going to kill him soon, anyway. Why don't we just sit back and let nature take its natural course?_ "

There was a loud scoff. "Haven't you read his file? You've seen everything Hawkeye has lived through. Would you really make the mistake of underestimating him by leaving it to a chance?"

* * *

While Hydra was becoming desperate a team formed by Buce, Tony and Stephen Strange was more determined than ever before. Because finally they'd taken steps forward. Finally there was hope.

They stared at the gold-yellow liquid with slightly widened, disbelief filled eyes. "So…" Tony swallowed loudly. "What do you guys think? Is that going to work?"

"Maybe", Bruce murmured. "If his change hasn't advanced too far. But… That isn't our only problem."

Stephen began to explain so Bruce wouldn't have to say it. He kept his eyes firmly on the substance they'd spent quite a while developing. "Clint's body has gone through a lot lately. The changes thus far have been dramatic." He sighed heavily. "There's no telling if he'll be able to handle the reverse." All this hard work… So many people waiting for Clint to come back… And this could all still have a bleak ending.

Tony and Bruce exchanged a look. Both of them scared out of their minds and furiously determined all at once. Neither with the slightest intention of giving up. "Call the others", Tony decided at last. "Tell them that it's time to bring in the Werehawk."

* * *

Clint could feel that he was changing. So far only his teeth showed to the outside world but he could quite literally feel his insides twisting and moulding. Practically tearing to pieces.

Clint whimpered and sunk to the ground, leaning himself heavily against a tree. The taste of blood filled his mouth, that of his own and someone else's. Knowing what he'd done with all too much clarity hurt far worse than anything that was happening to his body.

He was turning into a monster and there was no telling how much longer he'd be able to hold himself back.

His thoughts weren't his own anymore. They were full of blood thirst and hunger for a hunt. He'd killed, brutally and in cold blood, and without a shadow of a doubt he'd do it again if he wasn't stopped.

And as though things hadn't been bad enough already he sensed ten new people tracking him down. He stiffened and sniffed the air half subconsciously. He couldn't recognize these people. But they were carrying guns. One of them already had a small wound. The scent affected him in a way that made him want to throw up. A part of him felt tempted to just let them find him and get this over with, end this torment. But he'd never been a quitter. And soon enough his actions wouldn't be in his own hands, anyway. Yet again.

A few tears rolled down Clint's cheeks and he unleashed a whimper that sounded far from human. ' _Wanda?_ ' he called out with as much force as he could muster. He could only hope that she was listening. ' _Just… Don't worry. I know you guys are coming._ ' Maybe… Maybe something good would come out of this loss of control. He'd felt them trying to locate him for days, now. Once the monster inside him would be satisfied there'd be nothing left to threaten the people he was quite willing to call family. He'd lose himself but at least his team wouldn't be lost.

That thought was Clint only comfort as he saw red and the control broke.

* * *

The rest of the Avengers had been sticking as close to Clint as they dared to. Determined to make sure that he was as safe as possible yet respecting his wish for a safe distance. They stayed close but away, no matter how hard it was when they knew how badly Clint was suffering. Hurting one of them would've ached him a million times more.

Finally Bruce's long awaited phone call came. " _I think we've got it. Bring him here._ " Those simple words were enough to fuel the worried, frustrated and tense group with brand new energy.

It took them almost a full day more to actually find their escaped Hawk. They weren't sure what they planned on finding as they rushed towards the spot to which Wanda eventually located Clint. Or which one of the options scared them the most. None of them was prepared for what they ended up facing.

There was blood. A lot of it. They feared the worst until their eyes found Clint. Their very own archer who still somehow managed to look like himself despite the blood staining him, the fangs and the gleam in his eyes that was nothing human.

And there was a horribly battered, barely recognizeable body at Clint's feet, very obviously dead.

"I know that guy", Pietro whispered, as though hoping that the Hawk wouldn't hear it. The kid's eyes were widened, even if he somehow managed to keep his expression otherwise even. "He… worked for Hydra."

Clearly they sent the guy to clear up the mess. Well, nice try. Too bad that it only ended up causing far more mess…

All other thoughts faded away, for all of them, when Clint finally looked their way. It was impossible to tell how much he actually saw, really. There was a barely human, chilling haze in his eyes as they sized them up, a low growl enforcing the message his whole demeanor was sending forcibly.

 _Not… a… step… closer._

Natasha opened her mouth but Wanda was faster. The younger woman's legs seemed to shake a little while she approached, attempting to make herself appear as harmless as possible. "Clint, I know you're in there. I can still feel you. So… listen to me, will you?" She swallowed loudly while Clint stopped growling, nonetheless moving further from her. "We need to go back, now. For the cure. So that you can have a future. You need to go back with us."

Yes, Clint was very obviously still there. Because all of a sudden his eyes filled with an immense amount of despair. It didn't take any amount of mind reading skills to figure out exactly what he was begging.

Feeling oddly safe although she shouldn't have Wanda took a one more daring step closer. "We'll help you", she swore, hoping from the bottom of her heart that the promise would hold. "I know you're scared, and exhausted. Just go to sleep."

It was a mighty staring match, during which they all tensed up, Pietro most of all. Prepared themselves to intervene. And then Clint made his move. They watched with a great deal of disbelief how the Hawk cast a one more, threatening glare towards Wanda. One that suggested strongly against all suspicious deeds. Their friend turned into a beast then lay down and curled up, exactly like a wild animal would, and closed his eyes. In a matter of seconds Clint was fast asleep on the cold ground. Looking disturbingly innocent despite the blood staining almost all of him.

"What… happened?" Thor inquired. Understandably confused. None of them had the slightest clue what was going on. "Did you use your powers?"

Wanda stared at Clint. Her heart hammered madly in her chest and adrenaline rushed through her veins. Still, for a reason she couldn't explain, she felt warmth swelling in the pit of her stomach. "No, I didn't."

* * *

Tony's eyes widened at the sight that greeted him when the worn, obviously agitated group returned. Several of them had scratches and bruises. The injury on Pietro's cheek looked like it might need stitches. Clint, who was carried almost carefully by Thor, was heavily unconscious and covered in blood. But as far as Tony could tell a nasty looking gash on his forehead was the archer's only wound.

"We had a good start", Natasha explained, deep worry and frustration sharpening her tone. "But then he got hostile. Steve had to take him down."

Tony looked at the Captain. Just a glimpse at Steve's eyes revealed that whatever happened it wasn't pleasant. There was a sea of guilt and self hatred. Was this the first time the Captain had to attack someone from his own troupes?

They didn't have the time for more talking, though. As quickly as they could they rushed to the room where Bruce and Stephen were waiting. The two men appeared shocked by the archer's appearance for a second before professionalism took over. It hurt all of them that Clint had to be restrained by heavy metal chains but they also knew that it was the only way. So, with heavy hearts, they let it happen. Allowed him to be hooked on all sorts of wires and machines. They all saw how tightly Wanda was holding Clint's hand but none of them had the heart to point it out.

They were startled when all of a sudden, just as Bruce was preparing the injection, Clint's eyes opened halfway. At first the archer frowned blearily, obviously not quite understanding what was happening. Then it seemed to sink in. Genuine panic flashed in Clint's eyes.

Stunning them all Natasha ran a gentle hand through the Hawk's hair. "It's alright", she promised. "We've got the cure. That's why we came to get you. It'll all be over soon."

Hope, such none of them had ever seen before, flooded into Clint's eyes. Brightened them. "Home?"

"Yeah", Bruce swore. "You'll get to go home soon." He hoped, from the bottom of his racing heart, that he'd be able to keep that promise.

Clint smiled. Although there was suddenly a knowing look in his eyes. It reminded Bruce eerily of a twelve-year-old patient he lost in India. That little girl had known that she was dying. And as her last words she murmured the exact same ones Clint did, barely audibly. "It'll be okay."

Bruce's mouth opened but in the end nothing came out. His chest feeling a thousand times tighter than before he forced himself to look away from his friend's face. Then, slowly and with unsteady hands, he pushed the needle through Clint's pale skin. The horrible responsibility pressing a ton's weight on his shoulders and Clint's ominous whisper echoing in his ears as the loudest thing he'd ever heard.

/ _"It'll be okay."_ /

* * *

Somewhere in a deep, pitch black sea of darkness Clint Barton was still present. Those moments were mere flashes, whispers, echoes. He felt someone's hands, which would've made him fight intensely if he wasn't so very exhausted. More touches, which made his body shiver as a response. Or had he been trembling before?

"Clint?"

"… _fever is incredibly high_ …"

"… _the cure_ …"

"… _no telling if he can_ …"

" _Clint, listen to me…!_ "

"… _blood pressure's starting to drop_ …"

" _Clint, you need to fight this, you need to come back!_ "

The succeeded in confusing Clint. Come back? But… Where had he gone? Those people… Why couldn't he remember their names…?

"… _sure that this is going to work?_ …"

" _CLINT!_ "

Too loud. Too painful. _Too much_.

Clint could actually feel his own heartbeat. The precious organ felt like it'd been attempting to crawl out of him with how furiously it was hammering. And it _hurt_ , almost more than anything that he'd ever experienced. He would've screamed if he'd had enough breath for such.

A breath… Breathing… He… couldn't…

Clint gasped desperately, futilely. His whole body arching and convulsing from the effort. And then everything exploded to a blinding, white light. The pain ended.

* * *

The team could only stare. A grim, hopelessly heavy silence lingered in the room while they all waited for something that'd quite clearly never happen. Waited for a yet another miracle.

It was incredible how quiet a room that contained so many people could be. Almost amusing. It would've been if the heart monitor keeping an eye on Clint hadn't been silent as well.

Blood was dripping from his mouth, a sign of his fangs disappearing. Aside some new, rather deep wounds those had been his only physical changes. Or perhaps not really. He appeared unhealthily pale and visibly thinner than he was at the beginning of the whole mess. There was also a rather chilling, peaceful look on his face. As though he'd simply decided to take a little nap.

And all of a sudden there was a surge of activity when Bruce and Stephen threw all they had into attempts at bringing the archer back. A full minute passed by. Then two. Eventually five. Clint showed absolutely no signs of coming back to them.

A tear, just one, rolled down Wanda's cheek while her hold on the Hawk's limp hand tightened. Her mind reached out desperately, searching through the dark that his head had slipped into. She couldn't find him. Wasn't able to reach the soothing, vibrant presence that she identified as Clint Barton. Her lips parted and she would've wanted to scream, so badly that it hurt, but just didn't have the breath.

Eventually it was Stephen who made the move. From the covers of his clothing he took a vial that held jade green liquid. With a look of steel hard determination he prepared an injection, then plunged it directly to Clint's vein.

"What the hell did you just give him?" Tony snarled, taking a protective step closer to Clint.

"Calm down." Stephen sounded calm but also firm. "I'd imagine that hardly anything could make the current situation worse."

Natasha's suspiciously moist eyes flashed dangerously. She might've done something she would've regretted later if something unexpected hadn't occurred right there. Because exactly eight seconds later Clint's heart monitor beeped once, then again, slowly yet steadily settling to a relatively normal rhythm.

It took several long seconds before they realized properly what was happening. Until they finally dared to believe it.

Wanda gasped when she eventually sensed Clint's mind again. He still felt rather far away but the sensation still made her smile without her noticing it. "He's back", she announced, paying no mind to how her voice broke.

Pietro grinned. It was impossible to tell if the shimmering of his eyes was caused by tears or the room's light. "Old man's too stubborn to go down like that."

Steve didn't seem relaxed at all. All of a sudden the man looked nearly as old as he technically was. "How is he?" the Captain demanded, watching how Bruce and Stephan kept working on Clint.

Stephen sighed heavily, watching the unconscious Hawk's face for a moment before focusing on the man's vitals. As a medical man he knew that Clint's body was without oxygen for a rather long while. Only time would tell how much damage it did. Or if the archer would even wake up at all. But he couldn't voice that to the group that'd already been through so much. "Let's just take this one hour at a time", he suggested gently. "Right now we need to focus on making sure that his condition remains stable."

* * *

Five hours later Natasha sat in the room, holding Clint's hand so tightly that it would've hurt if the man was conscious. "I just called Laura. You know, for an update", she announced, barely able to recognize her own voice. "I… didn't tell her everything. Couldn't. She isn't very happy with you. And neither am I."

Clint didn't respond, of course. Couldn't have with the tube stuffed down his throat even if he wasn't so far gone. It felt _wrong_ to see him so silent and still.

In the covers of the shadows Natasha wiped her eyes. A little moisture coated the back of her hand. "I'm expecting you to wake up soon, do you understand? You were the one who convinced me into this fucking life, led me to these people. What the hell am I supposed to do if you just dump me here?"

Clint slept on, aided by a ventilator, happily oblivious to the world around him and the drama he succeeded in creating.

* * *

Sitting on the rooftop of the building Steve was so deep in thought that even someone of Thor's size succeeded in sneaking up on him. He shivered with startle when the Thunder God spoke. "May I ask what you're doing up here?"

Steve smiled almost sheepishly, looking back to the landscape spreading down below. "I'm keeping watch", he admitted. "I highly doubt that Hydra would attempt to come after Clint with all of us here. But I'd much rather take no chances." Things had already gone this badly wrong. Would it have been otherwise if he'd done something differently? If he'd been a better leader? He was fully aware that one day those questions might drive him insane but he couldn't help himself.

It was the burden of being the leader of a group that took missions the kind the Avengers faced constantly.

Thor watched him for a few moments with unreadable eyes. Seeming to see and understand far more than he could've ever expected. Then, without saying a word, the Asgardian stepped forth and sat beside him.

Steve frowned. "Thor? What are you doing?"

"Keeping watch."

* * *

Another week passed by without any note worthy change in Clint. On day five Stephen was forced to leave but demanded that they'd contact him if they'd need any help at all. Whatever he injected Clint with and what it'd cause they might never know. The team was growing sick and tired of waiting. Of not knowing whether they'd get to keep their archer, after all. Or if the Clint who'd return would be the one they came so very close to losing.

Bruce couldn't remember the last time he would've slept properly. He'd tried but every time he closed his eyes the memory of Clint's lifeless body filled his mind. As it was he kept going with caffeine and the sheer power of determination.

It was a very early morning when Bruce checked Clint's I.V. bag, then proceeded to mark down the man's vitals. That was when he noticed something. Clint… was struggling. At first he prepared himself for the worst. When the realization finally dawned it made Bruce's eyes widen. "Clint? Are you… fighting the breathing tube?"

Yes, obviously. Clint was attempting to breathe on his own very hard and stubbornly. And Bruce was more than happy to give his friend that chance. Gently, gently, he removed the tube, switching it to a nasal cannula. The entire time he monitored Clint's oxygen levels carefully. They remained strong. The archer's breathing looked and sounded right, if not a little raspy from the days spent relying on a machine. Bruce wasn't able to chase away the grin that took over his face while he grabbed Clint's hand without even noticing it.

If he wasn't so focused on the machinery Bruce might've noticed how Clint squeezed back, weakly but determinedly.

* * *

The whole gang celebrated the massive leap forward with take-away food. All of them crammed into the small room. Watching over their Hawk as the man slept on.

* * *

A couple of days later Tony was taking his turn in keeping an eye on Clint. Although he wasn't doing a particularly good job at it. Was it any wonder that he fell asleep with all the restless nights he'd been through lately?

At first Tony thought that the strange, irritating poking was a part of his dream. Although he couldn't understand how _that_ could be a part of a dream in which he and Pepper were… _intimate_. He groaned and almost slipped deeper into the slumber until the voice, horribly raspy and lighter than a whisper, reached his ears.

"… head's… 'ing heavy… 'can't breath… and… don't like… that moaning…"

Tony's eyes flew open and he lifted his head far faster than would've been sensible. True enough Clint's eyes were open, only slightly and far more hazy than usual but still. They held a dry look. "Nice dream?" the archer rasped.

For a second, two, Tony stared. Then a wide, sunshine bright grin took over his entire face. "Good morning, Pigeon", he greeted.

Clint rolled his eyes. The man was unable to disguise a grin of his own. "It will be… as soon as you take your morning wood away from me."

* * *

A few days later Clint was finally declared fit to travel back home. The team was more than happy to leave the horrific place and the shadow of Hydra behind them. But Wanda wanted to, needed to, do something first.

Carefully as a thief she approached where their remaining unwilling guest was locked up. The beast snarled immediately at the sight of her. Grief pierced her heart. "Marco, I… I'm so sorry that we couldn't help you. That they did… _this_ to you." Tears flooded into her eyes while she pressed her hands against the glass separating them. His furious, inhuman snarls shattered her heart. "But… Maybe I can do this one last thing for you."

Her mind mind full of apologies Wanda closed her eyes and focused, with all her might. Reached out towards the creature's wild, protesting mind. Nudging gently, encouragingly.

 _Sleep_ , she urged.

The creature stiffened, still on guard, unable to comprehend.

 _Sleep._

Slowly but steadily the mind that'd been weakened by years upon years of being lost began to bend under her will. With a one more groan the beast slumped to the floor. Firmly cocooned by a deep sleep. One that'd last until his already horribly tormented body would finally give out.

That was when Pietro walked in. "There you are. We're getting ready to…" Her brother trailed off at the sight he faced. "What… did you do?"

Wanda gulped loudly. It didn't erase the lump in her throat. "I… I know that it's horrible. And cruel. But I just… I couldn't… I had to do _something_ because _that_ … that wasn't living."

Pietro watched the sleeping creature, clearly deep in thought. Shocked but no appalled. "He's never going to wake up, is he?"

Wanda nodded her confirmation. The boy they once knew as Marco would never wake up again, would never feel the fear, agony and despair that'd been his life for such a long time. And that Marco… They lost him years ago. The kindest thing she could do was to make sure that what became of him wouldn't suffer anymore. That he'd rest in peace.

Gently Pietro wrapped his arms around her. Sealed her into a hug that revealed he once again understood. No words were needed.

There, for the first time in forever, the twins allowed themselves to feel real, genuine grief over the life they'd been tricked into by Hydra, and cried silently.

* * *

Over the seven weeks that followed it became apparent that Clint wasn't left unscratched by his horrific experience. Physical side was one thing. Emotional was another altogether.

Nightmares were a very, very common experience. Several members of the team woke up to the screams Clint emitted in the dead of countless nights, shaken to the core by the memories of what he did, of how the bloodthirst took over him. It also seemed that he'd become vegetarian. Tony made the mistake of cooking stakes for them, once. The smell of meat sent Clint running to the nearest toilet where the man threw up loudly, tears shining in his eyes. It seemed that the archer couldn't eat much of anything, really. None of them liked how much weight the Hawk was losing. They also hated how he seemed to be shutting them all out. Gone were his witty, sarcastic comments. It was like the man they were left with had lost his soul to the beast that attempted to take over him entirely. Whatever there was going in his head he didn't share it with any of them.

The most painful part, perhaps, was how Clint kept distance to Laura and their children, including his newborn son. He called them, certainly, several times a day. But he refused to go back to them, insisting that there was no way he'd take that risk until he could be sure that he was himself once more. Clint didn't trust himself with his wife and children. Or with his team, for the matter. That he wouldn't attend to missions with them was understandable and they were forced to admit that even advisable, considering his mental state. He also refused to attend to sparring sessions and slept with his door firmly bolted.

Just like for a very long time after Loki Clint was deadly afraid that he'd lose control all over again, this time with even more horrifying results.

But Clint wasn't giving up, of course he wasn't. He made it through Loki and he was determined to survive this, too. Or well, that was what the others and Clint all kept telling themselves.

Clint didn't know how long he'd been sitting on the couch, staring at the TV without really knowing what was on. Eventually Wanda flopped down beside him and darted a disbelieving, far from impressed look at the screen. "'Teletubbies'? Seriously?"

Clint shrugged. He almost managed to grin. "I was sort of hoping that it'd help me sleep."

"When, exactly, did you drag yourself here?"

Clint shrugged. He honestly wasn't sure. "At… two in the morning, I guess. Or four. Why?"

Wanda's eyes betrayed worry. "Because by now it's four in the afternoon. And you look ready to pass out any given moment."

Well, that was news. Clint blinked sluggishly. "Oh?" _Very intellectual…_

Wanda met his eyes and looked at him very seriously. "I want to try something to help you calm down. But… I need you to trust me, alright? This isn't going to be easy, I know. But try to trust me."

It took longer than it should've before Clint caught up. His heart forgot a beat. "You want to look into my head." It was far from a simple matter for him.

Which Wanda knew, better than well. Which was why she gave him a look she hoped to be reassuring. She wasn't good at being reassuring with anyone but Pietro. "Let me help you", she requested softly. "I won't pry. I won't change a thing. I'll just try to help."

For a long, frozen moment Clint stared at her. Then gave the biggest sign of trust he could've ever offered anyone. He nodded, barely visibly but still. Appearing somewhat desperate, horribly scared and trusting all at once.

Gently, gently Wanda lifted her hands and placed them on both sides of Clint's head. She gave him a few seconds to change his mind. Then closed her eyes and entered.

So many flashes… So many emotions… So much heart that it took her breath away. When she finally finished her search and opened her eyes it took a moment before she understood why they were blurry. "See?" she murmured. "You're no monster."

Clint smiled, feebly but still. A single tear meandered down his cheek. "Thank you."

* * *

When Pietro peered into the room fifteen minutes later he couldn't help but smile. Clint was finally fast asleep, slumbering peacefully. And for the first time in ages Wanda was sleeping calmly as well, her head fallen to rest against Clint's shoulder.

After thinking about it for a moment Pietro took his phone and snatched a picture of the precious sight. Then, soundlessly and stunningly slowly, he wandered towards the kitchen. Perhaps he'd manage to make those two new vegetarians some dinner before they'd wake up.

Pietro's steps were light as he went and only common sense kept him from whistling. Because even if seeing the future wasn't his gift he knew something for certain. This nightmare was finally over.

* * *

 ** _End of story_** ** _._**

* * *

A/N: D'awww! (grins) It would've been nice to know what Dr. Stranger's injection was. (Must've been quite something if he waited until that moment to use it…) BUT, at least it brought our Hawk back and we got a happyish ending. With quite a bit of Clint/twins bonding.

Soooooooo… Any good, at all? Trash material? The comment box didn't get enough Christmas goodies and it's hungry.

Awkay, I've really gotta start heading towards my bed soon. Until next time – which will be as soon as tomorrow, since it's a loosely Christmas themed tale! How does that sound? I really hope that I'll see you all there!

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): HOORAY! (high fives) Join the club. (grins)

I'm insanely happy that you've enjoyed the tales thus far so much! I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride. And that you had awesome holidays, too.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: I know, right? :( Let's hope that he'll be okay. I'm THRIIIIILLED that you enjoyed it!

I really hope that you had happy holidays, too!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): It's SUPER exciting to hear that you're so eager to read on! (BEAMS) I really hope that what comes meets your expectations.

I really hope that you had happy holidays, too!

Enormous thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I'm excited to hear tha you think so! (grins) We'll see just what comes next… Hopefully the last bit AND the Christmas special turn out worthy of your expectations! (LOL, that word always makes me think of Thor, now.)

I really hope that you have a fantastic Christmas, too!

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	22. The Dangerous Art of Christmas Shopping

A/N: Now THIS is a quick return! (chuckles) I was actually supposed to post this yesterday but this turned out being far bigger than I intended, so… Word-explosion led to a slight delay. Ooooh, speaking of explosions…! Nah, I'll save it for the closing author's note.

THANK YOU, a million times, for you INCREDIBLE amount of reviews, listings and love! So many of you are taking this mad journey with me. And I've gotta admit that I'm VERY excited about this, which means… Poor Hawk!

Awkay, because time's just running today… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **CLINTXLAURA IN THIS ONE.**

* * *

The Dangerous Art of Christmas Shopping

* * *

Clint knew, entirely too well and painfully, that his family situation was… unique. Having to hide his wife and his children when they were the best thing in his whole world was pure torture. Having to steal every single day he spent with them was something far worse. He'd lost far too many milestones. First steps, first words, Christmasses, birthdays, even something as silly as potty training. So this, actually getting to spend the Christmas and these twelve days before it with his family, was nothing short of a precious gift. And if the antics of his two bungles of joy were anything to go by they seemed to share his enthusiasm.

Who would've thought that something as mundane as Christmas shopping for decorations could get a pair of children as excited as a visit to a amusement park?

Clint enjoyed even listening to the two bickering over what kind of a cookie dough was the best. He'd missed out on so much. This was a blessing.

Most of the time, anyway. "Daddy?" Lila had managed to find a pet store. Of course she had. "Do you think I can get a hamster for a Christmas present?"

Clint had been dreading this, really. The fatality rate of Lila's pets… wasn't encouraging. She took care of them, very well in fact for someone of her age. But for some reason her pets just didn't last. Laura had been quite vocal about not wanting to go through even one more animal-funeral.

Clint's mouth opened. Cooper was faster. "Nah. Hamsters are boring, anyway. But you haven't been particularly annoying this year. Maybe you'll get a ticket for that Pixar dinosaur film you've been going on about."

Lila's eyes brightened. All wishes for a pet forgotten. "You think so?"

Watching his children Clint was once again baffled by how much they'd grown up when he wasn't looking. And it seemed that Cooper had felt the need to take a role that no one of his age should've had to face. This might be something he'd have to talk about with Laura.

An hour and a Happy Meal later they were just about to start grocery shopping. Their happy chatting was disturbed by Clint's cell phone ringing. He picked up with a frown, not liking the fact that the call came from an unfamiliar number. The message he received was brief but clear. " _Unless you want those precious little children I saw you with get hurt come and face me._ " With that the call was over.

Clint breathed hard a couple of times. That voice… It was a man he hadn't seen in ten years. A man he sent into a prison ten years earlier and who was still supposed to be locked up. For the rest of his life, in fact.

Clint's blood ran cold and for a few seconds his thoughts became nothing but horrible blur. It was Lila's voice that pulled him back to reality. "Daddy?" Her eyes revealed that she knew something was horribly wrong. "What is it?"

Whatever doubt Clint may have had ended right there. By some miracle he managed to keep his expression even while he looked at his children. "See that dressing room right there? I need you to go in now. And don't come out until you can be absolutely sure that it's safe. Okay?" Seeing two solemn nods he attempted to smile and hoped that it came out right. He gave them one of the two cell phones he carried along. "Once you're there call mommy and tell her that we couldn't find any plum pudding."

It was clear that the children understood his instructions. But it was also painfully obvious that they didn't like it one bit. Lila's eyes widened a fraction. "What about you, daddy?"

Clint felt a sharp twinge inside. It took a lot of him to keep it from showing. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'll come and get you as soon as I can." His inner clock screamed that time was running out. "Now stop looking so worried, you two, and go."

Cooper took his little sister's hand, gently but firmly. There was something Clint recognized eerily well in his son's eyes. "C'mon, sis. I'll keep the bad guys away."

How was Clint's heart not supposed to break at that, at least a little bit?

* * *

Once they made it to the dressing room the siblings sat down, Cooper dialing numbers and Lila huddling right next to him. Eventually she rested her head against his shoulder, looking for comfort. Their hands never broke contact while they hid there, both shaking a little.

Cooper, who was still waiting for their mom to pick up, glanced towards her. "Don't worry. Dad's gonna be back soon."

Lila nodded. "I know." And no matter how scared she was she believed in it from the bottom of her racing heart. "Daddy's a superhero. He always comes back for us."

* * *

After spending ten years rotting in a prison cell there were quite many thing Travis Wheat wanted to do. After a visit to his favorite paid woman and eating at a ridiculously expensive restaurant he'd completed two of those things. Now he was determined to seal task number three on his very, very long list.

As soon as he entered the mall Travis froze. His ice blue eyes narrowed, searching the massive space around him. All of a sudden he was entirely too aware of the fact that he was in the same building with the world's most gifted marksman.

A flash later, faster than anyone would've been able to see it coming, something hit his chest. Exactly where his heart was beating a little too fast. Travis looked down and growled.

A toy arrow.

Two seconds later his phone rang. He picked up without wasting a second. Clint's voice spoke immediately. " _Surely you know that I'd never, ever take along my gun when taking my kids to a mall. It's why you chose to meet me here, isn't it?_ "

Travis shrugged and ripped off the arrow with more force than would've been necessary. The people around him paid no mind to a man playing with a kids' toy. It was almost Christmas, after all. "I could say that I had the same courtesy but momma taught me not to lie."

" _Very adorable._ " Clint's voice dripped with sarcasm. " _You know… I hate to break this to you, but midnight blue really isn't your color. You should've just settled for orange._ "

Adrenaline rushed through Travis' veins as realization dawned. His eyes darted around once more, his hand reaching out for his gun and wrapping around it greedily. Finally he spotted a familiar face, staring directly at him with an unreadable expression. Clint's eyes blazed, however. Promised to unleash all the powers of hell on him. Travis weighed down his options, their advantages.

He came alone, Clint with those most precious to him. That was Travis' advantage. Clint was a remarkably experienced assassin and knew the building better than he did. Which, unfortunately, was a massive advantage for the Hawk. Clint wouldn't want anyone else to get hurt, Travis didn't care as long as he'd get what he came for. Which, Travis mused, added a point to his corner. Travis came armed but it wasn't of a lot of use with the masses of people around them. He didn't care about collateral damage, obviously, but he also didn't want a stampede. Terrified mobs added far too many unknown variables to his liking. As tempting as it would've been to shoot Clint point blank through a silencer he couldn't risk someone actually seeing the firearm.

Well, one option might be just enough.

When Clint put away his phone, then turned around and began to walk away Travis didn't hesitate to follow. With a truly dangerous look in his eyes he trailed Clint to a elevator. A visibly filthy rich, elderly woman saw the smile they exchanged, clearly mistook it and changed her mind about joining them. The look of sheer disgust on her blanched, scowling face was spectacular. And then the doors closed, sealing him and Clint into a world of their own.

The second they were alone they were at each other. Fists and legs flew at a dizzying speed while two extremely well trained fighters clashed. He got Clint's right cheek. Clint responded with a punch that made him see stars. The ferocious kick that followed cracked two of Travis' ribs and he wheezed, only the power of his will keeping him from doubling over. His eyes blazed with sheer fury.

 _… fucking piece of …_

Travis wasn't allowing that to go unpunished. He did a rather impressive sweept with his leg, sending Clint against the elevator's wall with a loud thud. Moving like a cheetah Travis hurried to collect the reward for his efforts, crushing his hand against Clint's throat will all the strength he could muster. Quite purposefully he invaded his opponent's personal space, close enough to feel the breaths that'd stop soon. The archer groaned and wiggled under his hold, eyes blazing.

They barely noticed how the elevator's doors opened. A group of five teenage girls was about to enter until they took in the sight. They giggled madly and two of them snatched pictures before they dashed away, apparently misunderstanding the situation. The doors closed once more, granting the fighting duo privacy.

The sledgehammer hard kick to Travis' groin was a surprise although it shouldn't have been. One of those devilish little details he'd forgotten. Clint used to be an acrobat.

The attack was sealed by a dance like motion around Travis' slowly doubling over form. A backflip sent a merciless, boot covered foot at the criminal's face, definitely chipping a tooth and nearly making him black out. While Clint's one hand and both legs were pinning Travis to the floor the other hand went for where his gun was hidden.

Adrenaline can be a bitch but right there it succeeded in saving Travis' life for at least a few more minutes.

Travis unleashed an outraged, strangled sound before slamming his elbows to the floor and headbutting with all his might. It hurt like hell but it also pushed Clint that subtle little distance away. The archer wasn't giving up, though. Neither of them wanted to let go of the item that might make the difference between life and death.

For a few tense, ice cold minutes they fought over control over the gun until it went off, the shot sounding like a 'shush' as it was spat through the silencer.

* * *

Cooper and Lila trusted that their dad would come back. He always did. But the more endless minutes passed by the more anxious the terrified, confused children became. Until without any warning the dressing room's door was opened. It wasn't their dad.

Laura Barton's relief, if possible, outshone theirs. She wiped her eyes. "Found you."

* * *

Clint shivered, the pain striking him numb for a few traitorous seconds before the agony came flooding in like an inferno. He moaned and gasped, fighting to catch his breath. To ignore the thin trail of blood that was surely staining his black shirt.

Travis fired twice more. Both shots found a home. The third bullet finally succeeded in being too much. Clint's knees buckled and he slumped against the criminal, the whole world spinning in front of his eyes.

The elevator's doors opened a one more time, introducing them to a practically deserted hallway. All they saw was maintenance doors. And a massive window about eight steps away. Which was exactly towards which Travis began to drag him. "You've always liked high places", the criminal snapped. Talking with damaged teeth and a possibly fractured chin was, apparently, a challenge. "You've been basically begging to have someone throw you down."

Clint felt his injuries, of course he did. The pain was almost more than he could bear. But at that moment he could only focus on what would've filled any proper parent's mind.

His children, hiding and scared. Trusting him to come and get them. It was more than enough fuel for his ailing body.

Travis had probably expected him to just drop dead. So perhaps it wasn't a surprise that Clint's swift kick caught the man off guard. The taller man came crashing down and the Hawk wasted no time. Neither noticed that they'd come just a breath away from the window. Especially not Clint, who didn't hesitate the slightest bit while he pummeled his fist at the criminal's face, once, twice, thrice, four times, oblivious to his eventually pained, bloodied knuckles.

"You… should've never… ever…", Clint hissed through his teeth. His eyes narrowed and doubled the element of threat. "… threaned my kids."

Stunningly enough Travis managed to stumble up. But with the beating he just took the man's balance was far from ideal. Clint stared with wide, disbelieving eyes how one of the most brutal men he'd ever met fell against the window, then through it. This time his wounds and worry for his children made _Clint_ miss a devilish, vital detail.

Travis' hand was wrapped firmly around his ankle.

Clint was about to attempt stumbling up when a sudden force yanked him back down. Then towards the broken window. And through it.

* * *

It was a lucky coincidence that Natasha had been spending the weekend with the Barton family before heading for a mission. When Laura dashed to the farm's kitchen and told her frantically that her kids just sent an S.O.S. code for Clint they were on the move. Although Natasha managed to remain firm and composed for Laura's sake behind the well trained poker face her mind was racing. Coming up with far too many worst case scenarios. Laura didn't seem to mind the far too much speed Natasha drove with. Instead the brunette held her youngest, still a baby, tighter as though the child had been her soul link to sanity. Despite the hold Laura's poker face held stunningly well, too. Clearly being Clint's wife had forced her into taking far too many lessons in keeping it together and staying strong.

While Laura dashed for her children Natasha swore that she'd find Clint. For far too many, wasted minutes the redhead wasn't sure where to start. Then she saw something most would've ignored altogether. Exactly five drops of blood in the elevator. Her heart forgot a beat and her knees went weak for a second even if her expression didn't even twitch.

The top floor. Whenever she needed to find Clint Natasha's first bet was always to head high. Her stomach knotted painfully while the elevator hiccupped its way upwards, far too many loud people flooding in and out. For the final two floors she was blessedly alone. She took a couple of deep breaths, preparing herself for absolutely anything.

Like that could ever actually work…

The second the doors opened and the sight greeted her Natasha _froze_. Stared at the shattered window, at the blood stains in front of it. Then she dashed on, an infuriating blockage forming in her throat. "CLINT!"

That was when she saw it. Blood caked fingers holding on to the thin metal railing before the window, hanging on so tight that the knuckles had turned white. She knew only one person who was stubborn enough to hold on like that.

Faster than a lightning she was there. Clint most definitely looked like someone who'd been through quite a pummeling as he hung there, squeezing the railing for dear life. But he was certainly doing far better than the other man who'd fallen all the way to the asphalt down below and was definitely dead. She wasted no time or attention on inspecting the corpse. Instead she grabbed both of Clint's hands with everything there was in her and held on.

She was strong but Clint was bigger and heavier. Their joined strength was barely enough to get the job done. But finally he'd been pulled to safely. He slumped half limply against her, gasping loudly and trembling from the effort his body had been forced through. _Alive_.

It took quite a bit of effort but somehow Natasha managed to hold him up. She swallowed hard, telling herself that her eyes stung only because the bright sunlight hurt them. "I've got you", she murmured in a voice that didn't sound like hers. "I've got you."

"I know." And she could tell that he meant it. Quite unsurprisingly he was suddenly fighting to get up. "The kids… I need to see them."

Natasha wanted him to see a doctor. Because… Was that blood staining his shirt? But she knew him well enough to know that there was no way she'd get him anywhere near a hospital until he'd had his wish granted. So, biting back the many insults and threats on her tongue, she helped her unhealthily stubborn friend up. Very slowly and far from steadily they began to make their way towards where Natasha knew the kids and Laura to be waiting.

"I'm _fine_ , Tasha, just tissue damage."

" _Do not_ make me throw you through that window."

"Been there, done that, didn't enjoy it."

The rest of the Barton family was waiting in the car that Natasha had used to drive to the mall. They were scared and worried but very much unharmed. "Daddy?" Lila asked in a nearly timid voice.

Clint's smile was the one reserved only for his family. "I'm okay. Just a few bruises. Auntie Tasha's going to take me to see a doctor, just in case." His gaze focused on Laura. There was ache in both their eyes. "I'll be home as soon as I can."

Laura nodded. Only someone with Natasha's gift at hiding her emotions could see how hard the woman fought against tears. "I'm counting on it, Feathers."

"I should've known better than to introduce you to Tony."

The kids didn't like it but Laura was able to keep them from sealing their dad into bear hugs. From the way he was growing paler and paler and trembling there was no way he would've been able to handle it. Clint kept staring at the car until it'd disappeared from sight. His eyes then rolled back. Natasha was barely fast enough to catch him as he collapsed.

* * *

Three bullet wounds. A horrific amount of internal bleeding. Six hours in a surgery, then three more a couple of days later when Clint was strong enough to handle it. The medical staff treating him deemed him lucky to be alive. They looked at Natasha funnily when she burst into a laughter, the relief becoming too much.

"It has nothing to do with luck", she explained, even though it was none of their business.

Eight hours later, after sending Laura an update, Natasha sat beside her sleeping, recovering friend. Holding his hand tightly, almost like daring him to try and leave her again. If there were tears in her eyes no one would ever know.

"Idiot", she hissed at him, unable to disguise the affection in her tone.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve, somewhere around eleven in the evening. Laura sighed with sheer exhaustion while she slumped to the bed, burying her face into both hands. Getting the bigger kids to sleep had been a small war, especially when they kept waiting for their dad to come back home. And maybe Santa, too, although they both claimed to be too old to believe in such a thing. Little number three had been crying miserably all evening, as though acutely aware of the fact that someone was missing. Now, ten minutes after finally getting the baby to sleep, Laura was coming to a conclusion that her very own thoughts were the biggest distraction to proper rest. Because although Clint had called as many times as 'the hospital banshees' had allowed him to it didn't change the knowledge that her husband was far away, badly injured and she couldn't be there to hold his hand because she was his best kept secret.

Perhaps several sleepless nights were finally doing the trick, though. Laura was on the verge of falling into a restless slumber until a small, sudden noise pulled her back to full awareness. Every single one of her muscles tensing she sat up, preparing herself for a threat. Instead she faced something very different.

Clint leaned quite heavily against the room's doorway. The sheepish look on his face reminded her of their children when they'd done something forbidden. "Hey", he whispered, mindful of the sleeping baby.

Laura's heart swell and she felt warmer than she had in days. She narrowed her eyes even if the silly smile that'd taken over her face ate up a great deal of the impact. "Clint Barton, were you actually discharged?"

Clint snorted. Clearly hearing every single one of the words she hadn't voiced. "I wasn't going to spend the Christmas in a hospital." His steps weren't exactly steady when he made his way towards the bed. "Scoot over, yeah? I could sort of lay down for a bit." If he admitted as much he had to be exhausted enough to feel like he'd pass out any given moment.

Laura was more than happy to obey. When Clint stretched himself on the bed and ran a hand down her face his touch was light, almost shy. The kiss he gave her was anything but. Apparently he'd missed her as much as she missed him. He sighed, then hissed from pain, when their lips broke contact. Laura didn't realize that she hadn't dared to breathe until she saw the way Clint was looking at her.

"Shhh…" Clint wrapped his arms around her, held on so tight that it almost took her breath away. His familiar, comforting scent filled her mind, wrapped around her racing thoughts like a comfort blanket. "It's okay, Laura. I promise. It's okay."

Laura held back with as much force as she dared to. Buried her face to his chest so she could hear his heartbeat. And let a couple of tears fall while both of her fists grabbed firmly at his shirt.

She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to make him swear that he'd never do anything this stupid again. But as it was all words failed her. So she just held on to him, her hammering, rejoicing heart singing praises to whatever forces had brought him back to her once more. She savoured the sensation of those well known, much loved arms holding her in return.

What did they need words for in a moment like this, anyway?

Somewhere along the way they fell asleep, still firmly in each other's embrace. They had no idea of the two sets of steps approaching the room. Lila and Cooper peered in, sure that they'd heard something. Their eyes lit up in a way only those of children can when they saw their dad. Careful not to disturb the adults they sneaked into the bed and lay down, cuddling close to the comfort of their parents.

For the fist time in what felt like ages the whole Barton family slept soundly, together and feeling perfectly safe. Outside snow was falling. The light of a slowly dawning Christmas morning's sun made it shine like a field of diamonds.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Now THERE'S some delayed Christmas fluff! (grins) Gotta love the mini-Hawks. The idea of Clint being happy and a family man is absolutely intoxicating. See, I'm not a TOTAL sadist, even if I seem to adore torturing him…!

Sooooo… Thoughts? Comments? **Requests?** They're all welcomed with open arms and a great deal of enthusiasm!

 **WHAT WE'LL SEE NEXT:**

I can't give any promises about the order. BUT… Over the next few stories there'll be a rather horrific explosion. We'll also get a sickening front row seat to just how much torture poor Clint can take. Plus, poor little Cooper will get a horrific lesson on weapon-safety. Chances of another sick-fic are also high. And perhaps, just perhaps, we'll get an example of why Clint's his own worst enemy…

Awkay, I've reeeeeeeally gotta start heading for bed… Until next time, folks! I really hope to see you there. Take care! And, before I forget…

 **HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!**

* * *

Guest (1): HOORAY! I'm overjoyed that you enjoyed the ride. Hopefully the belated Christmas special will be worth the wait. Ah, you may not have to wait long before your request sees daylight… (winks)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: Adorable it was! Clint sure deserved some fluff. (BEAMS) I'm thrilled that it captivated you so! We'll see what the next one brings!

Awww, a fantastic New Year to you, too! (hugs)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Oh… wow…! I just can't find the words to express how happy you made me. It's a HUGE joy that you've enjoyed these tales so! And especially my take on Clint. (BEAMS)

This is how I see Clint. If he wasn't… THIS, the amazing Hawkeye we all love, he would've never ended up to the Avengers. And his family… Oh my gosh, how happy I am that he has one! I've gotta admit that for ages I flagged for Clintasha, but… Well, as long as he's happy and loved then I'm happy. And his kids are just too adorable! (grins)

Gigantic thank yous for the AMAZING review!

* * *

Guest 13: Hey, you were VERY quick! (hugs) I'm thrilled that you enjoyed the final seal for this VERY different saga. (grins)

Ooooh! I'm getting thoughts. Clint and Natasha sparring when she gets hit by a Red Room flashback and attacks him completely out of the blue… Thor, indeed, losing control and accidentally hurting him… OR, BETTER YET! The good old Captain America's dark side showing when he loses control and, in no control over his actions and their consequences, ends up harming Clint. The potential for angst…!

Awkay, now I'm getting totally carried away. (chuckles)

HUUUUGE thank yous for the review and INSPIRING prompts!


	23. How to Break a Hawk (M)

A/N: Phew! Finishing up this chapter took AGES because, well, it's pretty huge. And because it wasn't exactly the easiest to type… We'll see about the quality in a moment

First, though… Oh my dear gosh! It's A HUGE joy to meet so many other people who adore Hawkeye (and quite possibly Renner, too) as much as I do. The fact that you seem to adore the collection thus far as well is totally the best ever cherry on the top. (BEAMS and hugs) Thank you, for the reviews, listings, requests and love! You're Marvelous.

Awkay, because I'm sure that you didn't come here for my babbling… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **FIRST, A WORD OF WARNING!** After a long and hard consideration I decided to rate this chapter M. Some of the content in this chapter… It's pretty graphic. **TRIGGER WARNING** for torture, drowning and some pretty dark thoughts.

 **TINY HINTS OF CLINTXLAURA IN THIS ONE, NO ACTUAL COMMUNICATION.**

* * *

How to Break a Hawk

* * *

It's far harder than some people think to keep track of time when you're blindfolded and the only sound you can hear is your own breathing. Sensory deprivation is listed as a form of torture for a very good reason. Lay there on something soft yet firmly tied Clint fought to push down the panic that wanted to rise, to keep himself together and sane.

They were expecting him to crack, whoever 'they' were, and he wasn't going to give them such satisfaction.

Clint had twisted his wrists so hard that they were slick with blood, determined to unleash them from the cuffs. So far he hadn't been very lucky. Clearly those who had him were determined to keep him.

Reality faded in and out. The lines between what was real and what wasn't blurred. At one point he was snapped back to full awareness from nearly falling asleep by a stone hard, threatening hand squeezing his shoulder. His heart hammered while he fought to convince himself that it wasn't real. He didn't utter a sound, though. Just listened and waited, looking for a chance to break free.

Eventually he was hurting. Like hell. He must've been injured before he was taken and the forced stillness wasn't doing him any good. He also had a very large number of old injuries due to which he had to maintain a certain level of physical activity to avoid getting stiff and achy. The worst part, however, was his mind. It was all about psychological torture, after all.

The fact that he was alone didn't stop him from hearing voices. Barney's… Loki's… For some reason his memory chose to conjure up the worst of the worst. Barney's never ending accusations stung worse than any wound ever could've. Loki's praises made him want to throw up. He was fairly sure that at one point he did. It was hard to tell when it was almost like he wasn't one with his body anymore.

When memories weren't enough of torment his imagination came to play. All of a sudden he was the one who killed Phil Coulson. Although, Clint figured, he might've as well been with how he led Loki to the man. And then it was the rest of the Avengers dying, one by one.

Hulk looked at him with wide, betrayed eyes as an explosive arrow hit the building where the so called beast was hiding, instantly destroying the green giant. Thor's glazed over, lifeless eyes were directed towards the sky while the Asgardian lay on a snowy ground, Loki's Sceptre having impaled him entirely. Steve didn't even see it coming. The Cap stood at the edge of a horribly high building when a thrust from behind sent him plummeting down. Stunningly enough Tony went soundlessly. The billionaire's eyes widened seconds before the glass of strong alcohol fell from his hand and a trail of blood began to meander from his nose. And then the man himself fell. Poison. Natasha collapsed with five bullet holes on her body. She didn't need to speak out a word. The look, the unvoiced question in her eyes, spoke quite loudly enough.

Each and every single time it was Clint himself who took their lives.

What made it even more terrible… What threatened to drive him insane… Was that after what felt like an eternity of repeat he had no idea if those memories were real or not. Was his team really gone? Did he…?

All of a sudden the horrific silence and darkness were interrupted by a barely audible swishing sound, seconds before he was hoisted brutally to a sitting position. And then the blindfold was removed sharply and violently, exposing his eyes to light they were far from ready for. He writhed and attempted to close his eyes. A firm punch right at his face rewarded his efforts. It also pushed him towards focus.

It took time before the dark shadow standing in front of him cleared. It was a tall man he couldn't remember seeing before, possibly in his late forties or early fifties. The mystery guy had jetblack hair, just as dark framed glasses and brown eyes that held absolutely no emotion aside pleasure. Yet none of those things was what Clint focused on. What stilled his heart for a second was the fact that his companion wore a S.H.I.E.L.D uniform.

 _What the hell_ had he done…?!

The other man seemed to read his mind. Those eyes looking at him intently sharpened. "I, along with quite many others, have been waiting for this. For when you'll lose control again. Too see your hands drenched in red once more." There was a flash of pearl white teeth. "This time Fury's authority won't protect you from the punishment you deserve."

Clint's head spun as though he'd had a very high fever or a severe concussion. He would've very gladly preferred either or even both of those. _Anything_ would've been better than this nightmare of a reality.

With a one more, quite clearly pleased look at his face his tormentor obviously got what the man wanted and walked behind him. Clint's head spun even worse as he held his breath, waited for whatever was to come. Even if he wasn't sure if he cared too much anymore. Surely there was nothing that could've hurt worse than _this_ …?

Something cool and sticky was smeared to his shoulders and upper back. Clint stiffened, never having been one to like physical contact too much. And then, seconds later, the horrific, hellish burning began. Seeped mercilessly through his skin. Burned marks that were bound to be there for the rest of his life, however short that might be. Clint gasped, too out of breath to scream.

Acid.

The man torturing him chuckled in a way that chilled Clint to his core. "How about that. The Hawkeye now has his wings."

* * *

Clint passed out somewhere along the way, which was perhaps for the best. Afterwards he was forgotten again. His wounds untreated, the agony far worse than before. In oh so many different ways.

Nightmares, or perhaps they were memories, kept Clint company. Tormented him. Tore at his already bleeding mind. The voices never, ever stopped, wouldn't give him a moment of peace. The grief and guilt threatened to consume his mind.

Maybe it was a good thing that he was tied up, considering the thoughts that ran through his head in the darkest moments.

Clint wasn't entirely sure what it was that kept him alive. It was clear that his body and soul should've crumbled under the strain by now. But he refused all the same. Kept clinging to every little constantly fading shimmer of hope he had left.

Laura. The kids. The farm. Home.

God, he just wanted to go home! So badly that it took his breath away. But could he, really? Ever? Even if he by some miracle made it through this alive? Why should he when they were obviously far more safe when he was away?

That solemn, crushing thought was what coaxed Clint into unleashing the very first sound he'd emitted throughout the whole horror story. He whimpered. The couple of tears that rolled down his cheeks stung on their way.

* * *

Clint was in the middle of a dream in which Phil was alive and whole. Just a few steps away from him. The archer opened his mouth, attempted to call out. It wasn't until he saw the look in Phil's eyes Clint realized that something was wrong. Slowly, unwillingly, he looked down and nearly collapsed out of shock at what he discovered. A gun. It felt warm and heavy in his hold. And then all he saw, all that existed to him, was red.

Clint wanted to scream, from the bottom of his heart. Perhaps he did. But there was something blocking his airways. He was drowning.

Really, actually drowning. And the water around him… It was ice cold, unforgiving. The freezing temperature spread to his bones, into his blood, sped through his whole system. He was dying and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. Until he suddenly wasn't drowning anymore. He had barely enough time to suck in a hasty breath until he was pushed under the surface again.

The routine repeated itself far more times than Clint had the energy and focus to count. In the end he wasn't even able to distinguish when he was underwater and when he was safely above it. At least a couple of times he inhaled water by accident. He was brought back brutally, with force that most likely broke a couple of ribs, just to ensure that the ordeal could continue.

Eventually the one drowning him seemed to decide that there'd been enough fun. He was yanked harshly to a solid ground and he hit his head rather hard on stone floor. At first the impact and oxygen deprivation made him see double. Then, just as his companion yanked him to a sitting position from his hair, his vision regained at least some of its focus. It was the same man who last greeted him to the waken world with acid. A sneer was aimed at him. "Just say the word, Hawkeye… And I'll make this stop. I'll make all of this go away. I'll put you out of your misery."

Clint glared, even if he could barely see. Held his head up the best as he could, sucking in feeble, desperate and horribly wheezing breaths. With gritted teeth he braced himself for whatever would be thrown at him next.

He refused to beg for mercy when he deserved none.

His companion didn't seem to mind much. The man nodded slowly. "Alright. Just remember that you brought all of this to yourself."

Uninvited but perhaps not unexpected flashes of his team filled Clint's head. Death. Blood. Pain. Sorrow. He tried to breathe properly but his chest felt far too tight and full. It took all he had not to hung his head but he closed his eyes, felt the grief and self loathing come in a wave that threatened to crush him.

"They trusted you, you know? I can't even begin to imagine why, seeing how comfortably you played around with Loki. But they did. And this is how you repaid them." His captor snorted and spat at him. "Piece of shit."

Instinctively, without a second of doubt, Clint spat right back, tasting blood as he did.

It was a small miracle that Clint didn't lose consciousness from the force of the kick aimed at him. " _Do not_ test my patience! Because I'm determined to have you stick around and feel every little bit of the pain you put them through." With that threat Clint was left alone.

Clint didn't know how long he stayed there. He must've blacked out at some point because all of a sudden there were no binds restraining him. And a heavy metallic door at his right… It was wide open. Showed him a snowy landscape.

Clint was already freezing, wet and save a thin t-shirt and boxers stark naked. Once he made it outside… There was no telling how long he'd survive. But he had to give it a try.

With all his willpower Clint hauled himself first to a sitting position, then up. He had about the strength of a kitten but he wasn't going to lay down and wait for death. Even a trap was a more favorable option. Swaying miserably and panting he fought his way outside.

The cold that wrapped around him… It was mind numbing. It hit his moist skin like a rainshower of needles. Clint gritted his teeth against it and trekked on. Step by a unbelievably painful step, desperate to get away. Even if he wasn't exactly sure what he was escaping anymore.

Clint made it further than anyone could've expected him to. But he could only go on for so long. Eventually his body just refused to carry on anymore. With gasp he fell to the snow, hitting a small hill that sent him rolling downwards. He finally stopped so that he lay on his back, his barely seeing eyes staring unblinkedly at the unnaturally blue sky above him. At least he wasn't feeling cold anymore. That was good, right? Wasn't it…?

On the brink of consciousness he thought he felt a touch. Heard a familiar voice. " _… Clint …_ "

"Clint, Clint, Clint…" His captor clicked his tongue. The man towered above him, appearing strangely bright against the snow and the sun. "Are you having fun yet?" Something large and at least partially metallic was revealed. His eyes didn't focus enough to identify what it was. "Don't worry, I'll make sure that you won't do something this stupid again."

Clint blinked sluggishly. And passed out before whatever the item was ever made contact. Small mercies.

* * *

The second Clint woke up he could tell, for a fact, that his legs were broken or at least very close to it. And he was still cold. His jaw tightened and he attempted to curl up, only to realize that he was restrained by something metallic.

Clint didn't open his eyes. Still his captor knew that he was awake and spoke. "Oh, don't worry, it's unnecessary for you to see this. In fact I prefer it that way."

At that moment Clint became aware of the blindfold. He shivered and tried to move, no matter how futile he knew it to be. Steps approached him from behind, making him stiffen to a point where it hurt. _Everything_ hurt.

Which, of course, didn't mean that he wouldn't be hurting even more soon…

The sound that came made Clint flinch long before the words did. "Whipping is a fascinating thing, you know. It can be a pleasure. But if it goes too far…" The man chuckled in a chilling manner. "Well, we wouldn't want it to go that far, would we? There's only thing you need to do to make it stop." The man was so close that Clint felt a warm breath against his neck and would've gagged if he'd dared to. "Scream for me, Hawkeye, and it'll all be over."

The moments of nothing that followed were almost more of torture than the agony that followed. Then came the first slash of pain. Clint trembled and bit his lip.

No way in hell he was going to scream…!

Four more. His captor laughed. "How about that…! Aren't you a tough little one? Well, I suppose we have to do a little more work…"

Over and over and over again. At some point Clint quite honestly lost count. Not that he would've really wanted to keep track. In the end he wasn't sure if he would've been able to give that scream the other man expected even if he wanted to.

The skin of his back felt like it'd been peeled off. He could feel blood dribbling down his bare legs, stinging hellishly when it found wounds and frost bites. Then, so suddenly that it startled them both, his limit was met.

When the whip struck a certain spot, seeming to reach all the way to the bone, Clint finally broke and howled out loud.

The whipping ended as suddenly as it began. For the longest time the only sounds Clint could hear were both their gasps and his own racing heart. "You… really made me work for it", his captor finally panted in a threatening tone. "You… shouldn't have made me… work so hard."

With how badly Clint's back and legs hurt he barely felt the beating he received. Even if it seemed that there was steel covering the other man's fingers. He should've known to expect the worst the second the rough handling ended all of a sudden. By then he was too exhausted and out of it to care much.

"What is this…?" Cold, unwanted fingers brushed a spot at his side, quite close to his heart. Clint shivered as a response, far too aware of what it was.

A tattoo. The symbol of eternity. He took it on the day before his wedding…

The knife was unexpected. Enough so freeze everything inside Clint, almost his heart as well. It cut through his skin with a great deal of skill, beginning to erase the most precious mark on Clint's a million times battered body.

"Your eternity is here with me, now." The knife seemed to cut even deeper. "Whatever little of such you have left, anyway."

Clint wanted to scream. To fight it, even if it was impossible. To pass out. Instead he shut down, completely and utterly. Only one mantra echoing and filling his whole consciousness.

 _You deserve this… You deserve this… You deserve this…_

* * *

It was all hazy from there. The beatings and other torment came and went. Most of the time Clint was simply forgotten to his cold, damp prison, hanging from his wrists on the chains. His consciousness flickered on and off as well, like a broken light bulb.

Clint no longer tried to keep track of time because it didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to escape on his own and no one would come for him. Wasn't it a small bit of mercy to not know exactly how long he'd suffer before the inevitable?

This time his captor stood right in front of him. The cold metal of a knife was pressed against Clint's cheek. "You know… At first I thought about cutting off your tongue. But you've already been disappointingly quiet." The item was pressed harder. "I think I'll make you smile for the rest of your miserable, short life instead."

Clint should've been afraid but he was too far gone to feel anything so intensive.

Sometimes Clint dreamed. So was it any wonder that he imagined his rescue to be a dream as well? His captor's voice sounded muffled and distant. " _… the hell did you find me?…_ "

The next thing Clint knew was a new hand pressed against his cheek. A familiar hand. Safe. "Clint?" That voice… It couldn't be… "Jesus… Clint? Can you hear me?"

But Clint was already beyond understanding anything further. The familiar, soothing black was creeping in. "… deserve it …", he murmured to himself just before it swallowed him in whole.

* * *

Although he didn't have any injuries, even bruises, Steve ached physically while he stared at Clint's firmly drugged form. Feeling ill he folded his arms in a rather pathetic attempt to shield himself. Not that anything would've erased the bitter, foul taste of guilt.

For two weeks they imagined that Clint was with Laura and the kids, and she imagined that he was with them. By then the one who took him had destroyed all methods the archer had in his person that might've helped track him down. Another week later they discovered that Hydra had been able to convince a former S.H.I.E.L.D agent to help them bring down the Avengers. Apparently they decided to start with breaking who they assumed to be the weakest member of the team.

The fact that a former ally was helping their enemy proved to be a great challenge. The rogue agent knew far too many tricks with which to hide Clint. In the end it was a message from Hydra that led them to their Hawk. Just coordinates, a simple message and a gut wrenching picture of Clint's unconscious, battered form. For a moment they hadn't been sure if the archer was even alive anymore. Or well, they hadn't been fully certain until they actually found the man.

' _Feel free to come and collect what's left of him._ '

There was only one reason why Hydra would've allowed them to find Clint. To shock them and to showcase their power, of course. But also because as far as the organization saw it their work was done. Clint Barton was gone.

What they did to Clint physically was painfully obvious on his skin and broken bones. What they did to his mind… They'd have to wait and see what the full damage in there was.

Steve swallowed hard, blinking back the stinging sensation that threatened to take over his eyes. He refused to accept this defeat. He'd seen, far too many times, just how stubborn and resilient Clint could be. He wouldn't accept that this was the time when that will of fire and iron wouldn't be enough. Still, seven weeks…

Steve took Clint's hand, mindful of the I.V. line running to it, and squeezed as much as he dared to. "I'm sorry, Clint." And he meant it from the bottom of his heart. "I… I'm so sorry that it took us this long to find you. But we're here now, alright? We've got you."

It might've been a trick of Steve's imagination. Most likely was. But for a couple of fleeting seconds he could've sworn that he felt Clint squeeze back, feebly but stubbornly.

If Natasha, who was keeping guard on Clint's other side, noticed the single tear that slid down the Cap's cheek she didn't call him out on it.

* * *

There was the oddest sensation of warmth. A hand grabbing his, pulling him back towards the light, towards the hope. It calmed him, rooted him. At least for a moment. And then it was dark once more. Until Clint opened his eyes to a painfully bright world of white. He gulped, his gaze darting around without being able to focus properly.

Where was he? This wasn't the place he was held in. What happened to him?

And then a familiar voice was everything that fit into his head. "Clint?" There was a small screech that didn't even register to him. "Are you awake?"

Slowly, dreading what he'd find, Clint turned his head. And true enough, Natasha Romanoff was sitting there beside his bed. Wearing clothes he remembered vaguely having seen before. There wasn't a drop of blood on her, no wounds from the worst betrayal. Right there Clint knew exactly what had happened to him.

He died and now he'd pay for what he did to her, he'd get what he deserved.

Clint was supposed to breathe. Or was he? Dead people didn't breathe. He gasped, dimly aware of the horrific wheezing sounds that crawled through his throat. His lips, so dry that it hurt, opened but none of the million words that wanted to come out made it past.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…!_

Natasha didn't appear upset or angry. Just worried and possibly more exhausted than he'd ever seen her. "Clint?" Her voice echoed strangely in his head. "Clint, you need to breathe, alright? Deep, even breaths…" She reached out a hand. The touch of her cool fingers on his bare arm was what finally broke the barriers.

Clint _screamed_ , from the bottom of his aching body and soul.

* * *

The team had been aware that Clint suffered from a very high fever, caused by a severe infection, and that he'd been pumped full of hallucinogenics. Nonetheless when Natasha told them what happened in the room, sounding and seeming uncharacteristically shaken, they were shocked. Just how deep did the damage go?

The Tower's medical staff was forced to sedate Clint. Afterwards, once the archer's vitals had calmed down from the shock to the system, his morose faced primary doctor announced that the next time he woke up none of the Avengers would be there. It was uncertain if he'd be able to handle a second panic attack of this magnitude in his current condition. The team absolutely hated the idea, detested being so utterly helpless, but there was nothing they could do about the fact that she was right. As much as they wanted to be there for their Hawk his health had to come first.

In the end it was a small woman with black hair and piercing blue eyes who sat beside Clint when his sedation was lowered. Psychiatrist Rebecca Myers, apparently the best Fury had been able to find. There was a grim look on her face when she emerged from the room. Out of their demand her explanation was brief and blunt. "As far as Clint knows he killed you all and he is supposed to be punished for that."

Whatever they'd been expecting _that_ certainly wasn't it. All of a sudden it became painfully obvious just how long and rocky the path ahead of them was. A sombre silence lingered for a very long time.

"How do we help him?" Tony asked at last. A great deal of both ache and determination in his eyes. Behind him the eyes of the rest of the team matched his resolve.

Rebecca smiled, only sightly but still. Clearly seeing many things the team – family – in front of her tried to hide. "First, we wait for the last of the drugs to leave his blood stream. And then we'll fight with him."

* * *

Clint was explained, over and over again, that his team was still alive. That those things he kept seeing, that haunted every single one of his waken moments and the little sleep he managed to have, weren't real. He tried to believe it, he really did. But it was painfully hard when his confused head had no idea what was real and what wasn't.

However, little by little Clint began to take control over himself and his life. He wasn't able to eat much yet when several scents made his stomach flip upside down but he consumed everything he could. Having grown used to training since he was a child he devoted himself to physical therapy. Healing physically was easy, especially when it hurt. It kept the monsters and thoughts whispering constantly at bay, even if only for a moment. He was able to feel like Clint Barton. Which was why one afternoon a nurse found him doing push ups, ignoring his damaged legs as well as his still healing ribs and back. He refused to be dragged back to bed until he nearly collapsed.

As for the team… After about a week or so they began to stop by. Briefly but still. They told him about harmless topics, clearly tried to bring some normalcy to what couldn't have been further from normal. Clint himself wasn't able to utter a word, or even a sound, when he was with them. What could he possibly say when in those flashes in his head…?

Clint felt ready to throw up whenever he dared to finish that thought.

At the beginning of week two Rebecca granted him the permission to use a cell phone, just that once and only for fifteen minutes but still. Clint had dialed the numbers before he'd had a second to think about it. Lila's familiar voice picking up made something thud and shudder inside him. " _Daddy?_ " There was a tremendous amount of hope and joy in his little girl's voice.

Clint's mouth opened twice before sound finally came. His eyes didn't feel right. "Hey, kiddo." His voice sounded croaky and pathetic but he didn't care. "You wouldn't believe how much I've missed you."

It tore at his heart to hear the sobs Lila tried to smother. " _I miss you too, daddy_ ", she whispered.

* * *

It was a roller coaster of ups and downs for the next week and a half. Clint slept more although the nightmares came every single time. It was eerie, really, how silently he suffered through them. Eventually the team made a habit out ensuring that there was always one of them keeping the archer company while the man slept. Which led to the Hawk developing a habit of his own. Bruce was the first one to wake up to the feel of a hand wrapping around his wrist, fingers pressing at his pulse point. Never having been one for physical contact he stiffened at first. Then, hearing Clint's steady and even breathing, he changed his mind and let it be instead. If that simple touch was enough comfort to help Clint sleep properly who was he to take it away?

Clint's dislike towards being touched wasn't a huge problem with them, save perhaps Tony who was rather fond of certain small gestures. Once he almost had his teeth punched in when he forgot to watch it and patted Clint on the shoulder. Eating was also still an issue. Natasha explained to the rest of the team that Clint had never been a good eater when he was stressed out and even at his best he was a pretty picky. They'd just have to give him time. Sensitivity to light was resolving itself, slowly yet surely. During the first weeks Clint had worn sunglasses everywhere to ensure that he wouldn't suffer from a constant migraine.

"Now that's badass", had been a smirking Tony's review.

It coaxed the first and so far only smile they'd seen on Clint's face since his return.

As much as Thor wanted to be there for his friend Asgard needed him. When he came back it was exactly seven weeks since Clint's rescue and he volunteered to take the night shift. Only to freeze to the room's doorway upon discovering that Clint wasn't in his bed. Before he had the time to panic he heard noise from the room's bathroom.

Quickly and with every bit of noise a man of his size was expected to make Thor marched to the firmly closed door, knocked and waited for the total of three seconds before opening it. He had no idea what to make of the sight that greeted him.

It was a surprise that Clint had managed to make it there by himself. Apparently the archer had been planning on shaving. The wall mirror was now, however, shattered. Clint stared at the mess with half glazed over, wide eyes. An unsteady hand lingered above one of the biggest and sharpest pieces.

Despite still knowing fairly little about the human nature Thor recognized the dangers of the situation. He entered slowly, his chest feeling unnaturally tight. "Are you alright?" Of course Clint wasn't. But starting with pointing that out didn't feel like a good idea.

Clint blinked twice. Slowly, dazedly. "Yeah, just…" There was a rough, raspy chuckle. "This is gonna sound pathetic, but… I was trying to recognize myself."

Clint had certainly changed. Lost weight, gained a couple of new lines on his face, grown paler, sported a stubble. But still… Thor shrugged. "It's most certainly you", he assured his friend.

Those simple, fairly silly words seemed to have a massive impact on Clint. The archer looked at him, met his eyes with a searching gaze. And obviously found something. It took a while before the thought that formed was voiced. "If… a time comes, when I'm _not_ myself again and I can't come back… Promise me that you'll do whatever it takes to protect everyone else. Promise me that no matter what, you won't let me hurt anyone." It was said like the most important request the archer had ever uttered.

The suggestion shocked Thor, to a point where he was speechless for a rather long moment. He stared at the archer, took in despair in those eyes. That, and the fire even the hell Clint had gone through hadn't smothered. "Yes", he swore with utmost honesty, taking a seat beside the human. "I will." It was easy to promise when he already knew that he'd never have to see it through. For now that pledge would hopefully soothe Clint, until the archer would have faith in himself as well.

Clint's shoulders dropped from relief, as though a ton's weight had been lifted from them. The Hawk nodded slowly. "Thank you."

They sat there for the longest time. Perhaps it wasn't the most comfortable place and it certainly wasn't sanitary. But it was the most at peace Clint had been since being rescued and Thor seemed to sense as much. What the Asgardian didn't know yet was that it was the first time since his return Clint actually spoke in front of one of the Avengers.

* * *

The recovery progressed from there. Clint talked just a little bit more each day. Came out of the iron hard shell he'd built around himself. At two and a half months he even traveled away to visit his family. He came back three weeks later, appearing happier than they'd seen him in ages.

Slowly yet steadily the archer was finding his footing again.

He never once made a move towards his bow and arrows, though. And whenever someone brought up the topic of missions Clint withdrew with some often lousy excuse. In fact, he seemed to avoid all situations that had the potential of sparking strong emotional responses or bad memories. But he couldn't keep running and hiding forever.

'Stubborn' might be Clint's second name but it was close to being Tony's first. When Clint limped to the Tower after taking a walk and entered the room he'd most occupied lately the archer froze at what met him. Waiting for him was a set of weaponry the Hawk knew better than anything else in the world. "What the hell is this?" It was a hiss but not that of rage, rather one of fear.

Tony gritted his teeth, praying to whatever deity that might or might not be listening that he hadn't just crossed a line. Bracing himself for a storm. "I'm not doing this to bully you, okay? Or to pressure you. I'm doing this because…" How much, exactly, of his dignity was he willing to sacrifice? _To hell with all of it…!_ "Look, Feather Brain… You drive me insane most of the time but… I guess I sort of miss you, okay? So, here's the deal. Shoot an arrow or you'll find one from your ass."

For a few stilled moments Clint stared at him like a wild animal caught in a trap. Then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, understanding dawned. The smile that appeared to the archer's face would've been worth a photograph. "Like you'd be able to aim that well."

Tony held his breath without noticing it while Clint looked at his favorite weapon with unreadable eyes. Slowly and hesitantly the archer's hand reached out, caressing first the bow, then the arrows. Tony had never seen anything be handled quite so gently.

In the end Clint moved so quickly that Tony had hard time keeping up. Experienced, longing fingers readied the weapon, eventually aiming it at a target board Tony put into place long before the archer's arrival. There was a pause, during which Tony held back a gasp in fear of shattering the whole event's delicate magic. Then the arrow flew, finding a bullseye as easily as if coming home. Seeing the new, intimate smile on Clint's face as the man looked at the target board and the unshed tears in the man's eyes Tony came dangerously close to crying himself.

It took months before it occurred to Tony that Clint never once walked with a limp since.

* * *

Two months later Clint was in the Quinjet for the first time since his capture. They could all see the hints of insecurity and worry in his eyes. But also the joy and the internal inferno that'd come so very close to dying out. No one said anything when Natasha stood right beside her partner, so close that their fingers brushed together even if they didn't hold hands.

Come what may they'd face it together. All of them. Just as it was supposed to be.

Eventually Steve took Clint's other side. He gave the archer a look before focusing on the landscape outside. "Ready?"

Clint nodded. Whatever hesitation lingered in his eyes before was long gone. "Ready."

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: This became HUGE! But, I didn't feel comfortable leaving it anywhere else and I didn't want to break this in two, so here we are. But awwww, how cute is the team?!

Thoughts? Comments? Requests? PLEASE, do let me know! Let all us Feather Head fans unite! (grins)

DON'T BE ALARMED IF YOUR REVIEW DOESN'T SHOW PROMPTLY! The site seems to be having some issues… I've reported it and I'm sure that it'll be fixed soon. Until then the reviews are safe, sound and VERY MUCH loved in my mail-box.

UP NEXT (the order may change and I MAY add something in between, but this is a rough draft):

Down With a Blow (our Hawk ends up in the middle of an explosion)

What Hawkeye is Worth (when Clint is left doubting his worth and place on the team it threatens to become a disaster)

The Luck of an Archer (deflecting bullets is a neat trick – unless it goes horribly wrong…)

A Hawk's Sick Day (poor Hawk doesn't seem to be feeling too well…)

A Little Friendly Fire (one of Clint's children learns the hard way why his father is very, very serious about weapon safety)

How do those sound like to you?

Awkay, I've gotta get going now. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you all there!

Take care!

* * *

Guest218: WELCOME BACK! (hugs) LOL, it's SUPER good to hear that you think so. Because sometimes I enjoy typing this a lot more than I should… (chuckles)

I'm SUUUUUUUUPER happy to hear that you enjoyed the chapters! (BEAMS) Clint's family, the twins and Dr. Strange may all make a new entrance in the future…

And I LOOOOOOOOOOVE Clint as a family man, more than makes sense.

Mmmm, reeeeeeeeally liking the request. I may have used it a little bit in the newest chapter. (grins)

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): So do I, so, so, so much! (BEEEEAMS) I'm REALLY happy that you enjoyed it!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Awww, I'm ecstatic to hear that you think so! (grins) I really hope that what's to come meets your expectations.

Oh, believe me, your ideas were VERY MUCH adored!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: YAYYYYYYYY! I'm overjoyed that you not only enjoyed the chapter and my take on mini-Hawks, but also that you like that type of Clint as much as I do. (grins from ear to ear) GOSH, I really hope that you'll enjoy the next one as much.

Enormous thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): WELCOME ABOARD! (beams) Gosh, you're making me feel all flattered. I really hope that what's to come won't disappoint, either!

Mmmm, I'm VERY MUCH drawn to that idea! That comic-storyline immediately caught my interest when I first encountered it. Totally goes to my 'must type' list!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	24. Down With a Blow

A/N: Yuuuuuuup, it's time to update! Polishing this chapter to a point where I feel comfortable to publish it took way longer than I expected but FINALLY it's time. First, though, because I'm absolutely floored here…!

You guys are INCREDIBLE! Take a look at your accomplishments. A hundred favorites… 136 followers… And OH MY GOSH, we're approaching 340 reviews. I don't know what to say, other than THANK YOU! You guys can't even imagine how happy I am that our favorite Hawk has so many friends. So what if we love tormenting him? Whump is love. (grins, and HUGS each and every single one of you)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's rock'n'roll! I really, REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **SUBTLE HINTS OF CLINTXLAURA AND TONYXPEPPER.**

* * *

Down With a Blow

* * *

Clint had been very comfortable with high places since he was a little boy. Which gave his mother many near heart-attacks. His father… Well, that lousy excuse of a human being would've only cared if he'd crashlanded on the bastard's bottle of beer. 99,9 percent of the time his father was also too drunk to climb after him wherever he chose to take a refuge from. Another very good reason to feel fond of heights. Not to mention that his spectacular eyesight provided him quite astonishing views, especially if he dared to climb high enough.

Still, if someone had told him that as an adult he'd be jumping off buildings, wielding a bow and arrows, he would've advised that person to seek medical help.

Clint grunted as he crashed through a window and landed hard. After a brief roll he finally managed to find his footing and bounced up, ignoring how his body scolded him over such a moronic decision. Two hostiles appeared just as he was catching his breath, lured by the noise he made. He took them down easily. "I'm in", he announced to his ear comm. "What am I looking for?"

" _What the hell happened?_ " Tony demanded sharply. " _I just saw a dark shadow jumping from the building. I'd ask you to tell me that it wasn't you, but… Well._ "

Clint rolled his stiff, sore shoulder. It popped pleasantly, gaining peace. "I had company that I didn't have time for." He glanced towards his arrow case and frowned upon seeing how few remained. "Wasted my last exploding arrow to make a point."

" _Fury's gonna love your report_ ", Natasha noted, which was followed by the unmistakable sound of someone getting their behind handed to them.

Clint smirked mischievously. "I'm not planning on being in the same building with him by the time he gets his hands on it", he admitted. He wondered if one of these days he'd be made responsible for the cost of the man's blood pressure medication. Then, focusing firmly on the task at hand, the archer looked around. "So… I see a lot of pretty suspicious bottles and test tubes. And I don't want to know what the reddish black blob is. What should I keep my eye on?" He did know that the terrorist group they were currently mauling had been developing a new type of liquid explosive. But considering the amount of shady material around him, none of which he would've touched even with a stick, it was a case of a needle and a haystack.

" _If we can trust their data they've come up with an excellent compound but they haven't gotten very far with the production process_ ", Bruce, who was investigating the building's other laboratory, announced. " _The container is going to be small but secure. The substance reacts to air. These people aren't idiots, they know exactly how dangerous of a thing they're playing with. I…_ "

Clint effectively tuned out the rest. Because at that precise moment he realized that he didn't have to seek any further. There, in the room's far corner, sat a tiny and definitely air-tight box. Created for particularly hazardous material. Too bad the said hazardous material wasn't securely contained anymore. There wasn't much of the jade green substance but it'd been smeared purposefully all over the massive desk. Far too quickly it clicked.

Those guys… They'd known that they were _screwed_ the moment the Avengers came knocking. Apparently they decided that if they had to go down, they'd do so with a bang.

Clint swallowed, hard. Entirely too aware of how much this situation _sucked_. "Guys, you need to _run_ , right now!" The Hawk himself was already on the move, dashing as quickly as he could. Trying not guess just how effective the explosive really was. For a second he felt tempted to just jump out of the building. He didn't trust himself to be lucky enough to survive a fall of four storages and still be able to walk afterwards. "Those guys are going to blow up this place!"

The chaos of voices that erupted through his ear comm nearly deafened Clint and he flinched. In the end Steve's voice was the clearest, grounding and calm although it was blatantly obvious that the man himself was far from calm. " _Are you safe?_ "

Clint really, honestly had no idea. How was he supposed to know what distance was safe enough when they had absolutely no clue of what kind of a stuff they were dealing with? But it wasn't like he would've uttered as much. "Yeah, I am." How about that, it even sounded convincing. "Just get out of here, all of you! _NOW_!"

While running Clint heard the others reporting having made it outside. The archer himself was also quite close to at least getting out of the building. He saw Natasha, standing so far away that she wouldn't have heard him even if he'd shouted at the top of his voice. She was having a rather animated discussion with Steve. Just then, as though sensing him looking, she began to turn her head. They had just enough time to meet eyes before the explosion rattled the building.

Clint had a brief second to wonder if her eyes would be the last thing he'd ever see.

* * *

Quite obviously their enemies had managed to do something right. Because the explosion was very impressive. For a few moments the whole world seemed to shake. If Natasha believed in such things she would've mused that it was like some higher power had just roared.

She didn't give a rat's ass about higher powers at the moment.

Natasha didn't remember falling to the ground, or perhaps squatting out of instinct. But she must've because all of a sudden she was rising, her legs shaking and her breath caught somewhere into her throat. Instantly her gaze rose towards the building, her eyes wide and unnaturally alert. What she found made the bottom drop from her world.

A very, very large part of the base had collapsed. Fortunately it looked like the part where she'd seen Clint was intact. Even so she didn't let herself be lulled into false beliefs.

Because she knew that if Clint would've been able to walk out he'd be there, hell, he would've _crawled_ out.

Natasha was running before that chilling thought was finished. Deaf to Steve's warnings. "Stark, get here!" she barked to her ear comm. So what if her voice broke, just a little bit? She barely caught it with how her ears were ringing. "Barton… That idiot got himself blown up again."

" _WHAT?! Blown up, again? Roman…_ "

Natasha had no time for little stories. She was still running, her heart beating madly in her chest and muttering constantly in Russian. Her hands were far from steady as she threw open the doors and burst into the practically destroyed building. "Barton! Where the hell are you?"

There was no response. It shouldn't have surprised her. The sight around her… was miserable. She saw a horrific amount of dust and debris. A part of the ceiling had caved in.

Natasha gritted her teeth so hard that she tasted blood. If her eyes stung, right there, she'd never admit it to a living soul. "Clint, if you don't answer me right now…!" Even her breath froze into her throat.

Because there, in the middle of the devastation, she saw a battered arm.

Natasha registered only dimly how the others began to show up. They helped her eerily quietly while she made her way through the horrific devastation. None of them wanted to be swayed into thinking about the inevitable.

The good news was that the massive piece of debris wasn't actually on top of Clint, it merely hid him. But he was still unconscious, unmoving and bleeding. A hint of red had spilled from the ear Natasha could see. She wasn't sure if she'd ever seen him quite so pale.

Bruce jumped into action immediately. His hands were unnaturally steady while they began to examine their unconscious friend. Quite understandably the medical man was cautious. They all knew that it wouldn't be pretty if Clint woke up in the middle of the groping. "Clint?" When the archer showed absolutely no sign of even coming close to waking up Bruce tried again. "Clint, can you hear me?" Entirely too clearly the answer was 'no'.

They didn't have to wonder why for very long. Bruce moved Clint's head a little, slowly and very carefully, to check the man's pulse. The back of the archer's head was covered in blood.

* * *

Bruce had to remind himself, forcibly, what one was supposed to do in such an emergency. Try to rouse the patient. Secure airways. Check pulse and breathing.

Thankfully Clint was breathing, although Bruce wasn't happy with the wheezing side-tone he caught. After quite a bit of searching, throughout which the scientist held his breath, he also found a pulse. It didn't feel right.

Somewhere behind him Steve was calling for a med-evac. Bruce swallowed hard and tried to find comfort from the knowledge that soon tending to Clint wouldn't be in his hands anymore. Because just then he opened zipper on the upper part of Clint's outfit. There was a lot of alarming bruising on the archer's sides and stomach area. Internal bleeding. All of a sudden it became painfully clear just how much damage had been done.

Bruce felt his shoulders slump while a horrific taste filled his mouth.

He was no trauma surgeon. He'd never worked at an ER, let alone anywhere near any ICU. Whatever all was wrong with Clint… He just didn't have the necessary skills to help, nor did he have the equipment or environment he would've wanted. It didn't help at all that the group of people around him, who also happened to be the only people in the world who trusted him, seemed to be expecting him pull some kind of a miracle.

"Bruce?" There was a look of very genuine worry on Tony's face. Such the billionaire wasn't even trying to hide. "He's… gonna be okay, right?"

Bruce didn't know what to say. How to shatter that desperate little spark of hope in the inventor's eyes. More or less fortunately Clint solved that problem for him.

Startling them all the archer shivered, then began to shift. Clint eyes were squeezed tightly shut and they could only imagine the amount of agony he had to be in, if the tension in every little bit of him and the shaking were anything to go by. Still the one of the Hawk's hands that wasn't wrapped protectively around his abdominal area and sides was fumbling about, searching something.

Natasha seemed to understand. "Clint." She laid a hand on the injured man's shoulder. A huge mistake.

Clint might've been badly hurt and down but he was by no means helpless. Before they could blink the archer's wandering hand found something to occupy itself with and wrapped firmly around Natasha's throat. A rather incredible feat, considering that he couldn't even sit up. Another flash later his eyes opened a crack, hazy from pain and what had to be a severe concussion, and he snarled something incomprehensible.

Steve moved instinctively to break the potentially hazardous situation but Natasha interrupted the soldier with holding out an arm firmly. The Cap froze despite the fact that he obviously didn't like it. This was a woman who could calm down Hulk. Surely she'd be able to handle their injured Hawk as well. Even so Bruce had to use a horrible amount of willpower into remaining in control over himself.

Natasha made a point of meeting Clint's eyes. "Clint." She sounded choked and was obviously starting to have difficulties with remaining calm. "It's alright. You're safe."

Slowly, slowly, the situation seemed to dawn on the confused archer. Horror and agony that had nothing to do with physical discomfort could be seen in his still bleary eyes. He pulled back his hand as though the Widow's skin had burned. The apology was loud and clear, even if he wasn't quite able to voice it.

Natasha responded with the kind of a look none of them had ever seen before. The two exchanged a few hoarse, barely audible words in a language Bruce couldn't understand. It seemed to calm down Clint, at least. Which, naturally, was when things headed to hell once more.

All of a sudden Clint's eyes widened. Which was all the warning they got before the archer turned to lay as much on his side as the man dared to and threw up loudly. That alone would've been unnerving, considering the head injury the Hawk had. The fact that the man vomited blood at least tripled the element of threat. And then Clint seemed to lose the fight to remain conscious entirely. The archer slumped down with a rather chilling exhausted sigh and closed his eyes. Even Natasha wasn't able to rouse him.

After a second of paralyzing shock Bruce was examining his rapidly fading patient. "Steve, contact the med-evac again", he commanded in a voice he couldn't recognize. "Tell them to hurry up."

* * *

The wait, not knowing if Clint would manage to hang on until the evac finally got there, was torture. At one point Tony threatened to just grab Clint and fly him to the hospital. They were barely able to reason with him that there was a good chance his rash actions would do more harm than good. Then came the second hellish wait as the flight away took far longer than they would've liked. They lost Clint once along the way, only briefly but still. None of them would ever forget the way the archer looked when the medical team fought to revive him.

According to Tony's count the newest, third wait had lasted for four hours, eleven minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Somewhere along the way Bruce had fallen asleep, exhausted by having to fight over control with himself for so long. Thor had disappeared to who knows where but they knew that the Asgardian wouldn't have strayed far. Steve stood in what could only be described as a military pose, face tight and gaze directed through a window. Whatever was going through the Captain's head it wasn't pleasant. Busying himself with being nosy Tony had observed Natasha talking to the team leader thrice, briefly and quietly. The words exchanged helped neither of the two very much. Every time someone approached the waiting room the three of them turned hopefully towards the room's doorway. So far they'd been disappointed.

Tony was far from patient. In the end he decided on his favorite past time, at least according to Pepper. Which was annoying people.

Natasha gave him a rather dark look when he sat beside her. "You've been thinking", she guessed. "Whatever it is on your mind… Not now."

Since when had Tony ever listened to people? "When Clint woke up… What did he say to you?" He wasn't even sure if he really wanted to know. But he needed something, anything, to occupy his buzzing head.

Natasha shivered in a way that made him feel a very foreign impulse to apologize. And then he felt the need to run because he didn't like the way she gritted her teeth. What eventually came out wasn't much louder than a whisper. "He asked me if I came to kill him." She looked like she wanted to be sick.

Tony shifted with discomfort. _Well, shit._ What was he supposed to say to that? "Good old days, huh?" Seeing the flash in her eyes he went on hurriedly. "Look… I've done my share of idiotic shit, okay? Ask… anyone. So, I get it." He shrugged, leaning heavily against the back of the chair. "But we're not those people anymore."

Natasha was silent for a long time. Then seemed to accept his response. "Do you think the red can ever be washed away?"

Tony didn't have to ask what she meant. He knew, all too intimately. All the devastation he'd helped cause, the innocent lives that had been lost… His ledger was crimson red. "I really hope so", he decided on at last. "What else are we doing all this for?" They both tensed up when an exhausted nurse approached the room, all about her posture screaming about bad news. They didn't manage to relax fully even after she passed by. "Why the hell is Bird Brain doing this?"

Natasha shrugged. "You saw the Farm. You know why." Her eyes didn't seem entirely dry while her nose wrinkled. "Fucking moron." A few seconds ticked by. "Back there, at the base… He couldn't hear a thing."

Tony sat absolutely still for several moments, a horrific taste in his mouth. Desperately trying to process those news. He tried to tell himself that the way his stomach dropped wasn't caused by sentiment. "Crap."

"Yeah." Natasha's eyes were sharp and a little too bright when meeting his. Those of an agent on a mission. "And if it's a permanent thing… You may be the only one who can produce the equipment to help him without getting an arrow at their ass or more delicate areas."

Much later Tony understood what was going on. They both needed something else to do. Something else to focus on. And they especially needed something to help them cling to the thought that Clint wasn't going to be stupid enough to leave them.

* * *

Afterwards, when he eventually dragged himself back to the waken world for the first time, Clint didn't want to know what all was messed up with his body. Breathing hurt. His head was killing him. But there were no broken limbs, apparently. He was told, very sternly, to take it easy with his back for a while. The Hawk found it fairly hard to focus past the discovery that he was still deaf after being out cold for four days.

What if…?

 _No_. He refused to let himself go there. Because a world without a sound… To imagine that he'd never hear his children again, that he'd never know how they'd sound as adults… It was a trail of thought that he absolutely refused to step on.

Clint drifted somewhere between being awake, unconscious and in a world inside his head until he became acutely aware of the fact that he wasn't alone. Despite being far from in the condition to fight he braced himself, never having been one to back down easily. He didn't manage to calm down even after discovering that his companion was Nick Fury. If anything he tensed up further.

Had Fury come to tell him that his life as an Avenger was over?

"So… I've had a nice, long chat with you primary doctor", Fury announced with a rather infuriating, unreadable look on his face. "I've known that you can read lips since Stockholm. But we both know that on a mission it won't exactly do. You're a sitting duck if you can't hear your enemy or a bullet coming."

Clint swallowed. Which didn't help with the vomit threatening to rise into his throat. His fists balled around the bedsheet so hard that it hurt. "I know", he muttered. Or thought he did. He wouldn't have heard the difference between a whisper and a shout.

Fury's eyebrow rose. "You're not even going to protest? I'm disappointed." On anyone else's face the twinkle that flashed in the man's eye would've been called mirth. "Well, luckily for you it seems that you've found a team that isn't quite ready to let you fly away." The director placed a tiny, black box to the small table beside his bed. There was a hearing aid inside, no doubt about it. "Stark has been working on this prototype since you were first admitted to a hospital. He's going to… what words did he use again?… give it some gentle little tweaks once the Tower's staff is finished with examining your ears and hearing."

Clint blinked twice. "Tower?" He shouldn't have been surprised.

Fury nodded. The man appeared suspiciously close to emotional. "Yeah. Those loons are planning on taking you home as soon as you're fit to fly. And you know how impatient they are. So brace yourself and get back to your feet soon because they're planning on making you feel every bit of how worried they've been."

Despite his still quite bleak state of mind Clint just had to smile at that although he probably should've been scared.

* * *

A couple of hours later Natasha entered the room, hoping to finally see her friend awake. Instead she discovered with more than a hint of disappointment that he'd fallen asleep, obviously exhausted by whatever talk he had with Fury. She noticed that the hearing aid had been pushed as far on the table as possible without Clint having to sit up and the archer had turned his back on the item. Natasha gritted her teeth.

There'd be a long, rocky road of recovery ahead. She was fine with that. Since when had Strike Team Delta ever done anything the easy way?

Careful to stay close enough for Clint to feel her yet far enough to not be threatening Natasha sat down to keep an eye on her friend and slept for the first time in days.

* * *

Two long weeks of slow, painful recovery passed by. The second Steve stood at Clint's doorway, his honest and innocent intention being to check up on his friend, he froze. His eyes widened a fraction while he attempted to figure out what was going on. He couldn't.

There were some droplets of blood on the bedsheets. The drip Clint had been connected to had been torn off and the end that'd been attached to the archer hung in the air, abandoned. A clearly very, very unhappy male nurse stood at the foot end of the bed, a hand on what was obviously a sore chin and sporting a promising black eye. The Hawk himself was nowhere in sight.

Steve sighed deeply. Bracing himself. "What happened?"

The nurse unleashed a low growl. "… woke up when I started treating his wound and attacked me." The Cap was quite happy that he hadn't caught the first word or two. "… fucking assault …"

Steve's eyes flashed. Only sheer, well practiced and often tested willpower kept him from giving the idiot a second black eye. "Have you taken a look at Barton's medical files?" He tried to sound at least remotely pleasant. Fat lot good he succeeded… "He's a high trained field agent. Right now he's trying to adjust to losing his hearing. Shouldn't someone with your education know better than to approach such a patient in the way you did?" Seeing that his words had fairly little impact the team leader sighed heavily. His fists still itched. "Where is he?"

The nurse nodded sulkily towards the door of the room's toilet. "It's your funeral, buddy." The man began to leave the room like a kicked puppy. "I'm never going anywhere near that guy again."

Steve bit his lip to keep himself from uttering exactly what he really thought of the other man's company.

Steve was still in the process of gathering his composure when a voice came from the toilet. Clint's own, familiar voice, not the one he'd heard the couple of times he'd talked to the archer since… the incident. " _The asshole left, then?_ "

"He did." Steve felt tempted to lock the room's door to make sure that the nurse wouldn't make a reappearance. "Seems you made a lasting impression."

It took a couple of seconds before Clint responded. " _Good._ " There was a long pause. " _I… didn't break his nose or anything, did I?_ "

Steve felt a jolt of something akin to sympathy. "No, you didn't. But he's going to have a shiner for a reminder of how not to approach a sleeping field agent." He then frowned, a spark of hope lighting up inside him. "You're giving Stark's newest pride and joy a try, then?" Natasha had reported that so far Clint hadn't as much as mentioned the hearing aid, let alone touched it. Putting it to use was obviously a very sore spot. That the archer had finally taken this step was encouraging. "And it's working?"

" _Yup. I can hear you, loud and clear._ " Clint's voice was tighter than usual. " _I…_ _I almost beat up a guy over startling me. 'Not gonna let it happen again._ " It was easy to trace the thought running through the Hawk's head. _What if it had been one of you guys? Or Laura? Or one of my kids?_

Steve didn't quite know what to say for a while. He shifted his weight to other leg. "Do you feel ready to come out of there? Because I think we'll have a little meeting about your care with your doctor."

It took at least fifteen seconds. But finally the door opened, revealing a pale Clint who seemed to barely stay on his own two feet. Still there was no mistaking the determination on the man's face. "Nah, no doctors. Just get me the fuck out of here."

Steve did just that, and surprisingly even Natasha didn't yell at him about it after taking just one look at Clint's eyes.

* * *

The flight back home was pure hell for Clint. His ears were in a hellish amount of agony, his head felt like it'd been about to explode and the rest of his injuries throbbed horribly. But he remained firm and endured, determined to get away from the hospital. He'd had enough of that place.

Fortunately he wasn't alone. Obviously sensing his distress the rest of the team sat close, offering him their silent support. It was almost enough to make the experience bearable.

When they made it to the Tower Clint was in no condition to walk on his own. There was a huge amount of hassle around him. He couldn't make sense of most of it. Which didn't stop him from attempting to get to the toilet on his own when no one was looking. Not his brightest idea.

"Barton?" The voice was muffled and static, even with the hearing aid. "What... doing?"

Later, much later, Clint was told what happened next. Apparently he swooned into Thor's arms. Tony never let him live it down.

* * *

Clint slept most of the following two days, making up for the rest he'd lost at the hospital. How was he supposed to relax in that environment? At the Tower, in his own familiar room and surrounded by people he could trust, it was a bliss to finally get the sleep he desperately needed. Afterwards he felt at least a little bit more like himself although he was pretty far from being there.

Clint's body was anything but recovered. Fortunately the doctors Tony summoned were more than capable enough to make the discomfort as bearable as possible. And the hearing aid… He made himself get used to that, too, reluctantly but still. If it was going to be a part of his life for a while what point was there in prolonging the inevitable?

On day three since his return the team decided to throw a 'welcome back' party. Or perhaps rather Tony decided and the rest of them chose to float along for the heck of it. A party with Shawarma, as Tony insisted. Clint savoured the normalcy of it all until the noise and fatigue began to get the better of him. After whispering to Natasha that he'd get some fresh air he sneaked away.

Clint maneuvered himself to the rooftop of the Tower. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, admiring the breathtaking view that was presented to him, until the device by his ear reported someone approaching.

"I should've known that I'd find you here", Tony noted, sounding both worried and amused. The billionaire hesitated uncharacteristically. "You good?"

Clint considered his answer for a very long time. And finally decided on honesty. "Getting there." And he really was. For the first time since the whole nightmare began he actually felt like he'd be alright eventually, come what may. Then, on an impulse, he went on. "Thanks." And it was for so much more than just asking, for caring.

Tony seemed to gather as much. The billionaire nodded slowly, appearing uncharacteristically and hilariously speechless. Then began to approach with small, slow steps.

Clint's eyebrow arched. He shifted instinctively, ready to act immediately if his friend's balance would threaten to break. "I thought you were afraid of heights?"

Tony shrugged, sitting gingerly. "I'm not afraid of heights, I don't trust them without an armor. There's a difference." The inventor seemed to be shivering a little. "Just checking what the fuss is all about."

Clint smiled and focused on the landscape spreading below, enjoying the rare calm in the eye of the storm that was their daily lives. All was quiet, even his thoughts. For once it didn't bother him.

* * *

Eight months later the team was returning home from a mission when Clint's cell phone rang. They knew who it was the moment he withdrew to a subtle distance, then picked up in a hushed voice that was filled with a tremendous amount of affection. He talked with that tone to only one person.

"Hey", Clint greeted gently. "Have the rugrats been behaving?"

" _Oh, yes._ " Something about Laura's voice told him that there was more to the story. " _Actually… I called because lil' Nate had something to say to you._ "

Clint frowned. But before he had the time to ask a single word made his heart swell and flutter in his chest. The first word he'd ever heard from his youngest. It was loud, proud and full of uncontrollable joy. " _Daddy!_ "

The rest of the team was being discreet, for once, so they didn't see the look that appeared to Clint's face. Tony was just about to send a text to Pepper, suggesting some very naughty evening activities for when he got back home, when an elbow nudging at his side caught his attention. Curious and a little irritated the billionaire turned his head to see that the disturbance came from Bruce. There was a bizarre look that he couldn't read on the scientist's face as the man held out an item for him to see.

It was Clint's hearing aid, which the archer had clearly forgotten having broken in the middle of the mission.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Thank gosh for Tony's hearing aid! But then again, Clint regaining his hearing is so much sweeter. And it happened at the best of times, too!

Sooooo… Any good at all? Something to be taken down by an arrow? The tiny box down below is feeling hungry and lonely.

Before we take off… UP NEXT (the order may change and I MAY add something in between, but this is a rough draft):

What Hawkeye is Worth (when Clint is left doubting his worth and place on the team it threatens to become a disaster)

The Luck of an Archer (deflecting bullets is a neat trick – unless it goes horribly wrong…)

A Hawk's Sick Day (poor Hawk doesn't seem to be feeling too well…)

A Little Friendly Fire (one of Clint's children learns the hard way why his father is very, very serious about weapon safety)

A Smoked Hawk (where there is smoke, there's a fire, where there's a fire, there's a flame… too bad Clint's in the middle of it…)

What Lies Beneath (how is it that something oh so insignificant becomes life threatening?)

Awkay, in case my author's notes haven't revealed as much I'm pretty exhausted right now. Soooo, I'm heading towards the feather islands. Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): Gosh, I'm taking that as a HUGE compliment. (BEAMS) Poor Clint! And poor team, too! But thank gosh they were there for him.

Ah, this tale indeed had some similar themes! We'll see if I'll explore your MARVELOUS prompt even further in the future. (grins) As for that thought of yours… It's the same for me, and I'm happy to hear that I'm not the only one! As soon as the idea takes a proper shape in my head I'll type it and publish it as a oneshot of its own. It's already beginning to form. (rubs hands together)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): (beams, jumps with joy and bows) I'm SUPER happy to enjoy it so – and that I'm not the only one who enjoys that stuff so much. (chuckles) I really hope that what's to come meets your expectations!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: With the help of darling readers. And with a horribly wicked imagination. (giggles) Gosh, it warms my heart that you enjoyed it so! Hopefully what's to come won't disappoint, either.

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I'd say! But thank gosh he had his team for support. I truly hope that the next one(s) won't fall flat in your book, either.

Monumental thank yous for the review!

ps: Something tells me that you may like what I've typed for the next one… (grins)

* * *

Guest218: How's this for fast? (grins)

(BEAMS) I'm thrilled that you were so happy with the chapter! Personally I love the aftermaths. After all the hurt it feels good to include some comfort.

Mmmmm, what a juicy request! Another dear reader has asked for something similar soooo, I'm more than eager to breathe life into this idea. (smirks) LOL, I'm totally aiming for the 1001!

I totally see Clint as a family-man. It's something that totally suits him! And those kids? D-awww!

Colossal thank yous for the review! I really hope that you'll be as happy with what's to come.


	25. What a Hawkeye is Worth

A/N: DANG! You see, this chapter was by far the hardest to type because the topic has me so riled up. I'm sick and tired of people dismissing Clint, belittling Hawkeye's worth. This is, as well as a request from a dear friend, my strike back. (smirks)

First, though…! You guys just don't stop baffling me. GOSH, so many reviews, so much love! You guys are AWESOME. Let's show the world just how beloved our favorite Hawk is!

Now, because you probably didn't come here for my author's note… Let's go! I REALLY hope that this turns out worth the wait.

* * *

What a Hawkeye is Worth

* * *

Clint's head hurt and it felt like his whole body was just one, massive bruise. Not that much of a surprise. Over the past twelve hours he'd been in a hand to hand combat with eight hostiles, been thrown out of a moving vehicle, got himself stabbed and had his fun enthroned by having a bullet graze at his arm.

The part that ached him the most, however, was that he wasn't on that mission alone. Natasha was with him and now, because of his mistake, she was unconscious in a hospital. Clint himself had been checked briefly by a medic during the flight and ordered to an immediate debrief. He'd known to expect that it wouldn't be pleasant. He wasn't disappointed.

The man at the opposite side of the table, a rapidly balding fifty-eight-year-old with too large eyeglasses and uncomfortably piercing blue eyes, looked like a bloodhound that'd caught a scent. William Stryker. No one liked the man, especially the agents who had the misfortune of having him for a handler. It was easy to figure out why. "So, agent Barton, let me get this straight… I sent you and agent Romanoff to a simple information gathering mission. And somehow one of you ended up into a hospital?"

Clint's jawline tightened. It hurt from where he'd been punched. "The intel was sloppy at best", he announced, his voice sharper than necessary. His eyes narrowed while memories and anger flooded in. "We basically walked into an ambush."

Stryker's eyebrow bounced up. "Is the intel also responsible for you missing a shot? Because I was under the impression that you were supposed to be the sniper of the group."

That hurt. Enough to make Clint forget to breathe for five long seconds. It was only thanks to all his field experience his expression didn't falter.

Clearly Stryker wasn't done yet. The man took off his glasses and leaned forward. "I'm going to be very honest with you. I've never liked you. When Coulson first dragged you in I thought that he was insane. And then you were made an Avenger?" The handler's nose wrinkled with clearly visible disgust. "Your only use is that you can use a bow and arrows. Which is a pathetic, ancient weapon to begin with. You have no business being a member of the Avengers. And maybe now others will finally listen to me."

There was nothing in those words that wouldn't have haunted Clint's own thoughts during the darkest of times. That wouldn't have kept him up at nights. It took his all not to let it show.

Stryker seemed entirely too pleased with himself. "I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself, though." A file was handed towards him. "Finish this mission and I may have a little faith in you."

Clint Barton was a human being. Nothing more, nothing less. A strong and brave man whose heart was a little too big for his own good.

Hawkeye… was a machine, a soldier. A being trained by a chilling circus and a harsh life since he was a child. An assassin. Since those darker times he'd been an agent for so long that he barely remembered the life before.

Both sides of him were also far too stubborn for his own good. He never, ever listened to orders blindly. If he did Natasha would be long gone. But this was a challenge from someone he abhorred. And there was no way in hell he'd give the bastard that satisfaction. So he lifted his chin and stood firm. "When am I leaving?" No 'sirs', not a trace of respect. The man deserved none.

The sight of Stryker's twitching left eyebrow was quite satisfactory. "You're expected to be ready for the departure in two hours. And before you consider inviting… _friends_ along… This mission is extremely classified, do you understand? Fury wouldn't appreciate you endangering assets that actually count."

Those words slashed deeper than they should've. Clint didn't let it show. Instead the archer searched his pocket until he found a flash drive, slammed it to the other man's desk and began to walk away with sharp steps.

"What is that?"

"That would be the information we were sent to gather." Clint knew that he was hissing but didn't manage to care. "Mission accomplished." The door closed after him.

* * *

Meanwhile Steve, who'd been notified by Nick Fury about the not exactly a hundred percent smooth ending of Strike Team Delta's latest mission, entered a hospital and soon found the correct ward. He considered turning back the second he heard a much too familiar voice arguing loudly and colorfully with the staff. Before he could make up his mind his phone began to ring. A frown appeared to his face when he noticed who the caller was. "Clint? Are you here at the hospital?" A solid enough assumption, considering the brief yet blunt description Fury gave him.

There was a brief pause. Was that a hiss? " _You're with Nat, right?_ "

Steve refocused on the hallway ahead just in time to see a teary eyed nursing student rushing out of a room, wiping her eyes. Soon enough a rather large male nurse followed, something that looked suspiciously lot like an I.V. pole flying after him and narrowly missing him. The Captain had a nasty feeling that he'd found his target. "I'm on my way there. Why?"

" _Would you tell her that I'm sorry she got hurt?_ " And the Hawk did sound sorry. Enough so for it to break Steve's heart. " _I'd come and tell her myself, but… I'm sort of busy._ "

Steve's frown deepened while dread began to swell. Wasn't the debrief supposed to be over already? Then why…? His eyes widened a fraction under the eventual realization. In a flash razor sharp anger came flooding in. "They can't be sending you on another mission! You'd need medical attention…"

" _I'm fine, Cap._ " Which in Clint-language most certanly meant that the archer was anything but. " _Honestly. I've done this before._ "

Steve gritted his teeth, hard. He didn't like this, even one bit, but there was very little he could do about it without Clint's cooperation. "I won't hesitate notifying Fury if necessary", he pointed out. He'd go after the Hawk personally if he felt that he needed to.

" _I think he's busy enough without having to worry about me._ " Someone could be heard talking. Clint replied briefly before refocusing on him. " _I've gotta go._ _Make sure that Tasha doesn't get herself into a trouble._ "

Glancing towards the room that he'd spotted before Steve noticed a couple of security guards approaching with a very nervous looking doctor. He winced. _That's a full time job, isn't it?_ "You make sure that _you_ don't get yourself into a trouble in the meantime", he adviced. And meant it. Because he had a very nasty gut feeling about this.

" _Yes, sir._ " There wasn't much of mirth in Clint's voice. " _See you._ " And at that Clint decided that the conversation was over.

Steve sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. He lifted his head just in time to see the doctor who just went into Natasha's room emerging, nursing what seemed to be a very sore, possibly bleeding nose. Fighting the urge to swear he sped towards the direction.

By the time he finally made it to the scene Natasha was having a very loud, far from civil conversation with the security guards. As soon as she saw him her eyes flashed. "Get me out of here. Now."

A couple of hours later, after filling up all sorts of paperwork and chasing down members of staff bold enough to face the redhead, the duo was on their way out of the building. Natasha still bristling, Steve feeling like a parent whose kid just had a very humiliating, very public temper tantrum. The whole building most likely sighed with relief when the door closed after them.

"It'll be a miracle if none of those people sues you for assault", Steve pointed out.

Natasha shrugged. She didn't look very remorseful. "I have a severe concussion, I was confused."

Steve made a mental note to ensure that she'd never, ever be taken to a public hospital again.

* * *

Clint was aching, absolutely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a month. But he was also furiously determined. A lesser man might've said desperate.

This was by no means the first time his worth had been questioned, by himself as well as others. But it rarely hurt as much as it did now. Natasha got hurt because he failed to do the one thing that defined him. He wouldn't go back, couldn't go back, until he felt like the Clint Barton he was supposed to be.

So he bandaged his own injuries the best as he could and packed up all the equipment he'd need. Which, in full truth, wasn't that much. He then headed towards one of the most deserted corners of the world. And fought furiously to ignore the small, nasty voice in the back of his head asking if it might be beneficial to the rest of the Avengers if he'd choose to never return.

* * *

Tony was just about to head to the hospital to check up on Natasha when the redhead stormed in, followed closely by Steve. The looks on their faces made his eyebrow bounce up. "Uh… Shouldn't you be in a…?"

Steve excused himself when the Captain's phone began to ring. Natasha rolled her eyes. "I have a cracked rib and a concussion. Trust me, I've had worse." Her eyes flashed when finding his. "Have you seen Clint?"

Tony shook his head slowly, dread rising within. "No. I thought…"

Just then Steve returned. The look on his face was a solid warning before the words. "That was Fury. Apparently Barton was never signed in to have returned from the mission."

They'd never heard Natasha cursing as she did then. "He's not on an assignment. He's hiding."

* * *

Over the couple of weeks that followed Clint didn't return. One mission ended. Stryker pushed him right to another one, stating that reports and briefing could wait. The Hawk was too proud to resist, to admit defeat. Especially when he still had something to prove to himself.

It was horribly exhausting, as missions always were. Being constantly on guard… Chasing, running, hiding, fighting… It didn't help that whenever he would've had the chance to sleep a little he saw an injured Natasha falling to the ground every time he closed his eyes. So instead of resting, or eating properly, he chose to train. Prepared furiously for a yet another battle.

It was a very late night in a city the name of which Clint was rapidly forgetting. He was just self-tending to a knife gash when something on the TV caught his attention. It wasn't in English, of course, but he understood a word here and there. What got to him far more, however, was the footage.

The rest of the Avengers were there, appearently having successfully completed a mission. Natasha still had a bandage on the side of her head but otherwise she appeared unharmed. Grateful people cheered while the team prepared to head home.

Clint stared at the TV screen, feeling oddly numb. Unable to look away although he would've wanted to. He swallowed thickly, a horrific taste rising to his mouth although he was beyond relieved to see that his friends were alright.

 _See?_ , a voice in the back of his head sneered. _They're doing just fine without your meddling. What do you have to go back for?_

Clint shot five more arrows to his target board, ignoring how his hands were shaking.

* * *

Stryker wasn't afraid of many things. But when Nick Fury entered his office with a loudly speaking dark look on his face William tensed and sat up straighter. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Fury responded with slamming a thick file in front of him, narrowly missing his fingers. "In that file is an exact report on the hand to hand combat training agent Barton has received. He's one of the three most gifted ones that I've encountered. It helps that he's a former acrobat whose skills some Olympic medalists might envy." The one eyed man sounded treacherously calm and composed, which promised hellfire. "And if you bother to look further you'll find a description of the weaponry he's specialized in. You've seen his marksman skills on the field, several times over. His aim is just as good with weapons other than the bow. For years he was S.H.I.E.L.D's leading firearm instructor. I'm appalled that you haven't seen to need to have that essential knowledge on one of your agents." (1) Nick's eyes narrowed. "Each member of the Avengers was picked because when they're together their strengths and weaknesses balance each other out perfectly. None of them are weak or unworthy. A lot of their enemies have gone down for imagining differently." That sounded suspiciously lot like a threat.

Stryker wasn't smart enough to shut up. He lifted his chin. "So he's a decent agent. I still fail to see why he was chosen as an Avenger."

"Because not everyone on that team can be a super soldier, a man who on occasion becomes a green monster, a god from another realm or a man in a iron suit. Along with his skills he's a reminder of exactly what they're fighting for." Nick's remaining eye held such a look that would've chilled anyone to the bone. "He has more heart than most people I've met in my life. Loki saw that right away. I wonder how long it'll take before you do." With that the man began to leave.

Stryker couldn't resist a one more comment. His facial muscles hurt from the grim expression that'd taken over. "And still he's only human, Fury", he pointed out. "One of these days you'll get him killed."

Fury's hand twitched, reaching out either towards the door handle or the man's gun. "I'm perfectly aware of the risks and so is he. He faces them willingly every single day because he still believes that what he and his team do can make a difference. I'm not sure if it's lunacy or bravery." The director darted a far from pleasant look towards him over his shoulders. "I'm curious, Stryker… Since when have you considered being human a weakness? If we wouldn't keep our own planet safe then who else is supposed to do it?" Already with his back towards him the man went on. "And by the way… You may want to keep in mind that very few things happening inside this building go past my knowledge. The next time you try to get one of my men killed no one will find your body." With those ominous words the door slammed closed.

* * *

It'd been three weeks. Four if the mission that led to Natasha's injury was counted. Clint Barton was finally coming back home.

Steve's posture was unnaturally stiff while he waited for the tiny aircraft carrying the archer to land properly. Alarm bells were going off in his head although he wasn't yet entirely sure why. "Have you heard from him? How is he?"

"Bruises and minor injuries, he said." Fury sighed heavily. "Which means that I'm expecting nothing short of broken bones and gunshot wounds."

Steve winced. At the moment he was glad that Natasha hadn't heard of Clint's return yet. His welcome home might not have been a very pleasant one.

Finally the aircraft they'd been observing with watchful eyes came to a full stop. In an instant the two of them were moving, neither feeling any need to talk much. It didn't go unnoticed that Clint wasn't emerging yet.

Reaching the stairs and then the plane itself took what felt like ages. Steve looked around with a frown until he noticed a familiar, disheveled bush of fair hair. "Clint?" He walked closer, his chest tightening uncomfortably. Out of silent agreement Fury stayed behind. They knew, all too well, how little Clint liked being crowded, especially if he was feeling vulnerable. "It's just me, Steve. Do you need a hand to get out?" the Captain offered.

There was still no reply and by then Steve realized why. Clint's eyes were closed while the archer rested on his seat, breathing heavily. Asleep, then?

Steve reached out a healthily cautious hand and hesitated for a long time before daring to touch his friend's shoulder. "Hey, time to wake up. You've landed."

There was still no reaction, not even a twitch. All of a sudden Steve began to feel very, very cold. Against his better judgement he shook the Hawk's shoulder, first lightly, then harder. When that had no results he reached out two far from steady fingers and lay them against his friend's neck.

"Clint?"

* * *

The hospital's waiting room smelled disgustingly sterile while Steve sat there, his head buried into his hands and struggling to will down a fast approaching, mighty headache. He hadn't stopped shaking since the plane and his heartbeat didn't seem to want to calm down. His thoughts were whirring madly.

Dehydration, malnutrition and a dangerously high fever. Countless of bruises, evidence of encounters with both knives and firearms. By some miracle the only bones the archer had managed to break were three ribs. Unfortunately one of them had gone a breath from puncturing his lung. Which, all alone in the field, certainly wouldn't have been ideal. Yet the worst of Clint's problems was a severe infection from one of the numerous wounds on his back. It was difficult to determine when, exactly, he sustained it. Due to the location it must've been next to impossible for the archer to take care of on his own. Did the man even notice it?

As it was the hospital staff couldn't say how long it'd take before Clint would recover from such a wide spread infection. From between the lines Steve could read a much too clear, nauseating 'if'. Right now they worked on getting the infection under control, while also struggling to get the Hawk's fever down and making sure that the man received much needed fluids. All Steve could do was wait, and he _hated_ waiting. It was little comfort that Fury claimed he'd handled to one responsible for sending Clint on all those missions.

Steve's head snapped up at the sound of approaching steps. It wasn't a doctor. Instead he blinked twice at the sight of Natasha and Bruce entering the room. He was about to ask how they knew to come until he realized that Fury must've notified them. The two greeted him with solemn nods, then sat far closer than either would've usually felt comfortably with. Without saying a word the three of them attempted to find comfort from one another.

Tony was the next to arrive. For pretty much the first time ever the billionaire was absolutely, unnervingly quiet while taking a seat of his own. If they hadn't already been far too aware of how wrong things were that would've been the final proof. Thor marched in about ten minutes later, appearing outraged and almost scared at the same time.

And so they sat in a complete, tense silence. Until it got too much for Tony. "When this drama is over and done with… I'll beat him up for startling us like this."

"Get in line", Natasha muttered.

* * *

As soon as Clint woke up he became acutely aware that something wasn't right. He was supposed to be on a flight back home. So why did the space around him smell like a…?

 _Oh… shit…_

"A-ha! I saw that twitching eyebrow!" Tony's voice succeeded in startling him but it also pulled him towards it. "That's the spirit, Sleeping Beauty. Open your eyes already. You've been snoozing for a while."

It was a mighty struggle. But eventually Clint's eyes opened a crack. He frowned while the billionaire's face came to focus. "What the hell are you doing in Tokyo?" He probably didn't sound even nearly as coherent as he imagined.

Tony's expression was far from impressed. "Newsflash, Tweetie. Despite trying very hard to get yourself killed you made it back to States. I'd like to say that in one piece but… Well, take a look around you and do the math."

Clint didn't have to. Instead he looked at Tony, saw signs of exhaustion and worry. His stomach dropped. "Look, I'm fine…"

Tony snorted. For exactly a second something almost like tears could be seen in the man's eyes. "No, you're seriously not. Yet, anyway. But we'll all make sure that you will be."

Clint swallowed. Unsure how to process the proclamation. "I appreciate the concern, Tin Can, but I'm a grown man", he rasped. "I can take care of myself."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Do us a favor and let us be the judges of that for a bit, yeah? Because, like it or not, that's what friends are for." The look darted at him was meaningful. "You're stuck with us, Feathers."

Clint had absolutely no idea what to say to that, what to even make of those words. Before he could decide the room's door opened and Natasha walked in. Instantly their eyes met. Clint's chest area tightened and his mouth opened for a long overdue apology until he saw something in Natasha's eyes that made all words evaporate. Simultaneously they both melted to a small smile that spoke more than a million words.

For the first time in weeks Clint felt like he belonged. That infuriating noise in the back of his head was quiet. When he woke up again five hours later and Steve was there, asking if he was alright, he was able to answer honestly. "Yeah, I am."

Sure, his insecurities would most likely always linger there, rising their ugly head on occasion. A lot of people would never accept that he belonged to the Avengers, that he was enough to earn his place. Clint was alright with that. If he himself forgot he had friends who would be there to remind him that he was their Hawkeye, their eyes in the sky.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

1) In case you're curious, as for that description… The 'leading firearm instructor' is the only bit I came up with. (Purely because, to me, it'd sort of make sense. He's a freaking marksman and pretty much the world's best sharp shooter…!) The rest is pretty much canon with the comic-world. Ain't he awesome! (LOL, like I'd need to tell you guys that…!)

* * *

A/N: Phew! This totally took me a while to type, despite not being my longest chapter. Hopefully I managed to get the chapter's point across…?

Poor Clint! That scene with Laura alone (where he thought that she was hinting he shouldn't be an Avenger) was an indication to how much he doubts himself sometimes. We love you, Hawkeye!

Soooo… Any good, at all? Something to be deleted? PLEASE, do let me know!

UP NEXT:

The Luck of an Archer (deflecting bullets is a neat trick – unless it goes horribly wrong…)

A Hawk's Sick Day (poor Hawk doesn't seem to be feeling too well…)

A Little Friendly Fire (one of Clint's children learns the hard way why his father is very, very serious about weapon safety)

Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll join in then for some more feathery madness.

Take care!

* * *

Guest 13: It feels so good to hear that you've enjoyed the ride so much! We'll see how you'll like the ride still to come. I've got lots of plans for our beloved archer…

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it! Since learning of Clint's deafness in the comics I've been itching to sneak it into my fics. This was the perfect opportunity. (grins) GOSH, you're making me grin like a loon with joy! I REALLY hope that you'll be as pleased with the next one(s).

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest218: You're making me feel super flattered here! (HUGS) I REALLY hope that the chapters to come will meet absolutely all your expectations. LOL, hey, how much of a sadist am I, then, typing these? (giggles)

I also noticed that the collection appeared a few days after this one. Personally I'm more into Clint-whump (which is why I haven't read it yet) but the idea sounds cool. (grins) Clint's the ULTIMATE hurt/comfort material, though. (snickers)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I sure did! I couldn't resist the opportunity. When your previous review came in I had a feeling that you'd like the idea. (grins)

Thank gosh poor Clint had his team! And he didn't miss out on hearing his son for the first time. (smiles)

Awww, thanks! I'm happy and flattered beyond all words, here. (BEAMS)

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	26. The Luck of an Archer

A/N: **THE RESPONSES TO NON-ANONYMOUS REVIEWS WILL FLY TO YOUR PM-BOXES IN A FEW HOURS. I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY BUT I'M FILTHY BUSY RIGHT NOW YET DIDN'T WANT TO MAKE YOU WAIT FOR THE UPDATE, SO… FORGIVE ME?**

It's about time from some more Clint-whump! (rubs hands together) BUT, before getting to the (hopefully) good part…

My dear gosh…! When I started this collection I was wondering if there were only one or two Hawkeye fans in the world. And now this, all these reviews and listings… You guys have shown me just how much our favorite Hawk is loved and it never fails to make my heart sing!

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Luck of an Archer

* * *

When the team was given an assignment to close a Hydra research base they expected many things. Finding ten women trapped to a cell from the basement most certainly wasn't one of them. Used for human experiments, everything about the poor souls' wounds and scars screamed. Steve felt sick to his stomach.

How could any human, even one working for Hydra, do something like this?

Steve felt cold and nauseous while he reached out for his ear comm. "Guys? I… just found something, from the basement." He gritted his teeth. "It looks like Hydra's been doing more human experiments than we thought."

The whole situation that followed was so fast and unexpected that a few variables being forgotten was only natural.

Steve barely had the time to register the room's little light shining on the surface of a firearm before he already had to act. How the hostage, a small and heavily pregnant woman with pale face and filthy black hair, had managed to obtain it was a mystery. Exactly a heartbeat later she screamed, _howled_ , what was without a doubt a threat in a language Steve couldn't understand. And fired.

" _Cap?_ " Tony's voice boomed through his ear comm. It held a clearly audible edge of worry. " _What the hell is going on down there?_ "

The bullet would've without a doubt hit Steve right between the eyes. But of course the Captain had his shield along. He swung it, successfully deflecting the bullet. "Just minor technical difficulties", he muttered darkly, trying to catch his breath.

Natasha's snort carried through the device. Tony's was louder. " _'Minor', he says. Those usually end with one of us in a hospital._ "

Steve chose not to comment. Instead he focused on the problem at hand. "I'm not one of them! I won't hurt you!" he shouted, hoping against all hope that the people in front of him, especially the one holding the gun, understood English. He lifted the hand that wasn't holding the shield as a sign that he wasn't a threat. "It's alright. We're…"

Instinctively and subconsciously, always the soldier and protector, Steve had taken a single step closer to the civillians trapped into this nightmare. A big mistake. The woman's eyes narrowed and she snarled again, her voice etched with rage, fear and despair. She fired again. Steve did the only thing he could to protect himself and swung the shield.

It was a possibly less than a second later his ears caught the slightest rustle. A sign that he was no longer alone against the unexpected threat. It came from somewhere behind him and above. Clearly someone had decided to join in after hearing the first gunshot.

Clint.

And then there was a gasp. Steve couldn't tell if it came from the room or through his ear comm. Either way it made ice travel through his veins. Only a couple of intense heartbeats later it dawned on him why. The latest bullet… Which way did he send it…?

The woman pulled the trigger a third time. Only to notice that she'd run out of bullets. Steve barely paid attention.

Steve took a rather foolish chance and spun around, turning his back on the people who'd been held prisoner. At first he saw nothing in the shadows. Then, slowly yet inevitably, his eyes adjusted and distinguished a dark figure who could've only sneaked in through an air vent. There was a massive pipe close to the ceiling. The figure was hunched on that and seemed to be either shivering or swaying.

Steve swallowed hard. The dread he began to feel earlier was growing exponentially. "Hawkeye? Are you…?" He never had the chance to finish.

All of a sudden Clint was dipping to the side. And before a single breath could be pulled the archer was crashing down. Steve moved faster than a thought. He made it to the falling archer a couple of steps after the man hit the floor. Side first, thankfully. Landing on his back, the arrow case there, might've been even more uncomfortable and hazardous. Clint squeezed his eyes tightly shut and groaned, curling up the best as he could.

"Hawkeye?" Steve's voice didn't sound familiar to his own ears. It didn't matter. "Where were you hit?" Because as much as he would've loved to believe otherwise he had a nasty feeling that the bullet hadn't magically found a home from somewhere harmless.

Clint was obviously fighting to remain conscious. The Hawk swallowed like someone feeling sick. "Ab… domeh." Hissing out that much seemed to be a struggle.

Steve glanced towards where his friend was pressing a desperate hand and felt his stomach plummet. That was a lot of blood… "Okay… Okay…" It was harder than it should've been to remember what, exactly, he was supposed to do. "You'll be fine, alright? I'll get you help. Just hang in there."  
Clint tried to smile but it came out as something closer to a grimace. "Not 'ing anywh'e, Cap", the rapidly fading archer managed.

 _You'd better not_ , Steve mused darkly. His hand shook while he raised it to his ear comm. "Any chance Doc could stop by?" he inquired, failing to keep his tone even.

" _Big Green got a little over excited here. It may take a while to bring him down from the high._ " Natasha's voice was sharper than usual. " _What's going on? Is it Hawkeye?_ "

Steve felt like throwing up as he stared at the amount of blood his friend was still losing. "Yeah. We need to get him out of here quickly."  
Natasha swore. Loudly. " _You think that's happening before Code Green is under control?_ " She took a deep breath. " _I'll handle it._ "

Steve nodded although on a level of reason he understood that it was pointless. "Good." He licked his lips, his stomach knotting when Clint moaned and curled up further. The archer was shaking miserably. "And Widow? Please hurry."

Steve felt panic starting to rise. Clint seemed to be fading away right before his eyes. And it was his fault. If Clint hadn't come to make sure that he was alright… If he'd deflected the bullet to a different direction…

"Cap…" Clint winced and hissed, not quite managing to open his eyes despite a visible amount of effort. "… not your fault … so stop …"

Steve didn't exactly feel comforted. But he knew that he needed to keep Clint awake. "Is that an order, private?"

Clint's smirk was tainted by obvious signs of pain. "… damn right it is …" The man wiggled, as though attempting to get comfortable although it had to be impossible. Right there the Hawk's resolve seemed to crumble and his face contorted to a heart shattering mask of agony. "… 'cking hurts …"

Steve attempted to scold his friend over using such language. Wanted to anchor the other's thoughts to something that wasn't a world of hellish ache. But his mouth had gone completely dry and all words had fled from his head. So he did the only thing he could. He grabbed the one of Clint's hands that wasn't pressed against the wound and squeezed. Giving an order of his own.

 _Hold on, please._

It took far longer than it should've before Steve sensed the person approaching them. As soon as he did he shifted, taking a protective stance in front of Clint. What he found was a petite, strikingly beautiful woman with long, golden blonde hair and huge blue eyes. She was dressed in nothing but a cream colored dressing gown but instead of scared or embarrassed she seemed determined. There was what looked like a medical bag in her firm hold. "I… I don't want to hurt", she explained in a fumbling English. "I was a doctor. Let me help."

* * *

Clint was barely in touch with the world around him. Everything felt and sounded so far away. He was slipping and as much as he would've wanted to he didn't have the strength to fight it. When a hand tapped at his cheek gently he sighed, then moaned from the ache the gesture caused. "…I'm here…", he murmured, wondering if it was even audible.

"Well, good." That sounded surprisingly lot like Tony Stark. "Otherwise I'd have to invent something to bring you back so I could pluck your feathery ass."

Clint tried to smile. For some reason the effort sent him into a violent coughing fit, which in turn made his left side feel like it'd been set on fire. He groaned and trashed the best as he could, desperate to find any position that'd make things at least bearable. Apparently he irritated something because warm, sticky substance began to spread on his stomach. He recognized it far too easily.

What the hell was wrong with him…?!

"Hawk, still." Now who was _that_? "You're injured. Moving makes it worse."

Clint wasn't a huge fan of being touched without his permission. And the idea of a total stranger's hands on him when he was at his most defenseless definitely didn't sit well with him. Despite the fact that it required most of his strength he cracked his open, just enough to distinguish three shadowy blobs around him. He frowned, willing his eyes to gain more focus. Far too slowly to his liking he recognized Steve and Tony, who both wore morose expressions. "Who died?" he rasped, defying the fact that he barely had the strength and energy for that.

Tony's eyes narrowed. A finger poked at his chest. "Pull a stunt like this on us again and you will. You think we're pissed off? Wait until you face Widow."

The thought of Natasha's wrath did make Clint wince. Even worse, however, were the guilt and self hatred on Steve's ashen, horribly tense face. Of course the Captain would blame himself. As far as the team leader was concerned he was personally responsible every time one of them managed to get themselves into a harm's way.

Clint wanted to point out that this wasn't Steve's fault, at all. What was the Captain supposed to do, get shot instead? Somehow develop telepathic abilities to know exactly where Clint would be? But the Hawk's body was failing him. So, to summon _everything_ into as tiny of a package as possible, he narrowed his eyes and poked at the team leader's forehead with a single finger. Thankfully the blood on it didn't stain the Captain's skin. "Stop thinking", the archer ordered, hoping that the words were at least somewhat comprehensible.

All of a sudden there was an unbearable surge of pain, radiating from his abdominal area. Clint attempted to howl but all he got out was a pathetic wheeze. With unnervingly bleary eyes he darted a glare towards the one responsible. To finally meet the original reason to why he opened his eyes in the first place.

"I'm sorry." The woman seemed and sounded sincere. "You started bleeding again. I had to."

Stunning even himself Clint came to a conclusion that he didn't mind. She was trying to help him stay alive, right? Wasn't that a good thing?

Clint blinked sluggishly, finding staying awake even more of a challenge than before. Tony and Steve were both talking but he couldn't comprehend any of it. Hopefully they wouldn't mind much. He'd just rest his eyes for a moment. Everything was going to be alright. His friends wouldn't let the strange woman kill him.

On his way under Clint could've sworn that felt a hand squeezing his. He held back the best as he could, anchored himself. Then fell into a peaceful slumber, feeling safe and sound.

* * *

Steve was almost sure that he felt his heart stop for a few second when Clint closed his eyes again and became completely limp, unresponsive. Only the fact that there was still a pulse, albeit a little frail, kept him from succumbing to panic.

Clint was still there. Still hanging on tight. That thought was just enough to keep him from losing it completely.

The doctor, whose name they hadn't even thought about asking yet, didn't look quite as optimistic. She moved her glove and blood covered hands from where she'd just re-dressed Clint wound to open the upper part of the archer's suit. Steve found himself tensing up until he was able to remind himself that she was only trying to help. His stomach knotted at what was revealed.

"Look", the doctor ordered. Pointing at a growing bruise on the side that hit the floor earlier. "Bleeding, inside."

Steve and Tony shared a look, neither managing to hide their feelings over the matter as well as they would've wanted to. Internal bleeding. Like the gunshot wound alone hadn't been quite bad enough.

It felt like ages before Natasha's voice finally drifted through the ear comms. " _Ready for take-off. Get here, right now._ " She didn't ask about Clint's condition. Steve couldn't blame her. He would've preferred not knowing, too.

Steve inhaled a sharp, tight breath. It hurt. "Copy that."

Tony watched intently when Steve gathered Clint to his arms, slowly, slowly, careful to not jostle the wound that'd been pacified once more and whatever other damage there might be. "Easy…", the Iron Man muttered, sounding out of breath. "Easy…"

Steve felt tempted to snap something far from mature but was able to restrain himself. What good would that have done? They didn't have time for useless bickering.

With Steve's super human strength it was no challenge to pick up and hold a grown man. Doing it as carefully as if handling the thinnest glass was much harder. Once the task was done Steve's eyes strayed towards the woman who helped them. "Thank you." He would've liked to say more but couldn't find the words at the moment.

She simply nodded. "Now hurry", she demanded. Her eyes revealed that they were far from being out of the woods. "I'll help the women." Sensible enough, especially when there was no way they'd let the team anywhere near them.

Besides, they had more urgent concerns at hand. Because in Steve's arms Clint's breathing began to sound increasingly laboured. They'd have to be fast if they didn't want it to stop entirely.

* * *

Clint was taken to the nearest possible hospital able to treat someone in his condition because they didn't dare to risk flying him any further. In an instant he was whisked away from them. It took hours before they received any news. Through all that time Steve didn't speak out even a single word. It was unnerving. The update they eventually received on Clint's condition was even more disheartening.

A punctured lung, which quite nearly cost the archer his life. A significant amount of blood loss. Extensive internal damage. There was a chance that Clint's system would never work properly again.

At the moment they had him on a ventilator. Knocked down by his injuries and a heavy load of medication. There was a chance that he might never wake up again.

For two minutes after the doctor's departure the room was eerily quiet. Then, so fast that it startled them, Steve stood up and marched out, slamming the door. The silence that followed was eventally pierced by Tony. "Do you guys think he'll come back?"

Bruce shook his head. There was sadness and understanding in the doctor's eyes. "I have no idea."

* * *

It took five full days before Clint's primary doctor finally gave them a cautiously optimistic word that the archer could be taken off a ventilator. After that it was a tense waiting game to see whether the Hawk would decide to keep fighting on his own. Two hours of slightly raspy yet independent inhales later they finally dared to sigh with relief.

The hospital staff attempted to remove the team from the room but soon came to discover that they wouldn't have any of it. Eventually they reached a compromise that one member of the team would be allowed to stay at a time. Just so they could see for themselves that Clint really, honestly wasn't about to go anywhere.

It'd been a long, gruelling week. That's why it was no surprise that somewhere in the middle of her watch Natasha fell asleep. She was still keeping an eye out, though. That's why her ears perked up and she was back to full alert as soon as she heard someone slipping into the room. Not opening her eyes to reveal that she was awake she listened how hesitant steps entered and walked closer. Familiar steps.

A few seconds later she heard Steve whispering. "I'm so sorry." And dear gosh, how the Captain did sound sorry. "Just, if you're listening… I want you to know that I'm sorry."

Steve stood there for a remarkably long time. As though waiting. Then, with a heavy sigh, the team leader turned and walked away almost soundlessly.

As soon as the man's steps faded away Natasha opened her eyes. She sighed and squeezed Clint's hand a little tighter. "You'd better wake up soon, you idiot." Someone might've dared to say that she sounded emotional. Of course she didn't. "Because this may be a mess only you can fix."

Nothing but the monitors beeping answered her.

* * *

Clint didn't know for sure how many times he'd woken up before he was finally lucid enough to remember it. What he discovered was Bruce, fast asleep on a chair beside his bed. The doctor's neck was twisted to such a position that would definitely leave it sore. Slowly, sluggishly, Clint's gaze traveled further to see a card sitting on the table beside his bed. It was a rather clumsily drawn picture of him wearing a full body armor. The text underneath it was unmistakeably Tony's handwriting.

' _The luck of an archer strikes again. Next time, be careful. Or you'll find yourself wearing one of those. Fury's orders._ '

Despite the fact that he was incredibly sore and his head felt fuzzy Clint couldn't help but melt into a grin.

* * *

Clint had to spend almost two months at the hospital. And even after that his recovery was far from finished. He spent most of the four months that followed at the Farm. As much as he hated himself over ever thinking that way Steve was almost relieved. At least he wouldn't have to look at the archer and remember…

Steve was running away, too, little as he liked to admit it. He took as many solo missions as he could. Stayed away from the Tower. Isolated himself. Of course the team noticed. He didn't care, even if he knew that he was being stupid and childish.

But of course he couldn't keep running away forever. One evening he came back from a yet another mission to find Clint waiting for him. The archer looked far paler than _before_ but there was no mistaking the look of sheer determination in his eyes. Especially when the Hawk was wearing training clothes.

"There you are." Clint lifted his chin defiantly. "I've spent months laying in a bed. I've gotten rusty. It's high time to start training again."

Steve swallowed, hard. Almost recoiled a step until he stopped himself. "Are you sure that it's a good idea? What if…?"

Clint's eyes hardened. "We do 'what ifs' for a living. Every time we head out there is a risk and sometimes things go wrong. The most we can do about it is to be as ready as possible. So stop treating me like glass and help me."

Steve hesitated. For a few moments the memory of his friend's injury and blood haunted him until he focused to see the man right before him, alive and full of fight. "Fine", the Captain agreed at last. "Just keep in mind that I that I've been on a mission for days."

Clint smiled. And somehow it was easier to believe that everything was at least slightly more alright in the world. "I'll be gentle with you, old man."

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Awww! Some Clint and Steve bonding. (BEAMS) Poor things! They seriously went through hell.

Sooooo… Any good? At all? 'Thumbs down' material? The box down below demands to know.

 **UP NEXT:**

A Hawk's Sick Day (poor Hawk doesn't seem to be feeling too well…)

A Little Friendly Fire (one of Clint's children learns the hard way why his father is very, very serious about weapon safety)

A Smoked Hawk (where there is smoke, there's a fire, where there's a fire, there's a flame… too bad Clint's in the middle of it…)

What Lies Beneath (how is it that something oh so insignificant becomes life threatening?)

Awkay, because time's SERIOUSLY running out for me for a moment I've gotta get going. Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all then!  
Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): That's EXACTLY why he's my favorite Avenger, too! It makes him such a remarkable guy, doesn't it? If only more people understood that.

I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed the chapter!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: YAY! I'm SUPER happy to hear that, especially when the chapter was so close to my heart. (BEAMS, and hugs) I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): I feel EXACTLY the same way about him! The fact that he's so human only makes him more amazing. And I'm OVERJOYED that you feel that way about the chapter! I truly hope that what's to come will please you as much.

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guesty Guest: There's just NO WAY I'd ever say 'no' to THAT! (grins like a loon) Naaaaaah, I'm smiling a lot while creating this so I think you're the more sane of us two, LOL.

My words EXACTLY! Gosh, it makes me happy beyond all words to find more people who feel that way. (hugs)

Enormous thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest218: LOOOOOOOOOOL! A couple of sadist we are. And not even one bit ashamed of it! (smirks and high fives)

Awww! You're making both blush AND super happy! I'm overjoyed that you're having such a good time with this collection. I REALLY hope that it continues. And I totally think that Clint makes the perfect target for whump, heh.

OH MY GOSH! If that's seriously happening… I'm getting OVER THE TOP excited here. If such a movie actually sees daylight I'll book a ticket IMMEDIATELY! Thank you so much for letting me know!

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): Awww! I'm really happy that it managed to move you. (BEAMS) GOSH, I REALLY hope that you'll continue to feel that way!

A thousand thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: Get in line! I think we all do. (GROWLS) LOL, thankfully Clint still got the last word AND a total BAMF!moment. (smirks)

Oooooooooh! That's sooooooooo juicy! I'm TOTALLY putting it on my list. (BEEEEEEEAMS) Gotta love protective/daddy Clint!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	27. A Hawk's Sick Day

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaack! And at a decent hour of the day for a change (around here, anyway). Yay…?

First, though… THANK YOU, a million times, for all the listings, love and reviews this collection has received! (HUGS) Those guys saying that Clint is useless and unloved don't know a thing. I'm INSANELY grateful for you proving me that!

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's get going! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **SOME VERY LIGHT TONYXPEPPER AND CLINTXLAURA.**

 **A VERY MILD TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of child abuse.**

* * *

A Hawk's Sick Day

* * *

Clint wasn't exactly the healthiest kid. Especially his stomach gave him a hard time far more often than he could later remember and the constant stress his father caused didn't improve matters. As a grown man and an Avenger he really, honestly imagined that those days were far behind him.

That was until the morning when he woke up with an aching stomach and a vague, nagging nausea that no amount of gulping made go away, even two days later.

"We're on a mission in Thailand." There was genuine sympathy in Tony's voice. "I guess one of us was bound to catch something nasty."

Clint groaned and rolled his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood for the narrow, bumpy and curvy road they'd been forced to take. "It's always nice to win a lottery."

Well, at least they'd be headed home soon. Just a small, insignificant scuffle and it'd be over with. Clint wasn't exactly looking forward to the flight but he did very much dream of getting to lay down on a familiar bed. Sleeping away the discomfort felt like an amazing idea.

He didn't realize that he'd said as much out loud until Natasha nodded. There was a rather fed up look on her face. "Tell me about it. I've slept a wall away from Thor. Do you have any idea how loudly he snores?"

Thor, who'd been just within earshot, frowned. The hammer wielder appeared endearingly insulted. "I can assure you, I do not snore."

Natasha's glare would've made even the mightiest tremble.

* * *

Clint hoped for a nice, fairly uneventful closure to their newest 'great adventure'. But since when had he ever been so lucky? His stomach protested heatedly against the running around, climbing and especially jumping he was forced to do.

Eventually he found himself flat on his back underneath the tree he'd chosen as a perch. With absolutely no idea how he ended up there. The body of a hostile which lay heavily on top of him was some indication.

Hang on a moment, not so dead after all.

When the far larger man began to moan and twitch, both clear indications of returning consciousness, Clint chose to act before he'd be in for something even more unpleasant. With a fast, unhesitant hand he pulled out a handgun, pointed and fired. Not exactly clean but it got the job done. He groaned and wrinkled his nose. Then, pushing whatever little strength his aching body had, kicked the most certainly dead hostile off of him.

Well, that wasn't exactly a relief. The pain in Clint's abdomen grew, centering around his navel. For a few moments he lay absolutely still, just focused on breathing and tried hard not to black out. Finally, after a decade or two, it became tolerable. Clint sighed with relief and began the slow, not exactly comfortable process of pushing himself to a sitting position.

Well. It seemed that he'd turned into one gigantic, human shaped bruise. Lovely.

" _I'm fairly sure that that was the last of it. This cell is officially closed_ ", Steve announced. The Captain sounded exhausted and tense. Which was only understandable. " _Is everyone ready to head home now?_ "

Clint grinned, subconsciously shielding his abdominal area with one hand. "For a… what, ninety year old…", he wheezed. "… you're full of great ideas."

" _And out of you two you're the one who sounds like a ninety-year-old._ " Natasha didn't succeed in disguising her worry as well as she probably hoped. " _Are you okay up there?_ "

Clint groaned. The glare he darted at the corpse on the ground suggested that the man might still get up and shoot him dead any given moment. In full honesty he wouldn't have been all that surprised. "Actually, it's down here, now", he admitted begrudgingly. "One of those…" In a flash he remembered that Steve was listening. "… _highly unpleasant people_ decided to come over and make sure that I wouldn't feel lonely." How about that, he was able to talk almost normally.

" _Hang on._ " Apparently Bruce wasn't quite as reassured. That level of shock would either smack away the last of Hulk or make Big Green go crazy. " _Are you saying that you just fell down from a tree?_ "

Clint sighed, beginning to make his way towards where their cars were hidden. "Yup." There really wasn't any point in trying to sugarcoat it. His eyes narrowed marginally. "Tin Can, make a joke about this and you'll find an arrow from where you'd least expect it."

" _Oh, c'mon. You can't be that cruel!_ " There was more than a hint of relief in Tony's voice. " _I've already come up with four jokes. Or, wait… Make it five._ "

Clint rolled his eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched. "Your concern is touching."

* * *

The flight home was a long one. As much as Clint kept telling him that he was alright Bruce preferred not taking any chances. It seemed that the archer didn't have any broken bones and by some miracle the Hawk had even avoided getting a concussion. Some luck, for once.

Based on the way Clint's body was twitching the man was getting fed up with his groping and poking. "Well? Will I live?"

Bruce couldn't avoid a tiny hint of a smile. Which was a small miracle, considering the exhaustion de-Hulking and slowly evaporating adrenaline had left him with. "So it would seem." He frowned at the way his friend sat in a slightly hunched position. It triggered an alarm bell somewhere in the back of his head. "Is your stomach still giving you a hard time?"

Clint gritted his teeth, then nodded. Obviously admitting as much gave the proud archer's dignity a mighty blow. "I hate Thailand." Clearly seeing his worry the Hawk gave a small smile and rolled his eyes. "It's just a stomach bug. And that guy crashlanding on me didn't do it favors."

Bruce's eyebrows furrowed. He didn't like this, at all. "Look, I don't trust my medical knowledge or your luck enough to just drop this. I know how much you hate doctors but would you consider making an exception? Just this once?"

Clint glared at him for a few seconds. Then sighed, shoulders slumping. "Fine. Just… Not one of Stark's people, yeah? I don't need artificial tissue or anything so I don't want them poking at me like I'm their favorite labrat."

"Awww, give yourself some credit." Tony, who seemed to have materialized from thin air, grinned and ruffled his hair. "You'd make a great lab-bird." The inventor then shifted his weight to another leg with what looked suspiciously lot like discomfort. "Are you… sure that you don't need their help, though?"

Clint groaned. The Hawk's expression was somewhere between annoyed and touched. "Tony, thanks. I'm serious. But I think your people have more important stuff to work on than a food poisoning. As do Fury's." A sharp pair of eyes that held clear discomfort darted between them. "You two, stop looking at me like you're expecting me to keel over at any given moment." Natasha made it to the scene just in time to swat the man upside the head for those words. The archer shot a look towards her. "What was that for?"

"Jinxing it."

* * *

There are many ways a doctor can lose a patient.

When Dr. April Jackson first saw her latest one alarm bells went off in her head. What caused them was the patient's companion, a man with dark hair and eyes that seemed gentle until she looked further. She recognized a person with anger issues when she faced one. Combined with the fresh bruise she saw on the other man's face…

"Mr. Barton?" She tried to muster a smile. "You can come in, now." The look she darted at the companion spoke volumes. "Alone, if you don't mind."

Clearly neither man wanted the separation, although they hid it quite well. The look they exchanged enstrenghtened Dr. Jackson's primary diagnosis tenfold. Clint looked like someone led to a slaughterhouse while trailing after her. She herself couldn't relax until they were in her office.

Dr. Jackson did her best to smile. "So. It looks like you had a rather exciting trip to Thailand."

Clint shrugged and smirked sheepishly. "I'm an office worker and sometimes I just need to… let loose, I guess. Who would've thought that those stairs would be the most dangerous thing in that place." The man then shifted, clearly finding it impossible to get comfortable. "It's my stomach that's giving me the hardest time, though. It's been hurting for… I don't know, maybe three days, now."

Dr. Jackson nodded slowly. Without her noticing her fingers drummed restlessly. "Any nausea? Diarrhea?"

For the first time she saw some color on Clint's cheeks. "Eh… A little bit of both. I've thrown up a couple of times. Not much, though, since I haven't been eating a lot."

Dr. Jackson got up and approached the man. A little too fast, apparently, based on the way he shuddered. "I'll have to feel your stomach, alright?" It obviusly wasn't but they didn't exactly have a choice. As soon as he lifted the hem of his shirt with stiff, reluctant hands she saw the bruising. If she'd been in doubt she wasn't anymore. Was one of them a boot mark? Her jawline tightened while she eventually reached out and began to feel. No one had ever been more tense under her hands. A few times his abdominal muscles, perhaps whole body, twitched. It was impossible to tell if it was because of pain or discomfort. There was an old, crescent shaped scar nearby his navel. When her fingers brushed it he nearly jumped. "Did you taste anything suspicious in Thailand? Food that didn't seem properly cooked? Unbottled water? Ice in your drinks?"

"I'm pretty sure I didn't. Like I said before I didn't even eat much." Clint didn't breathe properly until she stopped touching him. "What do you think is going on in there?"

"Well… Some of the test results aren't in yet but it could be just stress. Right now I'm more worried about… the fall. It looks like you've managed to avoid broken bones." She frowned while going through the papers in front of her. While there were no new ones the x-rays showed a large number of more or less properly healed fractures. Some of them were rather new. "You haven't always been so lucky, though. For an office worker you've been incredibly accident prone."

If such was possible Clint tensed up even further. The man's eyes narrowed a fraction while his fists balled tightly. "What was that supposed to mean?"

Dr. Jackson sighed. This was going to be even trickier than she'd imagined. "Your partner, the man I saw you with… You don't deserve him treating you this way."

"My… partner?" Clint seemed confused. Then nauseated. And finally _livid_. "First of all, doc, he isn't my partner. Secondly, he's my friend, not my abuser. Thirdly…" The patient was already getting up with smouldering eyes. "I'd never, ever let another man do that to me without hitting back."

Dr. Jackson frowned while watching his distancing back. The helpless fury was infuriating. "Mr. Barton…"

"Forget about the rest of the fucking tests." The glare Clint darted at her was full of wrath, hurt and old fear. "If you want to report domestic abuse you're over twenty years too late." The door slammed after the man.

Dr. Jackson just lost a patient.

* * *

Bruce frowned when Clint stormed out of the doctor's office. Somehow he already had a bad feeling. "Clint?"

Clint's breath hitched. The man's back was towards him. "Next time I think about taking up on your idea… Remind me not to." There was something very suspicious about the way the archer wiped his eyes. "Let's just get to the Tower, okay?"

Once they made it there and Clint was in his own room the archer rushed to the toilet and threw up.

* * *

Most of the team slept heavily that night. The mission had been exhausting and they were in a dire need of rest. Unfortunately Pepper wasn't quite as lucky.

Tony's nightmares woke her up five times. Even though she managed to soothe him back to peaceful slumber each time her own body was on high alert, expecting him to become restless again. Finally, at five thirty in the morning, she decided that she needed coffee. After a light, tender kiss to her boyfriend's brow she dragged herself to the kitchen. Only to realize that someone had made it there even earlier.

There was nothing short of misery on Clint's face while sat slouched on the couch. He glared at the mug of coffee he'd placed to the floor like it was his mortal enemy. The dark circles around his eyes suggested that he hadn't been able to get a lot of sleep, either.

Pepper winced with sympathy. "'Morning." She stifled a yawn. "So your stomach's still giving you a hard time?"

Clint groaned and nodded. "Yeah." To make him admit that much it had to be pretty horrible. "That doctor from yesterday can say what she wants but I don't think this is stress."

Pepper frowned and nodded in agreement. Her stomach knotted uncomfortably. "I've seen stress and this isn't it. Maybe…"

"Tony's already on it." Clint's tone was almost fond. If not a little annoyed. "Apparently one of his doctors will give a second opinion this afternoon."

Pepper nodded. "Good. Maybe this one knows what they're doing." She ruffled his hair and frowned at how warm his forehead felt. "Since when have you had a fever?"

Clint blinked twice. The Hawk appeared genuinely surprised. "I have a fever?"

Pepper rolled her eyes and shook her head. One thing was for sure. This team made sure that whenever she might become a mom she'd be ready for it. With gentle hands she began to help him up from the couch. "Off to bed with you, Birdie."

Clint's eyebrow arched. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, easing the pain a little. "'Birdie'? That's new."

"I learned from the best."

Getting Clint up from the couch was a small war. Walking seemed to be even harder. More than once Pepper suggested that maybe they should just stop. Clint, predictably, absolutely refused to give up. By the time she got the unhealthily stubborn man to bed he was trembling.

As soon as Tony woke up, which she sped up gently with little kisses, she asked him to tell that doctor of his to hurry up.

* * *

To his own surprise Clint was actually able to get some rest. He was in the middle of dreaming about a circus when he woke up without a warning. He was surprised to discover that while nausea had grown significantly the pain was considerably more tolerable. He blinked twice, slowly, letting the information sink in.

Very cautiously, testing his body, Clint made his way out of the bed. As soon as he could be sure that there wouldn't be overwhelming ache he began to suffle towards the toilet. Making it there was the last thing he properly registered doing for a while.

* * *

Having a partner with Clint self preservation instincts teaches a person as few things. As soon as Natasha woke up she sensed that something was far more wrong than when she went to sleep. "Where's Clint?" she asked upon finding the others from the kitchen area.

"I checked up on him…" Steve checked the time. "… twenty minutes ago, I think. He has some fever but he was sleeping soundly."

Natasha groaned loudly. Then muttered a few chosen words in a language Steve wouldn't understand. Clint Barton didn't do 'sleeping soundly', especially if he was feverish.

By the time a very familiar computer voice announced that there seemed to be a medical emergency regarding Clint Natasha was already moving.

Not exactly unsurprisingly she didn't find the Hawk from his bed. There was a beam of light coming from the room's toilet. She approached with a bad feeling growing inside her. "Clint?"

He didn't respond. And then she'd already thrown the door open. What she found made her blood run cold.

Clint had slumped to the floor and it was blatantly obvious that he wouldn't be moving anytime soon. He was pale, save the rosy hue rising rapidly to his cheeks, and trembled pitiably. Natasha didn't think she'd ever seen him in that much pain. Which, considering everything they'd been through, was saying a lot.

Natasha swallowed, noticing that her mouth had gone horribly dry. "Clint?" She knelt beside him but not too close, knowing that he wouldn't appreciate his personal space being crowded when he was unwell. "Is the stomach that bad?"

Clint nodded very slowly. His lips opened but instead of words all he could produce was an agonized grimace. He then gasped and visibly attempted to curl up but couldn't do it from the hellish pain.

"Hey." Natasha wished that she would've dared to touch him. "That doctor of Tony's is coming, remember? You'll get help soon. Just hang in there."

Another feeble nod, which was followed by a barely audible whimper of pain.

Natasha was desperately trying to come up with something helpful or comforting to say. She didn't do too well with either. Fortunately steps entered the room before she would've been forced to reveal as much.

"What happened to your cell phone?" Whose voice was that? "I've been trying to reach you for an hour."

"The battery must've died." There was a brief, tense pause. "Clint?" Did Tony actually sound scared? "What's wrong with him?"

The second arrival, a beautiful young woman with neatly tied long black hair and large hazel eyes, had a grim look on her face. "Clint?" She barely managed to get the archer's attention. "I'm Dr. Meredith Stones. Tony called me in to see you. I don't want you to panic but we'll have to start prepping you for a surgery. Don't worry, you're in good hands. Tony has a great team at my disposal." She focused on the mentioned billionaire. "I've understood that there's a fully equipped operating theater in this building?"

Clint's eyes flashed hazardously but it wasn't like he would've been able to fight back much at the moment. Natasha's narrowed and she prepared a full tirade for her friend's defense. Tony was faster. "Yeah, there is. What the hell is going on?"

Dr. Stones sighed heavily. "I had a chat with the doctor Clint saw yesterday and I started suspecting an inflamed appendix. Apparently I didn't manage to get here before it ruptured."

* * *

Clint was disoriented, confused and, if he was honest, terrified. At first he saw Natasha, heard her and Tony. Then he was taken away by people in scrubs, total strangers who kept shouting at each other in medical jargon that he didn't understand. He would've wanted to fight them, or to at least demand answers, but the sheer agony was so intense that breathing required most of his focus.

What _the hell_ was happening to him?

All of a sudden there was white and painfully bright lights. Something that stung a little rushed through his veins. Soon after the world was falling away from him.

"Try to relax … help you … over soon …"

Clint hoped dearly, with as much coherence as he could under the circumstances, that those wouldn't be the last words he'd hear.

* * *

The emergency surgery was only the first step of an exhausting battle. Clint was bound to have a very serious infection for a while. All the rest of the team could do was watch him fight it and fever with the aid of strong medication.

It took a couple of days before they realized how much time Bruce spent close to Clint's recovery room without actually entering. He didn't sleep and barely ate. Just paced around like a caged wild animal, demanding to know everything there was to know about the archer's condition. It was easy to tell how much each 'no change' hurt.

Bruce's eyes held a look Tony hadn't seen in them before as the man stood yet again behind that damned door, looking in where Natasha sat beside a still unconscious Clint. Or actually… Tony had seen that look because he didn't think it'd left since Big Green first became a part of Bruce's life. But it'd never been quite that strong.

Tony took a deep breath. "You know… Despite your training and India you're not exactly a medical doctor. There was no way you could've made a certain diagnosis and you sure as hell wouldn't have been able to cut him open even if you did. This…" The inventor nodded towards the room. "… is none of your fault. You did everything you could. Too bad the first doctor sucks at her job."

Bruce shivered. It took a long moment before any words fell out. "She… thought that I was abusing Clint. The way she looked at me…" The scientist shook his head and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Too many people have looked at me that way."

Tony shrugged. "So what? None of the people who matter ever would. _We_ never would."

Bruce's jawline tightened. "Maybe you guys should. I mean… The Other Guy's attacked all of you at least once. Out of all the threats you've faced I'm one of the biggest, a ticking bomb waiting to go off living in the same building with you. You'd all be much safer without me."

Tony shook his head. "I don't think so. Because it takes us all to make the perfect team. And I think I'd miss you."

One corner of Bruce's tight lips was twitching. Progress. "Tony Stark, is that sentiment?"

Tony scoffed and wrinkled his nose with mocked disgust. "Nah. I don't do emotional stuff."

Bruce chuckled. Only briefly but still. "Pepper's a lucky girl."

Tony grinned. There wasn't a hint of arrogance to it. "She is. And because she thinks so I'm lucky, too."

* * *

It took what felt like a lifetime to the team before Dr. Stones announced that Clint had managed to overcome the infection. After coming dangerously close to losing his life the archer would be alright. They just needed to give him time.

The first time Clint woke up so that he could remember it later he frowned, distinguishing several blurry figures. Eventually his vision cleared enough to reveal Bruce and Natasha, who were sitting right beside his bed as though keeping watch and were talking quietly. A little further Thor and Tony were occupied by a chess set. Judging by the look on Tony's face the billionaire was losing. Steve was right outside the room, talking to a woman who had to be his doctor. Was the super soldier blushing…? Clint made a mental note to tease the man about it. Gently, of course.

Clint smiled. Despite being incredibly sore and more than a little confused he felt perfectly safe. It was okay to sleep a bit. His team – his second family – would have his back.

Clint never found out that one person did notice his brief waken moment. Bruce glanced towards him just in time to see how the archer closed his eyes and relaxed back to sleep. Trusting them all entirely. Somehow that simple gesture gave Bruce more comfort than any words ever could've.

* * *

Weeks later, with Clint's recovery advancing slowly yet steadily, he lay on a bed with his wife, savouring her familiar scent while she combed her fingers through his hair. Their youngest slumbered between them, making adorable sleeping noises. It was his very own piece of heaven.

"You know…", Laura whispered. Her fingers were gentle while ghosting above the still scarring wound on his bare stomach. "Combined with the old scar it looks almost like a broken heart."

Clint couldn't resist a smile. He pulled her as close as he dared to without squashing their child. "Not broken", he murmured, so quietly that she probably didn't even hear. "Mending."

Once upon a time he was a child who never really had a proper family. And now… Now he was a grown man who had two, one made of friends and the other of those he loved the most. Whatever someone might say he considered himself lucky.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: What? I was feeling fluffy, it happens. And he did almost die AGAIN so it's not like I'm growing soft or anything. (grins)

Sooooo… Good? Bad? Just 'blaaaaaah'? PLEASE, do let me know! It's always super awesome to hear from you guys.

 **UP NEXT (titles may still be edited):**

A Little Friendly Fire (one of Clint's children learns the hard way why his father is very, very serious about weapon safety)

A Smoked Hawk (where there is smoke, there's a fire, where there's a fire, there's a flame… too bad Clint's in the middle of it…)

What Lies Beneath (how is it that something oh so insignificant becomes life threatening?)

A Hawk's Nightmare (Clint is poisoned and in a coma ends up into a horror-storyish dream world while his team tries to help him fight his way back)

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal (the team is shocked and confused when it looks like their Hawk has turned into one of the bad guys, but is anything as it seems?) (a three parter)

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll join in then for some feathery adventures.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): Gotta love Steve, right? He has indeed been through A LOT. Thank gosh Clint pulled through! Not only would we have lost our favorite Hawk but Steve would've never, ever forgiven himself. (winces)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 243: It's AWESOME to hear that you enjoyed it! (BEAMS) Poor Steve indeed – and Clint, too. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: LOL! This is Clint. If there's ANY potential of an illness becoming horribly life-threatening it'll be found. (grins and winks) I really hope that what's to come meets your expectations!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): You have NO IDEA how good it feels to hear that! (hugs) I truly hope that you'll keep having a good time with this collection.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guesty Guest: LOL! Sanity is overrated anyway, ain't it? (giggles)

Those two poor things, right? (sighs) But at least Clint's used to getting hurt all the time. Steve, seeing his team getting hurt… Maybe not so much. (pouts) He deserves a mountain of those muffins! And so does Clint. This collection is seriously putting him through the ringer. And I regret nothing. (smirks) (then whistles innocently) (Of course Steve would share. He's just that sweet.) (hugs him)

LOL! Totally, absolutely normal. Or then this… 'normal' is no fun. (grins)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

(ps: Heh! I'll bet he'd just find some way to die BECAUSE OF that suit. Falling into water, getting trapped into it… The possibilities are endless!)


	28. A Little Friendly Fire

A/N: This chapter was a real problem child. Mainly because I HATE doing what I'll have to do with Cooper for this plot. (winces) I kept trying for days until I made a reboot and here we are. BUT, before seeing what I came up with…

TONS of thank yous for the absolutely AMAZING reviews! Gosh! Our Hawk sure is one beloved bird. Let's continue to keep it that way!  
Awkay, because it's REALLY late and I don't want to chicken out… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **CLINTXLAURA IN THIS ONE.**

* * *

A Little Friendly Fire

* * *

Natasha had spent the past four days on a incredibly infuriating mission. And if her own count could still be trusted she hadn't slept in forty-two hours. So it wasn't any wonder that she was dozing off during the taxi drive home.

She'd just started dreaming of red when her cell phone began to ring. After a groan and some muttered words that made the old, most likely deeply religious driver shake his head with disapproval she grabbed the offending item. The second she saw who the caller was she was fully awake, her blood running cold.

 _William_

Since she obviously couldn't have Laura's number with the woman's real name installed to the phone they'd chosen on a cover name. Something like William was the kind of a pick that no criminal would take further interest in. It'd also been made perfectly clear that this number was for emergencies only. "What's wrong?" she demanded the second she picked up.

At first all that could be hear from the other end was crying. Then Laura's barely comprehensible words floated to her ears. " _Coop… Coop just almost killed Clint._ "

For a few seconds the whole world spun in front of Natasha's eyes. Her heart hammered so quickly that it was a miracle the whole thing didn't just burst out of her chest. It took far longer than it should've before she managed to produce speech. "Which…?" She cleared her throat when her voice threatened to break. It was a miracle that she sounded almost perfectly calm and composed. "Which hospital?"

Laura pulled herself together with a few mighty, audibly painful gasps. Were those two sobs she heard? When the woman spoke again she sounded almost like herself. Obviously the life as Clint Barton's wife was rubbing on her. The required information was rattled rapidly and clearly.

Natasha had almost hung up until Laura continued in what wasn't much louder than a whisper. " _Nat, they… They took him away almost three hours ago and… They don't know what's going to happen._ "

Natasha translated that entirely too easily. _They don't know if he's going to make it._ Breathing was taunting task for almost twenty seconds. Then, with a mighty gulp, Natasha got a hold of herself once more. "I'll be there as soon as I can", she declared, nothing in her voice betraying her emotions. When she did hang up she had to fight the urge to open the car's window and throw the phone to the street.

* * *

Once upon a time Laura was a nurse who worked in an emergency room. The patients brought before her… The horror stories she faced… Some of them would haunt her for the rest of her life. But absolutely nothing could've prepared herself for what she'd been forced to witness a few hours ago.

Hearing her son's heart stilling, desperate and absolutely terrified scream…

Finding her husband lay on the ground, gasping and bleeding…

Seeing their son's hands covered in his dad's blood as the child attempted to save the man's life…

For a very long moment none of it made sense to Laura. Until she saw the arrow sticking from Clint's body and noticed the clumsily made bow. Understanding crashed down on her like a pile of bricks.

She'd had suspicions that Cooper was hiding something from her for a couple of weeks. At that very moment she knew exactly what it was. Her heart shattered in her chest.

Laura made a mad dash to the duo, crash landing to Clint's side and gently prying the boy's hands from the wound to inspect and treat it herself. Struggling desperately to be the adult in that impossible, gut wrenching situation she focused on her distraught son. "Coop." Somehow she managed to keep her tone soft despite all the adrenaline. "Call an ambulance. Then go inside and keep an eye on your brother and sister. Alright?" Quite clearly the child wouldn't have wanted to leave his dad behind. Laura emitted a shuddering sigh. "Sweetie, I'll look after dad for a bit. Okay? It's important that you call for help and take care of your siblings. It'll be alright." She could only wish that Cooper believed those words because she wasn't sure if she did.

Cooper nodded feebly, tears pooling into the child's eyes. None of them spilled. The boy was too far gone into a shock.

Once Cooper was preoccupied Laura was able to really evaluate the damage. She had to bite back a whimper. It looked absolutely horrible. To avoid looking at it any longer than necessary she focused on her husband's face and shivered from surprise to find him looking back at her. Even though his eyes were bleary and pained they were open. She anchored herself on that thought desperately. "You don't get to do this. Got that?" Panic sharpened her tone, gave it a higher pitch. "You're not dying on us. Not here, not like this."

Clint fought to grin. His body shuddered from pain. "Wouldn't… dare to… under your watch." And then, against all reason and probability, he was struggling to sit up.

Laura stared for exactly two second, surprise paralyzing her. Then shouted far more loudly than she should've. "What do you think you're doing?"

Clint was shaking miserably and so pale that it was hard to believe he had any blood left in his veins. But by some miracle he managed to prop himself on one elbow. "Coop… He needs to… see me up… Please… Help me… up."

"Or what? You'll haul yourself up?" Disbelief was close to dominating fear. Maybe she was in a shock, too. She shook her head, which did nothing to clear it. "Who am I kidding, of course you would." Her eyes flashed when she placed a hand on his chest. His heart thundered under her touch. The feel of it brought a stinging sensation to her eyes. "Honey, stop moving, you'll…"

But Clint was already on all fours and judging by the looks of it he wouldn't be stopping there. Deciding that she'd have to do something before he'd end up really hurting himself further Laura bit back a lot of carefully selected words and began to help him. Painstakingly slowly they got him to a standing position, even if he was leaning most of his weight on her. If he'd been breathing heavily and shivering before by then it was ten times worse.

"Clint?" Worry squeezed around Laura's stomach, so hard that it made her feel sick. "Are you going to pass out?"

Clint shook his head stubbornly. "Nah… Just… gotta walk it… off."

Laura gritted her teeth. Her protectively hold on him became firmer, as though the mere contact had been enough to keep him from slipping away. "You sound very convincing." She kissed his forehead, then began to lead him towards the farm. "C'mon, just a few steps. You were the one who wanted to do this, remember? So let's go. You'll be fine."

Clint's eyelids drooped dangerously. He blinked it away with the sheer power of will. Five steps later his head lolled against her shoulder. "Hmm."

By some miracle he managed to cling to consciousness until they made it inside. He looked around, something almost desperate in his eyes. "Coop…?"

Their son was nowhere to be seen. And that was where Clint ran out of strength. His eyes rolled back exactly a second before he began slumping down, only Laura's quick reflexes softening his landing.

"No, no, no!" Laura didn't care if there were tears in her eyes. Not when her husband's blood stained her hands. "You're not leaving me like this, do you hear me? You're not going to do this to us."

Clint gave no sign of having heard her.

Laura didn't know how much time passed. How long she sat there, fighting a war to keep her husband in the world of the living. Until all of a sudden Cooper burst into the room. The look on her son's face when he saw his dad broke her heart. "Mommy, the ambulance is here!"

And then there was noise. A lot of bustling everywhere. She was torn away from her husband and then the medics were asking far too many complicated questions. As though separated from her body she listened to her voice explaining that there'd been an archery practice accident.

"What's his name?"

That was, surprisingly, the trickiest question. "He's…" Which name was she supposed to use? Which story? In her current chaotic state of mind she was only able to produce half a lie. "He's Coughlin, James Coughlin. I'm Laura, his wife."

The medic nodded. "Alright, thank you." The woman then focused on Clint. "Mr. Coughlin? Can you hear me?"

It was all incredibly blurry from there. Because there was no one to look after the kids she had to take them to the hospital. Nathan slept. Lila cried and kept asking questions that she had no answers to. And Cooper… Cooper was so quiet and still that it terrified her. The tears in the boy's eyes still refused to fall.

As soon as they reached the hospital Clint was taken away. Without a doubt wheeled to surgery. The rest of their terrified family was led to a surprisingly calm and quiet waiting room. The sight of it made Laura's head spin. Or maybe it was the shock.

She'd come so very close to losing Clint far more times than she cared to count because of missions in some faraway places. Now… Now he was home. He was supposed to be safe. And this was when she had to sit in a waiting room?

She would've laughed at the irony if she was able to.

* * *

That waiting room was where Natasha found them from. Most of them, anyway. Nathan was still asleep. So was Lila, traces of long ago dried tears covering her face. Laura just sat there, face buried into her hands and shaking miserably. "Coop went to the hospital's chapel an hour and a half ago", the woman murmured softly, barely audibly.

Natasha nodded, trying to take in the whole situation. Her heart was hammering far faster than it should've. "What the hell happened?" she snapped more sharply than she'd meant to.

Laura didn't seem to mind. Eventually the woman looked at her with slightly glazed over, red eyes. "Coop… He made a bow and probably wanted to show it to Clint. Something… Something went wrong."

Natasha barely managed to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. "Any news?" She couldn't help but notice that even though Laura had probably washed her hands several times over flakes of dried blood could still be seen under her fingernails. It made the Widow's stomach twist with nausea.

Laura shook her head. "It's been hours and…" A couple of tears rolled down the woman's cheek. "They don't know, Nat. They just don't know."

Natasha folded her arms to hide how badly her hands were shaking. "You know how tough he

is. He wouldn't be stupid enough to go down like this."

A faint, barely existent smile lingered on Laura's lips for a few seconds. "I know", the woman murmured fondly. Then sighed heavily, suddenly appearing ten years older than the previous time they met. "Well, now that you're here to keep an eye on the rugrats I should go and find Cooper."

"Actually…" Natasha thought for a few seconds. "What do you say if I'd talk to him for a minutes? Consider it my duty as his godmom. Or something."

True to Laura's report she found Cooper from the tiny chapel. The child was huddled to the back row, legs brought against his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. Tears ran like rivers down the boy's cheeks and it didn't look like they'd stop anytime soon. When Cooper noticed her his eyes widened with terror.

Natasha held up both hands. "Relax, kiddo. All I want is a chat."

Cooper didn't seem to relax very much. The tears continued to fall while the child emitted a sound of misery. "I… I just wanted to protect them, aunt Tasha. When dad's away… then I'm supposed to be the man of the house and…" He wiped his eyes and cheeks roughly, even though more tears came almost instantly. "I… I was supposed to show him my skills. And my bow. I made it myself. But… The wind, it messed up everything." Another futile rubbing motion followed. "I just… I wanted him to be proud of me."

Natasha sighed heavily. Ignoring the fact that such was against her very nature she made her way to him and sat down. Instantly he was in her arms, seeking comfort. "I know", she murmured. "But sometimes life's unfair." Well, that was putting it rather kindly.

Cooper was still shaking. "I'll be arrested, right? I… I almost…" He nearly choked on his words. "I should be arrested."

"Now you're being silly." Natasha's tone was almost fond. She ruffled the child's hair. "Of course you won't be arrested. It was an accident, Cooper. A really stupid accident, I'll admit that, but an accident nonetheless. Your dad's going to tell you the same when you see him again."

Cooper sniffled a few more times. Well, at least the child seemed a little calmer. "Is he… Is he gonna make it?"

"Of course he is", Natasha reassured him. Hoping from the bottom of her heart that the promise wouldn't be broken. "He always does."

Cooper nodded. It was completely quiet for almost two minutes until he whispered again. "Is he ever gonna forgive me?"

Well, that definitely did funny things to Natasha's heart. She gritted her teeth. "Of course he is, you foolish child."  
Cooper frowned. His eyes were a lot older than they should've been as they searched through hers. "How can you be so sure?"

All of a sudden Natasha couldn't look at him anymore. Instead she focused on the altar and the cross hanging behind it. "Because… I hurt him pretty badly when we first me. On purpose. And he forgave that, too."

For a while she feared that he'd ask for a clarification. But apparently the child was happy with that. The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable. This time it was Natasha who spoke first. "I'll bet your mom's getting worried about you. I think we should go back to her."

Cooper tensed up entirely. Even paled further. "Can we… just stay here, for a while?"

"Sure." She took a more comfortable position and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned eagerly to her warmth. "This is the best place in this building, anyway."  
If anyone saw her then there was no way they would've believed her to be the infamous Black Widow.

Eventually Cooper fell asleep in Natasha's arms. Using the opportunity, she got up and slowly, careful not to rouse the child, made her way back to the waiting room. What she encountered there nearly made her drop her precious cargo.

Laura had one hand pressed against her lips and she was crying hard while listening to the report of an apologetic looking doctor.

* * *

It was raining. Of course it was. Laura sighed, her exhausted eyes rising towards the sky.

"It's been ten days, now", she reported. She was forced to pause for a few seconds. "Lila… She's confused and keeps asking and… I'm seriously running out of ideas what to say. And Coop…" She wiped her cheeks although she ran out of tears days ago. "He doesn't sleep, he barely eats. The nightmares he has… They're tearing him apart. My little boy is hurting and I have no idea what to do to help him."

No one answered her. Of course not. Somehow it still managed to hurt.

Laura gulped laboriously. "He'd need you, you know? More than ever." She breathed hard. "After all those miracles you've pulled… Do you think there might be a one more left? For our son?"

The infuriating, suffocating silence continued. Eventually it got too much. Laura turned sharply and was already at the room's door when something made her freeze to the spot.

The beeping of Clint's heart monitor just changed.

* * *

When Clint first woke up, without any idea of how long he'd been sleeping, it was to a world of chaos and confusion. There were people around him, perfect strangers working around him and far too many hands touching him. Everyone was calling him Mr. Coughlin and he wanted to correct them until his head finally caught on.

He didn't feel safe until he saw Laura's face, illuminated by the artificial light. She looked tired but there was nothing short of joy sparkling in her eyes. There was a lot they would've both wanted to say but only settled for one word per each.

"Hey."

"Hey."

* * *

A week after Clint's awakening Cooper still hadn't seen his dad. Whenever his mom asked him along he refused, coming up with excuses that were getting increasingly pathetic. Eventually aunt Natasha seemed to decide that enough was enough. "Your dad's been asking about you, you know."

Cooper's heart actually skipped a beat with panic. He was almost sure that it showed on his face. "I've told you", he insisted. Furiously trying to make it look like he was focusing on his homework. "I'm busy."

"And why, exactly, are you avoiding him?"

"Because I'm the one who put him into the hospital!" Cooper cried out. His eyes stung but he blinked it away forcibly. "I can't go there and pretend that everything's okay when I did that to him!"

Neither realized that they had audience until they heard the loud, teary gasp. Looking to side they found Lila staring at them with wide, horrified eyes. Before neither of them could say a thing the little girl had run away, slamming the door of her room. Cooper's heart plummeted all the way to his stomach.

It took hours until Cooper managed to gather enough courage to enter his sister's room. "Lila?" There was no response from the dark. "Are you taking a nap?"  
He could see her sitting on the bed, trembling. There was no sobbing but he was fairly sure that she'd cried at some point. He approached the bed cautiously, not daring to switch on the lights. Eventually he sat down, careful to leave some distance between them.

A couple of eternities seemed to pass by before Lila finally spoke. "Is it true?" Gosh, how young she sounded. "Did you hurt daddy?"

Oh, how Cooper wished that he could've denied it. He hung his head and gulped. "Yeah, I did."

"Did you mean to?"

That question… was actually a surprise. It took a few moments before Cooper managed to answer. "Of course I didn't." It hurt to even consider that option. "If… If I could… I swear, I'd do anything to undo it."

It was absolutely silent. Cooper was so tense that he jumped when something soft touched his arm. His eyes widened a little when he discovered that it was Pooh, Lila's favorite teddy bear that no longer looked nothing like its namesake.

"You need him more than I do", she announced softly.

* * *

Clint came to a solemn conclusion that the hospital's physical therapist hated him. There hadn't been a single kind word. A smile would've probably taken him down with surprise in the middle of a walking practice. Even his own most charming smile hadn't succeeded in melting Brumhilda, as he'd re-named the large, scary faced woman.

No matter, he wasn't going to stick around for long, anyway.

It'd been a week and four days since he woke up when the room's door opened slowly, almost cautiously. Clint, who'd been on the verge on falling asleep in post Brumhilda exhaustion, emitted a sleepy sound before turning his head to see the arrival. He wasn't sure who he'd been expecting. He was surprised to see Cooper. Pleased, but surprised.

The look on Cooper's face was, however, heart shattering. The boy didn't dare to take more than a step away from the door. "Dad, I… I know that you're mad at me. I messed up, badly. And… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…!"

"Hey." Clint kept his tone soft and his gaze fixed on his son. He sighed heavily. "You should've known better than to practice alone, that's true. You could've hurt yourself badly and that was what startled me. And what if it was your sister who came to you on that day? Or your mom?" He smiled, even if the crushed look on the boy's face ached him. "But I can tell that you've definitely learned your lesson. And I'm not mad at you, Coop. At all. So come here and I may share some of the candies aunt Tasha brought me."

That was what it took. All Cooper needed to be pushed into doing what the child had wanted to do for a long time. The child ran to him and allowed himself to be held.

* * *

The recovery wasn't easy. Clint struggled with the obvious physical ailments. Cooper's mental healing was painfully slow and the fact that Lila seemed to be a little wary around her brother didn't exactly help. Laura herself was still shaken, fought to convince herself that her home was still a safe place and that Clint wouldn't be snatched away from her whenever she looked away from him.

But their little family soldiered on. Just like they had through all the other countless obstacles they'd encountered just to stay safe and have whatever little time they could together. They held on as one.

One morning seven weeks after Clint woke up Laura woke up spontaneously. She panicked for a moment upon finding her husband's side of the bed empty. Then she heard voices from outside the house. Growing curious she put on a dressing gown and tiptoed to the window to get a look.

Outside Clint and Cooper were focused furiously on a target board. There was a bow in her son's hands, this time a proper one. After a few more words of advice from his dad Cooper nodded slowly, then focused furiously and fired an arrow. It didn't quite hit the center of the board but came very close to it. Nothing could've matched the sheer joy that lit up Cooper's eyes. Or the pride in Clint's when he folded his son to a hug.

Laura smiled, feeling at ease for the first time in ages.

Yes. Now she knew for sure. Their family would be just fine.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Poor , poor Cooper! Gosh, that actually hurt to type. And poor Clint, too. Obviously.

Soooo… Any good, at all? Lukewarm? Yawn worthy? Please, do let me know! That comment box below is suuuuuuper hungry, especially since Valentine's is approaching…

 **UP NEXT (titles may still be edited):**

A Smoked Hawk (where there is smoke, there's a fire, where there's a fire, there's a flame… too bad Clint's in the middle of it…)

What Lies Beneath (how is it that something oh so insignificant becomes life threatening?)

A Hawk's Nightmare (Clint is poisoned and in a coma ends up into a horror-storyish dream world while his team tries to help him fight his way back)

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal (the team is shocked and confused when it looks like their Hawk has turned into one of the bad guys, but is anything as it seems?) (a three parter)

Until next time, ya all feather fans! I really hope that I'll see you then.

Take care!

* * *

Guest 13: I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it. Fluff and all. Ain't fluff awesome from time to time? (grins)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): I just about fell down my chair from laughter! He'd totally get poisoned. (chuckles) Oh boy, I know THAT pain. (winces with sympathy)

Heh! Don't worry, it cracked me up, too. And I was so happy to get the chance to include Pepper. She's sort of a part of the family, after all.

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 243: Indeed! And poor Bruce, too. (sighs) AMEN to that! Hawkeye totally deserves more screentime. He's the most underrated member of the group!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): You have no idea how that warms my heart! (HUGS) I really hope that what's to come pleases you as much.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): Indeed! The poor thing had it the WORST way. (winces) I'm really glad that your friend didn't have it as bad.

Lots of thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I know, right! (chuckles) And they TOTALLY deserve lots of hugs.

Awww, thanks! I'm SUPER flattered and overjoyed. LOL, let's say that I adore just about anything with sugar.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	29. A Smoked Hawk

A/N: I should've been in bed a long time ago but since I've already made you wait for too long… (winces apologetically) First, though…!

THANK YOU, times million, for your reviews, listings and love! GOSH, it never stops making me feel all warm and fuzzy that our Hawk has so many friends. And he's supposed to be a useless Avenger no one cares about…? Let's prove them wrong!

Awkay, because stalling's rude and I'm in a hurry… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Smoked Hawk

* * *

The first time Clint woke up it wasn't really waking up. He was aware that there was a world around him. He heard people talking but couldn't quite figure out the language. Was it even in English or any other of the languages he mastered? The words sounded clipped, strictly professional.

A hospital, then.

Clint tried, quite desperately, to figure out what happened and how badly he'd been injured. But all of a sudden the only thing he could comprehend was how hard it was to breathe. He groaned, or at least he thought he did, and attempted to move. He couldn't even coax his toes and fingers into twitching.

Was this some sort of a nightmare?

To worsen the already pretty royally horrific situation a strange, unwanted hand grabbed a hold of his shoulder. A razor sharp stab of pain traveled through him. Or was it something else aching him? While he was trying to find out an item he most certainly didn't want was pressed harder against his face. He fought to struggle against it until he realized that it made breathing easier. He accepted the comfort begrudgingly, not liking how each inhale felt like a knife straight through his insides.

What happened to him? And where was his team? Were they alright? He clawed furiously through the fog filling his mind but drew a solid blank. Almost, anyway.

Something bad had to be happening because all of a sudden the people around him were talking a lot more loudly. Hands grabbed him and he tried to wrench his eyes open but couldn't quite get there. Eventually the people, potential threats, seemed to decide that they'd had enough of him because something that stung spread through his veins. After that staying awake was even harder than before. In a more coherent state of mind he might've noticed that something was off with how hoarse, almost scorched, his throat felt. Despite the fact that he could barely breathe he called out, screamed the best as he could. Was it any wonder that he cried out, inaudible as it was, after the one who'd had his back so many times?

' _Tasha!_ '

* * *

/ _Tony sneezed. Loudly and dramatically. "Siberia?" the billionaire whined miserably. "If I survive this I'm going to kill Fury." The immediate response he earned was a swift, hard swat at the back of his head. "Ow! Did you have to? My headache is already killing me!"_

 _Natasha's eyes narrowed. Via machinery Bruce beat her to explaining. "_ Every single time you say that something goes horribly wrong. _" The scientist sneezed loudly. "_ Trust me. I'm good at catching p… phat… _" The second sneeze was so loud that they all winced. "_ … patterns. _"_

 _Steve gave the monitor showing Bruce's flushed face a look of sympathy. "Get some rest, and get better soon." The Captain then focused on Tony with harder eyes. "And you… Stay in the Jet."_

 _Tony gave the team leader a scandalized look. "What?" It sounded amusingly lot like something produced by an animal. "I'm sick! You can't dit… ditch…" The man gasped back a sneeze in a far from discreet manner. "… me here!" The inventor pouted like a five-year-old. "'Sides, why's Bruce getting all the well wishes while I get glares?"_

 _"Because Bruce wasn't stupid enough to drag himself to a mission, knowing full well that he wasn't feeling so hot." Seeing the intended comeback Natasha narrowed her eyes in a very clear, murderous 'I dare you' message. "And we're not 'ditching' you. We know that you'd be an idiot enough to stumble after us in that suit of yours."_

 _Clint smirked. Tony's moody, pouting face was actually quite endearing. "Hear that, Metal Man? You'll get a babysitter."_

 _Tony frowned, too confused to quite figure out what was going on._

 _Thor stepped forward with a sullen expression. Showing a very short-cut match. "I drew the short one", the Asgardian grumbled. "Besides, I have the best chance at avoiding catching the illness plaguing you."_

 _Tony's pout deepened. Was the billionaire's lower lip trembling? "No one wants to spend time with me."_

 _Natasha shook her head. If someone had dared to point out that her eyes softened she would've most likely thrown a punch. Or two. "When you're sick, no. I'll remind you of this entertaining little talk when you're back to your own charming self."_

 _After giving both friends they were leaving behind empathy filled looks the remaining trio took off towards the actual mission. Just before they were out they heard Tony's barely comprehensible mutter. "You've got surreally blue eyes." They hurried on in fear of having to either witness a murder or losing their composure entirely._ /

* * *

This time the voices talking were clearer. Even if they seemed to come from somewhere very far away. At first Clint thought about ignoring them. Until he recognized Steve's, politely yet firmly demanding answers.

The second voice was that of an unfamiliar woman. "… second and third degree burns … almost twenty percent of his body … strong pain medication … comfortable …"

Now that was laughable. Comfortable? It wasn't even close to what Clint was experiencing at the moment. Whatever pain medication they'd given him was clearly wearing off because a hellish, unimaginable pain began to gnaw at him. It was impossible to tell which part of him was hurting the worst. It seemed to be everywhere all at once.

A horribly infuriating beeping somewhere beside him intensified. In a flash there was a bustle of activity. Steps rushing everywhere. The beeping spiked up with Clint's panic until he felt a familiar large hand taking a hold of his, grabbing tight. Warm. Alive. Steve was alive and safe. Sounded unharmed.

Somehow that bit of reassurance was enough to guide Clint gently into the world of sleep. Or was it the pain medication that put him under? He decided, in his last moments of consciousness, that he didn't care and squeezed Steve's hand back the best as he could.

He was still alive, too, even if a little scorched.

* * *

/ _The mission itself wasn't exactly a picnic. Hydra had opened a new research facility. While there wasn't a lot of staff the fact that ten children had gone missing was enough to make their skins crawl. Steve's voice rattling steady reports was tense and full of barely contained rage. Clint could only imagine how many demons of the past came haunting Natasha. The Hawk himself had taken down eight enemies until he came across a thick, tightly locked door. He was just about to search the body of one of the men he'd taken down when the door burst open from the inside without any warning, tossing him ungracefully to the floor._

 _For a very long, uncomfortable moment Clint stayed down, gasping for breath and trying to overcome the ringing in his ears. When he finally managed to lift his head blood froze into his veins. His eyes widened._

 _The door had indeed blown open. Inside flames had taken over the entire small room, without a doubt due to the explosion. In the middle of it all sat two children. A small and pale, visibly sickly boy who appeared to be barely conscious. And a slightly younger girl, most likely his sister, who'd slumped beside the other child with a furiously determined, protective and desperate look on her face. Some remnants of flames still danced on her hands._

 _It seemed the Hydra had succeeded again._ /

* * *

The third time Clint woke up he was actually able to open his eyes. At least a little bit. Enough so to give him some idea of what was going on in the world around him. For a second or two he panicked upon catching red until he realized that it was the safe, familiar color of Natasha's hair.

She looked absolutely exhausted and pale. And furious. But her suspiciously moist eyes held a look that spoke the truth. As did the hand clutching his like a lifeline. "So you finally decided to join the land of the living?" Her voice was raspy.

Clint's eyebrows furrowed. His bleary, half lidded gaze searched her for signs of injuries. "… okay?"

At first Natasha stared at him as though wondering if he was serious. Then rolled her eyes. "Yes, you idiot, I'm okay. Maybe a little smoked."

It hit Clint like a ton of bricks and his heart plummeted to his stomach. He heard her voice, didn't he? Dragging him out of those flames. She could've… He could've had her…

"Clinton Francis Barton." The usage of his hated full name caught his attention far effectively than the finger pointed at him. "That thought right there… Stop it. Now. It's giving me a headache and you don't like me when I've got a headache. Remember?"

Clint nodded slowly because anything else would've felt a little too adventurous with how his body was feeling. He wasn't sure if he'd be willing to obey. But seeing and hearing that Natasha was alright… It was enough to help him relax, at least marginally.

It was Natasha's turn to nod. "Good." Her eyes narrowed yet again when he opened his mouth. "Not yet, Robin Hood. Your throat's not ready. A fire breathing stunt gone wrong does that to you. So keep that loud mouth of yours shut and get some more sleep." Clearly seeing something in his eyes she went on. Did she just… smile? "Stop worrying. I'll be right here when you wake up."

For once Clint actually did as he'd been told. He knew that she'd keep her promise. He was fairly sure that he was already asleep when he could've sworn that he heard soft humming. Natasha Romanoff definitely wasn't the humming kind.

* * *

/ _Clint could barely believe half of what he was seeing. But he knew that he needed to get the kids to safety before it'd be too late. He began to approach slowly and carefully, his hands visible to prove that he was no threat._

 _"You're one of them." The girl's English was broken but understandable. Her eyes flickered with rage and terror. "Go away! You're here to hurt us!"_

 _"I'm not." He offered her a tiny, pacifying smile. He made it a point to speak slowly and clearly. "My friends and I are here to help. We'll get you out."_

 _The frail yet nearly desperate hope would've shattered anyone's heart. "Home? To momma?"_

 _Clint sought the right words for a long time. Knowing Hydra's methods, he didn't have a lot of hope that her mom would still be alive. Or that the place she remembered as home still existed. But he would've never broken her heart like that. "We'll try to help you find them." It was the most he could promise. "But first we need to get the two of you out of here."_

 _The child nodded. Clint had the time to take two steps forward. And then all hell broke loose._

 _The room's structure wasn't able to handle the flames anymore. After two quick, loud bangs the burning wood of the ceiling began to fall towards the children. As from that moment Clint didn't have much of a choice. The girl might be able to stand the flames but her brother was much more vulnerable._

 _He dashed forward as quickly as he could, throwing himself down so that he was shielding the children. Wood and flames crashed down on him. From there he didn't know anything at all._ /

* * *

The next time Clint woke up Bruce was there. Mercifully recovered from the cold. Before the man noticed that he was looking some shock was visible as the scientist skimmed through what was most likely Clint's patient report. The Hawk was just able to distinguish words like 'hairline fracture to spine', 'broken ribs', 'pneumothorax' and 'severe smoke inhalation'.

Clint winced without even noticing it. He would've shifted to a more comfortable position if he could've. "'that bad, huh?" Gosh, he sounded horrible.

Bruce shivered, startled. It didn't cross Clint's mind until then that it wasn't a good idea to startle the scientist. "You've… been in a hospital for a pretty long time. You'll be fine now, though. Soon we'll be able to take you back to the Tower."

Clint nodded, processing the information. He almost relaxed back to sleep until he remembered something. "… the kids?"

The look that appeared to Bruce's face promised nothing good. The man swallowed hard and looked away. "The boy… didn't make it. He was already weak from the experiments and the smoke…" There was a brief pause. "The girl, though… You managed to save her. She'll be with her mom soon."

Clint stared at the ceiling. His eyes traced the crack on it. "With everything that's happened to her and her powers… It won't be easy."

Bruce's eyes softened. "You're recovering from severe burns with a pitiable amount of pain medication. And I… Well." The scientist shrugged. "We don't do things the easy way, either. And she's tough. She'll be just fine."

"That's oddly optimistic of you."

"You…" Bruce cleared his throat. "According to all logic you should've died there. Yet here you are, talking to me. That's enough to give me a spark of optimism."

It was Clint's turn to shrug. "You know me. I'm too stubborn to die."

"And you'd better stay that way, Feather Brain." Startled, they looked towards the room's door to see Tony. There was a radiant grin on the man's tired face. "What do you say if I'd kidnap you and take you home?"

* * *

The road to recovery was far from easy. Clint preferred to suffer through physical discomfort if that saved him from having his brain muddled by too strong medication. Tony's team was amazing but treatment of burn injuries is never a painless process.

The first time Clint saw a picture of his burns, which were mostly on his back, he wasn't sure if the irony was hilarious or cruel. Because the marks looked exactly like wings. He threw up before he got the chance to decide.

There were days when he really, honestly hated the world. When his back was cramping and set on fire all at once. When every step felt like he'd been stabbed repeatedly. When he lost his breath and gasped to regain it until he passed out. When nightmares kept him awake through several nights.

But his friends stayed by his side. Pushed him through the physical therapy and other treatments. And finally the great Hawkeye was back on his feet, in more ways than one.

* * *

Six months after the whole ordeal began Clint sat in a car next to Tony. His fingers were drumming a restless beat to his knee. "How can you be sure that it's today?"

Tony, their designed driver, grinned. "Pepper and I have our connections." The man's eyes flashed with delight upon spotting something. "See? There!"

Clint's head turned before a single thought was finished, his heart thumping nervously. His heart jumped to his throat. It was hard to believe that what he saw was actually there.

The little girl he saved… She seemed to have aged a decade from their previous meeting. Especially her hazel eyes. Her almost black hair had also grown quite a bit. There were two women with her. One of them with a calming hand on her shoulder, lips moving constantly. And another one stood a subtle distance away, tears of clearly visible joy in her eyes. It took a lot of time and a great deal of convincing from both women but eventually the child began to move towards who had to be her mom. Slowly and hesitantly but still. Baby steps. She'd be just fine.

They both would be.

"You okay?"

Tony's worried voice made Clint realize how hard he was breathing. The archer nodded, dazed. "Yeah. I'm fine." He inhaled deep, finding it a lot easier than it'd been in months. He glanced towards his friend. "Thanks." And he meant it, from the bottom of his heart. "Tin Can."

"Anytime, Pigeon."

"Next stop, home?"

"Sure thing, my feathery friend. But first… Shawarma!"

* * *

 ** _End of Story_**

* * *

A/N: Getting burned like that… Ouch! But thank gosh he had his friends. And the poor little girl seems to have a loving mom to go home to. Awww!

Sooo… Was that worth the wait? At all? Do let me know! Valentine's came and went but the comment box is still feeling lonely…

ALSO… **How would you feel if** I'd update again as soon as this weekend? You know, to compensate the delay?

 **UP NEXT (titles may still be edited):**

What Lies Beneath (how is it that something oh so insignificant becomes life threatening?)

A Hawk's Nightmare (Clint is poisoned and in a coma ends up into a horror-storyish dream world while his team tries to help him fight his way back)

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal (the team is shocked and confused when it looks like their Hawk has turned into one of the bad guys, but is anything as it seems?) (a three parter)

Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you all there!

Take care!

* * *

Guesty Guest: So it WAS you! (BEAMS) Awww, you totally did make me laugh! And did it again with this awesome review.

LOL! It's the sweet kind of torture, isn't it? Our poor, poor Hawk! Thank gosh he's got such a strong support system.

I know, right? That whole extended family…! I just wanna hug them. Yay for happy endings!

WOAH! That's a really, REALLY flattering rating. (BEAMS)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): I REALLY hope that the chapters to come meet your expectations! I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed that one so much. I LOVE the mini-Hawks, too. (grins)

Heh, fret not, there's no stopping me.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Oh no! (offers tissues) I'm both sorry and very, very flattered. Poor Cooper indeed! Thank gosh there was a happy ending.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): That's ALWAYS a massive pleasure to hear. I really hope that what's to come won't disappoint, either.

Lots of thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: (blushes and beams) It feels so good to hear that! I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

Enormous thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (4): Oh no! I'm SO SORRY to hear that you had such a rough week and that it took me this long to update. I REALLY hope that this manages to make you feel a tiny bit better!

Huge thank yous for the review – and have a MUCH better week this time around! (hugs)


	30. What Lies Beneath

A/N: WE'VE REACHED CHAPTER 30, PEOPLE!

Sooooooooo, I DID manage a second update this week to make up for the delay. Hooray? FIRST, though…

MY DEAR GOSH…! Just take a look at those numbers above. You guys are AMAZING! Thank you, a million times, for all your reviews, listings and love! You're seriously pushing me towards that 1001. (chuckles and hugs)

Awkay, because the clock's not stopping… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE** pretty much right after the first 'Avengers' movie.

* * *

What Lies Beneath

* * *

New York was in a state of chaos. The Avengers had managed to save it but a lot of people had died and a massive amount of property had been destroyed. The rebuilding and grieving would continue for a very long time.

As for one Clint Barton, recovery would take time, too.

The dinner with the whole group was awkward, to say the least. The so called team ate in a not exactly comfortable silence, constantly sneaking more or less suspicious glances towards each other. It'd been easy to work together seamlessly in a time of crisis and action. When they had absolutely no other choice but to rely on one another for the dear lives of themselves and far too many others. But when the action was over… When they really had the time to stop and think…

A blink ago Clint worked with people who would've happily killed each and every single one of these new allies of his. Sure, he didn't do it willingly. But how could they just trust that the mind control was over? Especially when trust didn't come easily for any of them. With their lifestyle a certain amount of suspicion was a necessity as much as a coping mechanism. Clint understood it even if he didn't exactly like it. He was the same. Which was why he knew, with bitter certainty, that he had no place in this team. It didn't make trusting any easier that he was forced to betray them before they even got the chance to try to know him.

Pushing his food on the plate Clint fought the urge to groan. He was absolutely exhausted and had a mighty headache. Why did he agree to do this again?

Well. At least Loki had been defeated. The nightmare was over. He was himself again, wasn't he? That was something to celebrate over.

* * *

Over the years Natasha had learned to know Clint almost as well as she knew herself. And she could see that he, understandably, wasn't alright. She would've wanted to ask him about it but didn't want to do it in the presence of the others. It'd only make him shut down and that wouldn't be helpful in any way. Later, then.

Too bad that later never happened.

They were just finishing up the awkward meal when Nick Fury materialized, as though having popped up from thin air. In any other company the one eyed man might've looked comically out of place. He looked around with an arched eyebrow. "I'm surprised that you managed to get this restaurant open. But then again, with Stark's face and fortune…"

Tony smirked. "What can I say? This handsome thing right here…" The billionaire pointed at his face. "… opens a lot of doors."

Natasha rolled her eyes and bit back a smile. Her sharp gaze focused on the director. "So… What, exactly, are you doing here?" Because she had a feeling that she wasn't going to like this.

"Just a social call."

"You don't do social call", she pointed out sharply. Something about this felt off. She found herself getting defensive.

"No, he doesn't. But I do." If possible William Stryker's appearance was even more surprising than Fury's. There was a sickening fake smile on the older man's lips. A sharp predator's gaze locked on Clint. "Agent Barton, you know the protocol. You and I will need to have a long talk."

Natasha's stomach tightened while her eyes narrowed. She knew the protocol, too. And while she trusted Clint's skills she knew that he might not be ready for what was in store for him. Probably not with the mental pummeling Loki just gave him.

Fortunately, Tony beat her to speaking out because she might've produced something she would've pretended regretting later. "Are you serious? He just helped save the city! You can't…!"

"He also fell into Loki's mind control. He killed several agents and led hostiles to S.H.I.E.L.D." Stryker's eyes burned with annoyance. "Before declaring him a hero we need to make sure that he isn't a threat anymore."

"I think one of the few things we agree on is that I'm no hero." Clint spoke for the first time since the whole horror story ended. Fatigue and pain were loud and clear in his eyes. "I was wondering when you'd show up." The archer focused on the group while starting to get up. "It's okay, guys. I'll see you soon."

"You do know that in horror movies saying that is a death sentence, right?" Tony quipped in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood that nosedived all of a sudden.

Bruce shrugged. The scientist's eyebrows were slightly furrowed, though. "Good thing this isn't a horror movie, then." Not exactly the best joke but the man wasn't the talkative kind anyway and even horrible humor was better than frosty silence.

The words Clint muttered under his breath were so quiet that they could've been a trick of her imagination. "I'm not so sure of that…" She definitely didn't imagine the way he stumbled, barely managing to catch his footing before the others would've spotted it as well. A very nasty cold feeling settled into the pit of her stomach.

Clint marched after Fury and Stryker with as much dignity as the Hawk could muster. He didn't even try to crack a witty line or two upon leaving. If that wasn't a sign that something was wrong, then nothing was.

The incredibly heavy quiet lingered for several moments once the door had closed after the trio. Eventually Tony huffed. "Well… That's one hell of a way to kill the mood."

Deciding that she could very well skip the guessing game that'd follow Natasha also made her way out of the building. Outside her eyes darted around for a few moments until she spotted Fury. The director was staring after a fast disappearing car with a morose look on his face.

"Barton won't be able to handle the protocol", she pointed out sharply.

"Do you imagine that I didn't notice?" Irritation shone loud and clear in the man's eye. "But the idiot claimed that he's alright and Stryker doesn't care further than that."

Natasha swore colorfully in several languages. She didn't speak until after taking a deep breath. "For these next seventy-two hours Barton is your responsibility." Her voice was cool and professional. But her eyes revealed just how important of a task he'd been trusted with. "Keep that moron alive so I won't have to find a way to kill him myself."

* * *

There was a certain protocol for agents who'd been compromised. It was for the safety of everyone in the agency. If the agent's physical condition allowed it there was a three days' period to ensure that they could be welcomed back to active duty safely. It wasn't a joyride.

There were questions, of course, tons of them. How being under Loki's control felt. How much he revealed about S.H.I.E.L.D. What he did and how _that_ made him feel. And then the most dreaded question. How many agents he killed, directly and indirectly. He was connected to a lie detector the entire time and had a feeling that despite all his training and experience his elevated heart rate was very visible.

His memories were extremely hazy and almost unbearably painful. Or was that his headache? Because being forced to repeatedly relive one of the worst waken nightmares of his entire life definitely didn't make the discomfort lessen.

"Agent Barton?" The young, attractive psychiatrist obviously didn't like him any more than he liked her. The look in her sharp blue eyes was that of a trained killer, not a healthcare professional. Well, she was also a field agent… "Do you need a break?"

Clint gritted his teeth. "No." He refused to admit defeat in front of that harpy, especially when he knew that Stryker was also watching. The man wouldn't have been able to resist the temptation. Instead he created the best charming smile he could muster in his current mental and physical condition. "Please proceed, Dr. Harper."

At some point the interrogation reached a point where Clint had no idea how much time had gone by. Nor did he have the slightest clue whether he passed or not. Not that he would've managed to care very much.

Coulson was gone. Along with a lot of other friends and allies. And that was at least partially his fault. What difference did it make whether or not he passed a stupid questioning?

Someone, Clint couldn't remember for the life of him who later on, escorted him not exactly gently to his new humble nest. It could've as well been called a cell. He and everyone else around him knew that there was no way he'd be able to just walk out before the time was up. He barely managed to wait until the wary looking agent left before dashing to the toilet and throwing up loudly, tears running down his cheeks.

This was hell and he knew that it was far from over.

* * *

Clint slept uneasily. His dreams kept leading back to Loki. Or was he dreaming or hallucinating? It was hard to tell any difference. The trickster's words and ghost like presence kept haunting him, whether his eyes were open or closed. And the headache wasn't improving. Eventually it got so bad that he was forced to swallow whatever little there was left of his pride and ask if he could see a freaking doctor.

Stryker's eyes held no sympathy. "Right now you're a potential threat to any health care professional's safety. You'll see a doctor once we've ensured that it's safe for all parties involved." Did the man's eyes just narrow? "You may be a special case to Fury but I don't have favorites. I'm sure you understand."

Clint nodded. "Oh yeah. I understand."

After all the questions it was time to see if there was anything that might potentially trigger him in the field. By some miracle he made it through the hand to hand combat without any issue, even if he noticed that he stumbled suspiciously at a couple of points. Firearms. Loud noises. No problem, even though they definitely didn't help with the headache. He wondered if Stryker ordered those bits to be prolonged on purpose.

The biggest challenge was when Stryker opened the door and told him to go to the training room at the other side of the massive building. Having to pass by all those people that used to trust him, to face their fear, rage and disgust at the sight of him… It was definitely one of the most horrible things he'd ever been forced to do. At one point he could've sworn that he saw Coulson there, looking at him with accusing eyes. By the time Clint reached his destination he was stumbling and there was a sheen of cold sweat coating his skin. His head was screaming and pounding. But Loki's presence… It didn't come back, even though his stress level was through the roof. At that realization his knees went so weak that he slumped to the nearest seat, burying his aching skull to his hands.

In his current state of mind, it didn't even cross his mind that the violent tremor taking over his body was actually a miniature seizure.

It seemed to take a decade before Stryker appeared. The pity mixed hatred radiating from the man made him feel sick all over again. "Well…", the older man scoffed. "I see that you haven't killed anyone. How about that."

Clint gritted his teeth as though hoping that if he did it hard enough, it might ease the agony tearing at his brain. No such luck. "As much I'd love to continue this lovely talk…" Was he slurring? "… my head's killing me." Yes, definitely slurring. But why…?

Before he could figure it out someone came and injected medication without warning, faster than he could protest. It burned like hellfire. It also took away his capacity to wonder anything anymore.

He didn't know how he got into bed but that was where he found himself. Shivering and still in agony, feeling lonelier than ever in his life. He moaned and curled up the best as he could, fighting the urges to scream and throw up. He couldn't tell which one was stronger. Did it matter?

Why wasn't the headache going away?

All of a sudden the bed dipped as someone sat down. When Clint's eyes flew open it took several moments before they cleared enough to identify the arrival. Once it began to make sense his blood froze and his heart forgot a couple of beats.

Loki met his eyes evenly. There was a small, almost playful smile on the trickster's face but that gaze held something far more sinister. "A Hawk in a cage, huh? Isn't this almost poetic."

Clint stared. Trying to remind himself that it wasn't real, that it couldn't be real. It took only seconds before his mind forgot.

Clint's scream ran through the hallway.

* * *

Those seventy-two hours were some of the longest in Natasha's life. As soon as those were up she headed towards the base where she knew Clint to be held. And she didn't do it alone. Tony, Bruce and Steve were all with her, furiously determined to not be left behind. If she'd been able to pay attention to it the concern over Clint's wellbeing might've been touching. What were the odds that a group of people like them, who barely even knew each other, now formed such a united front to safeguard someone they already considered their own.

Fury was there waiting for them. The man's eyebrow arched at the sight. "You're not going to cause even more trouble, are you?"

Tony's expression was almost convincingly innocent. "Me, trouble? Nah, never." The billionaire sombred quickly. "Now let's get Feathers out of here."

Clearly Stryker had known to expect them. The man seemed to fight against rolling his eyes. "Right on time. Why am I not surprised?" A hand gestured vaguely towards a nearby door. "He's all yours. Get him out of my sight."

"How is he?" Fury's tone would've made most tremble. "The last time I met him he was suffering from a headache."

"It persisted." Stryker pursed his lips, then began to punch in numbers that'd open the door separating them from the archer. "We medicated him yesterday evening but he didn't react well to it."

"Define 'didn't react well'", Natasha hissed. Quite seriously fantasizing over how good it'd feel to punch the man's face. Repeatedly.

"His screaming woke up half of this entire hallway." Stryker's face was a picture of irritation. "Myself included."

"It's in his file that he's had bad reactions in the past." Natasha was positively growling and if it wasn't for Fury's presence… "Did you bother to even open it? And I doubt you went easy with the dosage. Do you even…?" All words froze into her throat.

Clint lay on the room's bed, curled up quite tightly. There was a frown on the Hawk's too pale face. He was shaking so hard that it was easy to see.

"So now he sleeps", Stryker muttered darkly.

Bruce shook his head, already dashing towards the prone man. "He's not sleeping." By the time the sentence was finished the scientist was kneeling beside the bed with a penlight in his stunningly steady hold. "Barton? Clint? Can you hear me?" There was no response. When the doctor checked the archer's pupils and pulse the man swore under his breath. "We need to get him to a hospital, now."

Stryker frowned. "Why? We have a perfectly good medical area here."

"Is it able to handle brain surgery?" Was there a flash of green in Bruce's eyes? Hopefully not. "Because that's what he needs. There's been bleeding in his head for the past three days and it needs to be treated, fast."

If Steve hadn't grabbed a hold of Natasha right then to keep her from getting to Stryker there was no telling what she would've done.

* * *

On some distant level Clint was aware that there were people around him. Voices were talking a bit too loudly. Hands touched him. Was there… a light? It didn't matter. What mattered was that he wasn't alone anymore. And for the first time in days the presence around him felt friendly.

He slipped away once more feeling much safer than before, blissfully unaware of the danger growing inside his head.

When they finally got Clint to a hospital the doctor taking charge over his treatment was clearly stunned that he was even alive. Quick scans showed a disheartening amount of damage which the time passed had allowed to intensify. And then came the question of how, exactly, the injury was sustained.

Natasha remembered the cognitive recalibration. Her stomach rolled unpleasantly when the sound of Clint's head banging against metal echoed in her ears. The remorse that flowed through her nearly struck her breath away. "He… hit his head. Hard."

Steve frowned. "What? When?"

Natasha looked away. Focused her gaze on absolutely anything but the people who seemed to imagine that she might become their friend. "Just before New York." If she was less of a coward she might've told them the full truth.

"Didn't they check him for injuries afterwards?" Bruce asked, appearing shocked.

"People were dying and gravely injured everywhere. And then the attack happened." Fury sounded exhausted. "There was no time."

"So how was he hurt?" Steve asked quietly.

Ironically it was Clint who saved her from having to answer. Because just then he started seizing in a nearby exam room, effectively drawing all attention to himself. Staring at him Natasha wanted to cry for the first time since she was a little girl.

Did she kill her only friend in the world?

* * *

The information Fury eventually received wasn't exactly encouraging. The bleeding had mercifully stopped and would hopefully stay that way. At the moment the medical professionals were fighting to get the pressure inside his skull under control. If they'd manage that… There was still no guarantee of how much damage had been done. If they'd get the Clint Barton they'd known back.

Of course he'd seen the surveillance footage of Clint and Natasha's fight. And he knew how the redhead's mind worked. Quite easily he found her training furiously. She'd already demolished two punching bags.

"It wasn't your fault, you know." He went on at her glare. "It really, honestly wasn't. You did what you had to in order to snap him out of it. If you didn't do what you did he would've killed you and quite possibly ended up being killed himself in New York. He would've done the same in your shoes."

Natasha's jaw tightened to an extend that had to be painful. "How am I supposed to believe that I did the right thing when he may…?" She swallowed convulsively and delivered a vicious attack at the punching back. There was a suspicious amount of moisture in her eyes.

"You've seen what that man has pulled through from." Fury was fairly sure that if he had hair Clint would've turned most of them gray. "He'll make it through this one, too. But to do that he's going to need your help."

Natasha refused to look at him or even acknowledge his continued presence. For a while she was so still that she could've been mistaken for a statue. "What if he wants nothing to do with me?"

Fury shrugged. "You can't know that he won't. And I can't know that he will. You'll just have to stick around and see." He gave her a hard look. "And you will stick around. Because the Black Widow I know isn't a quitter."

Natasha rolled her eyes and continued tormenting the bag but three hours later found her from the hospital, stood tensely outside Clint's ICU cubicle.

* * *

Clint had four more seizures. Thrice the staff warned them that the Hawk was headed towards a cardiac arrest. He only went there once, when Steve was just about to fall asleep beside his bed. The terror that grabbed the super soldier right then… It was unimaginable. For those three minutes and fifteen seconds he felt like he was back in the ice once more.

Because there's a special kind of tragedy in losing someone before you even get the chance to know them, especially when he'd already seen a glimpse of how well Clint would fit into their insane little team.

But the Hawkeye kept hanging on, so stubbornly that it stunned everyone. Little by little the machinery monitoring him and helping him stick around could be reduced. Finally he was even moved to a regular ward. From thereon it was a waiting game to see when he'd choose to join the waken world.

On day three since being moved to his new room Tony sat beside Clint and gave the unconscious archer a hard look. Or tried to, at least. "For your information, you've been snoozing for too long already. And you've left me with no other choice but to resort to hard bargain." He revealed 'Jane Eyre'. "I… borrowed this from Pepper and I'm not afraid to use it. If you want me to stop reading out loud, you'll have to tell me to stop." And so he started reading.

It took Tony longer than it should've to notice that about thirty minutes in Clint's eyelids began to twitch along with his fingers.

* * *

When Clint woke up the first thing he realized was that he wasn't alone. Voices muttered around him. Did someone just… poke at him?

"… eyes open …"

Was that a command? Well. He sort of needed to find out what was going on, anyway.

Tony's grinning face instantly filled his line of vision. "Welcome back, Pigeon. You took one mighty beauty nap. Since we're going to be a team and all I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that again."

All of a sudden Clint felt dramatically warmer than before. A faint smile appeared to his lips while he wetted them with his tongue. "Sorry", he rasped. Who fed him a cactus…?

He jolted with startle when without a warning a straw was pushed into his mouth. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." Bruce's expression was sincere enough. "Slow sips, okay? I don't want you making yourself sick."

Clint obeyed and savored the liquid even if it felt like acid while speeding through his throat. "Thanks", he sighed, sinking heavily against the bed. "I'm fine, though." Sure, his head hurt and would possibly do so more when whatever medication he was on wore off. And he was absolutely exhausted. But he could think and talk. Loki was gone. That was a good place to start from.

"You're not just yet", Steve argued. The soldier appeared far more vulnerable, somehow, in the hospital environment. Younger. Too young. Maybe it was the barely visible smile. "But we'll help make sure you get there."

Clint returned the smile the best as he could. Then remembered something. With considerable effort he moved his gaze, just enough to see the edge of the room. And there, right beside the door as though prepared to bolt, was the one he'd been looking for. Somehow Natasha managed to look beautiful and perfectly confident despite clearly not having slept properly in days, maybe weeks. There was also a spark of insecurity in her eyes. Maybe even fear.

Clint wasn't surprised. She always took it hard when he got hurt, even if she tried to hide it stubbornly. And he had a feeling that there was a long talk they'd need to have at some point. But that could all wait. He wondered how dopey they grin that took over his face was. "Sorry I overslept", he managed.

Natasha's eyes were almost affectionate. Not that she would've ever admitted as much. "Idiot."

* * *

The group couldn't possibly know that they had audience.

Maria Hill couldn't hold back a smile. "You know… Maybe you should've made Stryker watch this before you sent him to that mission in Siberia."

Fury seemed to entertain that thought. Then shook his head. "That imbecile wouldn't have understood."

Maria was forced to agree. But it didn't really matter, not at the moment. The two of them certainly knew what they were witnessing. It was the very reason Fury decided to include Hawkeye into the team in the first place. He was the one missing piece that made the puzzle complete.

This was the birth of a real, proper team.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Awwww….!

SO… For AGES I've been bugged by the sight of Clint hitting his head during his fight with Natasha. Usually such causes at least a bit of damage but, understandably, the movie didn't have the time to go there. Fortunately I did. (snickers)

Soooo… Was that any good to you guys? PLEASE, do leave a (feathery?) note to let me know.

 **UP NEXT (titles may still be edited):**

What Lies Beneath (how is it that something oh so insignificant becomes life threatening?)

A Hawk's Nightmare (Clint is poisoned and in a coma ends up into a horror-storyish dream world while his team tries to help him fight his way back)

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal (the team is shocked and confused when it looks like their Hawk has turned into one of the bad guys, but is anything as it seems?) (a three parter)

It's waaaaaaaaay too late and I've really gotta get to bed. Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll see you there for some more feathery adventures.

Take care and love Hawkeye!

* * *

Mia: (beams and blushes)

UK?! Oh my gosh, London's my favorite place in the world! (Well, out of those I've actually seen, heh!) Weeeell, since it's not exactly a secret… I'm from Finland. Hawkeye's loved even in the distant north. (grins)

I'm thrilled that you think I did the description justice – and very, very sorry to hear about your experience! (winces) I'm glad that you've recovered well. It must've been really painful!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guesty Guest: Awww, I'm super happy that you enjoyed it! (BEAMS) Oh, I so know the feeling. LOL, your secret's safe with me!

Naaaaaaah, like I'd ever stop torturing him. I love him too much. And that makes so much sense… (chuckles)

That poor child indeed! (sighs) Heh, don't worry, despite what some may claim having heart is actually a good thing.

I don't exactly watch 'Supernatural' BUT from what I've seen and what I know I love Castiel, as far as angels are considered. So, that comparison (which seriously didn't cross my mind before that!) brought a grin to my face.

LET THE WHUMP LIVE ON! (clears throat, trying to appear all nonchalant)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it, despite the tragic loss of that little boy. Thank gosh the girl made it, though!

I really hope that you'll have a good time with the weekend special as well.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): YAY! (BEAMS) I know, right? Tony's such a sweetie!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): Gosh, I'm really happy that you consider it worth the wait! I REALLY hope that you'll keep having a good time with this collection. There's a lot more whump to come. (grins)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (4): Sometimes it's a challenge BUT I enjoy trying to reach it. (grins) I'm super happy to hear that these tales brighten your days at least a little bit! I really hope that things get less hectic for you soon. (hugs)

Enormous thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest218: WELCOME BACK! (HUGS) You've been missed! Don't worry, I totally get busy schedules.

I can't resist adding the kids from time to time – I love them to bits! Poor Cooper indeed. Thank gosh his dad pulled through! I LOVE typing that after care almost as much as the actual whump. (grins) LOL! That sounds sooooo cool. Have fun! (But not TOO fun…)

Awww, Happy Valentine's Day to you, too!

LET'S PROVE THEM WRONG!

Oooooh! That suggestion sounds REALLY cool. Clint turned to a wax doll… Now there's a persistent mental image in my head, heh.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: (howls with laughter) I know, right? Probably because he's just that awesome. (grins) I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the whumpy ride!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I know, right? The poor thing! Thank gosh the girl AND Clint made it, though. I'm sure that he'll keep an eye on the little one.

Happy Valentine's to you, too, even if it's a bit late! (smiles)

HUGE thank yous for the review!

ps: LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL! That's a PRICELESS idea! And I can totally see it happening. I'm leaning towards an unexpected attack or an allergic reaction. (grins)


	31. A Hawk's Nightmare

A/N: See? We're back to regular updates. Yay…?

THANK YOU so much for all your reviews and love! You guys are AWESOME, ya know? If only Clint Barton knew how many of us adore him. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TINY MENTIONS / BITS OF CLINT X LAURA IN THIS ONE.**

* * *

A Hawk's Nightmare

* * *

They should've known that it was a mistake.

The mission actually went quite smoothly. Well, about as smoothly as one requiring the Avengers ever could. But none of them got shot, stabbed or nearly died otherwise. It was the aftermath that turned out to far more troublesome. You see, when a town is saved people tend to be grateful. Fairly quickly it became apparent that declining politely wouldn't be an option. So, somehow, they ended up to a sudden loud, massive _fiesta_ , looking like it was Halloween and they were the entertainment.

Thor fit into the occasion about as well as a full grown elephant blends into a china shop. And Tony fit in far too well. For understandable reasons Bruce wasn't a fan of either alcohol or crowds so he spent the evening standing in the least noisy corner, trying to camouflage with the wall and sipping soft drinks. Natasha seemed perfectly content with doing something similar, as though she'd been worried that being ticked off might turn her into a green monster. And Steve… Well, there were very few places and situations to which the soldier wouldn't have fit. Steve and people simply _clicked_.

Clint himself wasn't exactly enthusiastic. He was suffering from a headache left by a blow to the head and he'd never been a friend of social gatherings. All he wanted was to sleep, preferably for a couple of days. _This_ wasn't a part of the plan.

Well, since when did things ever go according to the plan for him…?

Never, of course. Because all of a sudden he became aware of the feeling that he wasn't quite alone. His eyes darted to the side, full of alert, and every single bit of him prepared for a fight. What he found was a strikingly beautiful, very petite woman of his age walking towards him. Her clearly dyed, blonde hair shone like a halo around her face while she gave him a radiant smile, her huge, nearly black eyes sparkling. He tensed up even further, itching to grab his bow.

He waited until she sat down before speaking. "The last time we met you had black hair." His voice was sharp, far from friendly.

"And I made you scream all night long. Although perhaps not in the way I would've wished to." She sighed, clicking her tongue with disappointment. "Please don't tell me that you're still mad about that."

"You're responsible for fifty deaths. That I'm aware of." Clint pushed his beer further, keeping a constant eye on his unwanted companion. "And you tortured me for thirty-two hours. Sorry if I'm not overjoyed about seeing you." One of his hands was reaching out towards a concealed knife. "I'm surprised, though. Rumor had it that you died."

She shrugged, gulping down a shot of Tequila. Where did she get that from? "I could say the same about you. Budapest… Beirut… Tokyo… Yet here we are." She raised another glass. Vodka. Raw. "To unfriendly ghosts."

Yes. Clint was most definitely insane. But he had a feeling that he'd need to see where this was going. So he tapped her glass lightly with his, trying to read her face.

She chuckled. "Oh, Little Bird, there's no need to be so cautious anymore. You know that a good predator doesn't appear until after securing the kill." She looked around with a pleasant smile. "Besides, your little friends are already rushing to your aid. That's pretty adorable."

She was right. As though summoned by some telepathic call, or perhaps alarmed by his tension, the rest of the team was reacting. Bruce was sneaking closer, trying to be subtle and failing miserably by literally bumping into two women. Not secret agent material, then… Thor didn't bother to be subtle. Moving quickly and gracefully Natasha seemed to be prepared for a kill. The Hawk couldn't blame her. She must've recognized his companion. For a second or two alarm flashed in Tony's eyes. The billionaire then gave his two pretty companions a charming smile and a few equally smooth words in a language Clint hadn't known his friend spoke before starting to move towards them. Somehow Steve was already only five steps away, something truly threatening on his face. Under different circumstances Clint might've found the whole thing endearing.

Clint's eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell have you done to me?" he snapped. Although a tiny part of him was already starting to guess.

There was something new and dangerous in his companion's smile, even if her expression remained friendly. Her eyes flickered towards his drink. "Did you enjoy your beer?"

Clint's heart genuinely skipped a beat. Because at that exact second he understood exactly how big of a trouble he was in. Of course he hadn't tasted it, no one ever did with one of her potions. "So the waitress… She's one of yours?"

She nodded, downing her second Tequila. "A magnificent little vixen, that one." Her smile widened. "Now, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"Hawkeye?" Natasha's voice was sharper than usual, which was the only indication to her true emotions. "Mind sharing what's going on here?"

They should've known that it was a big mistake.

* * *

The flight back was quiet and full of tension. The woman responsible for poisoning Clint wasn't allowed to the Quinjet for understandable reasons. They only had Fury's word that she'd be interrogated throughoutly. Whatever that meant they were happier not knowing.

"Look… This sulking isn't going to get us anywhere." Tony paced around, his thinking face already on. "Who, exactly, was that friend of yours?"

Having something to do, something to focus on, brought a spark to Clint's eyes. "I… encountered her years ago, on a mission. She's had at least ten aliases. I have no idea if any of them is her actual name. Professionally she's known as Chemist. I'm pretty sure that you can picture where that name came from."

It was quiet while the group processed the information. Surprisingly it was Bruce who spoke first. "Do you have any idea what she might've given you?"

"She has at least a hundred different products. That are known of. It's pretty hard to start guessing." Clint drummed his knee restlessly with his fingers. Constantly in motion. "But it rules out some options that I'm still alive and kicking."

"Yeah, and we'll keep you that way, Tweetie." Tony's eyes flashed with determination. "No psycho attacks one of us like this. Hot as she is."

* * *

A regular hospital would've been no good. So a couple of hours later Clint lay on one of the Tower's exam tables, fidgeting and visibly hating every moment of it. The role of a patient had never suited him well. He had no idea what threats and bribes Tony used to get such an army of people working on his case at that hour. Clint mused miserably that if he somehow lived through this the billionaire would be insufferable. And he'd probably save his friend's life a couple of times as a compensation. Surely it was only fair.

But first he'd need to focus on living through this.

There wasn't much Clint could actually do. So far there'd been eerily little symptoms. He felt a little cold and out of breath, maybe tired, but there was nothing the recently completed mission wouldn't have explained away. He was starting to wonder if he was being toyed with cruelly. To keep himself and everyone around him from going crazy over his growing boredom he focused on observing his friends.

Bruce popped up often. And seemed to really like the red haired, quite beautiful young doctor tending to the Hawk, if the barely noticeable little blushes and looks were anything to go by. Clint was really, genuinely sorry for having been poisoned. Maybe if Bruce wasn't worried and if he wasn't the duo's main focus… And if it wasn't for Big Green, of course. Sometimes the world, Clint decided philosophically, really suc…

"Barton?" Thor's voice echoed like an actual hammer inside Clint's skull. A headache? When did that happen? "Are you awake?"

Clint was about to chuckle at the surprising question until he realized that his eyes were closed. He shivered and had to try several times before he managed to open them a crack. "Present", he announced through a scratchy, sore throat. Well, he supposed it was safe to assume that the question of whether he'd been poisoned or not had been answered. Lovely. If he'd dared to risk how it'd make him feel he would've sighed at his friend's worry. "'am fine. Just tired of 'ing useless." Hang on. Why was he slurring?

Thor seemed to notice as well. The Asgardian's brows furrowed. The concern in those piercing eyes certainly didn't lessen.

Clint wanted to give comforting words another shot. But his body decided otherwise. His stomach basically rolled around, violently enough to make him shudder. He realized in a flash what was happening. Then it was a mad dash to get up or at least twist to lay on his side before it was too late.

Thor shifted with discomfort. Clearly wondering what, exactly, he was supposed to do. "I'm not sure…"

"Bucket!" Clint half growled, half moaned. He would've added 'now' if he'd been able to. Unless Thor wanted to face something truly disgusting the Asgardian had better be fast.

Thor's reflexes were indeed phenomenal. Faster than a lightning there was a trashcan and almost at that exact second Clint vomited loudly. It seemed to take ages before it was over and by the time it was his stomach felt like it'd been set on fire. The Hawk gasped, dizzy and in pain. Then he made the mistake of peering into the bucket.

Was that… blood…?

Thor swallowed loudly. Appearing impossibly young and vulnerable all of a sudden. "You are not fine", the God of Thunder announced almost helplessly.

Clint sighed, sinking heavily against the uncomfortable exam table. "No", he murmured barely audibly. "I guess I'm not."

* * *

Natasha had never been very good at dealing with her… emotions. She did have them, no matter how much she preferred pretending that she didn't. And when they surfaced it often resulted to someone dying.

A top secret holding cell was no challenge for the Widow. Especially now. She'd had very few people she really, genuinely cared about and she wasn't about to lose one of them like this.

Chemist seemed to have expected her. The woman greeted her with a sickening smile, despite the incredible amount of fast forming bruising covering her face. "You took longer than I thought you would." The criminal took a more comfortable position, revealing pain for a satisfying microsecond. "How's the Hawk?"

"You know what you gave him." With all her experience Natasha managed to keep her tone even. Barely. "You know how he is."

Chemist wrinkled her nose. "Touchy." The woman tilted her head. "So… I'm sure that you're not expecting me to reveal what I gave him. And you're not going to kill me because you're trying adorably hard to not be that person anymore." The criminal leaned forward. "You're here for the 'why', aren't you?"

Natasha gritted her teeth. Hard. "After all this time… Why now? And why there?"

Chemist shrugged. "Because your latest mission killed one of my most important employers. And he was there. I got upset and saw an opportunity." An eyebrow arched at something the Widow tried to disguise. "Were you expecting something more profound? I'm sorry to disappoint you." The woman smiled sweetly. "Don't worry about me, though. You have no idea who I work for. I'll be out of here soon."

It was Natasha's turn to smile menacingly. "That's what I'm counting on." The redhead got up and approached, finally leaning to her companion's ear. "I may not be able to kill you here. But when you're out… I'm going to find you. And I'm going to destroy you."

Chemist chuckled. The warm breath tickled the Widow's neck. "I'll see you later, then, Natalia."

Natasha didn't look back upon leaving. She'd never seen any point in doing so. Chemist's words stopped her for a moment, though. "Just so you know… Even if Stark's people would manage to develop the cure it's too late. If I were you I'd hurry home to say goodbye to the Hawk while I still could."

It was a good thing that the door closed, separating them, before Natasha would've had the time to react. As soon as she was out of the building she took her phone and made a call. "Is it working?"

" _Yup. The tracking signal is loud and clear. Stark Industries succeeds again._ " Despite trying to keep it light Tony sounded tense and exhausted. " _You do understand that I'm not going to let you go after her alone, right? As much as I enjoy chick fights…_ "

"How's Clint?" Natasha interrupted sharply, the nasty feeling in her stomach intensifying.

Tony's silence didn't make her feel better. At all. " _He's… getting worse. But I think we may finally be on to something. Just… Get here as soon as you can, yeah?_ "

* * *

Steve wasn't sure what he expected to find. Clint on his knees in the middle of the floor, breathing hard and shaking from agony, certainly wasn't it. He rushed to his friend as fast as he dared to. "What are you doing?" he snapped, fear and worry sharpening his tone.

Clint flinched, instantly making him feel guilty. It took longer than it should've before the barely comprehensible word came. "… toilet …"

Steve frowned. "You have a catheter", he pointed out, this time keeping his voice soft, hopefully soothing. "You don't need to…" For the sake of both their modesty he left the rest hanging.

Clint shook his head. Was it the raging fever making him tremble? It wasn't until then Steve saw the tears. "… Burns…" The archer seemed to be nearly hysterical. "Barney, please…!"

Steve blinked once, twice, his heart breaking. _Barney…?_ He never got the chance to ask.

A flash later Clint met his eyes. The Hawk's were wide and bright with fever. "Steve… My… My head…" And then the archer's eyes rolled back before the man slumped heavily against the soldier.

It'd been a long time from when Steve last experienced the kind of fear he did then. He tightened his hold on his friend, as though somehow attempting to force the man into hanging on. "Clint?" There was no response. "CLINT!"

A trail of blood began to meander from the heavily unconscious Avenger's nose.

* * *

It was eleven in the evening when the whole disaster began. At seven in the following evening Tony's amazing team of experts finally had a breakthrough. Producing what was hopefully an effective antidote took another two, excruciatingly long hours. As soon as it was done Tony and Bruce dashed towards the sick room. What they found there froze them for several seconds.

Was Steve… wiping away tears? Surely not. They'd never seen the Captain cry. That, however, was soon forgotten when they saw Clint. Who'd lost whatever little color there'd been on his face. Who was now hooked on far more machinery then before. Who wasn't breathing on his own anymore.

No words were needed. They exchanged sullen looks that said it all. And then Tony jabbed in the antidote. Hoping against all hope that they weren't too late already.

* * *

The forest around him was pitch black and continued seemingly endlessly. Clint had no idea how he ended up there. His feet hurt and he was so dizzy that he barely remained upright but he soldiered on nonetheless. Staying still wasn't an option.

Clint wanted to call out but didn't quite dare to in fear of drawing unwanted attention to himself. So he listened and advanced as soundlessly as he possibly could. Prepared himself for facing a lot of traps.

And then the singing began. It was a lullaby he must've heard a million times when he was a little boy. The voice was that of a child. One he knew better than well. And all of a sudden Clint could barely breathe.

Clint shook his head. Struggling to keep the tears at bay, to keep himself from screaming out loud. _Barney, don't do this to me, not now…!_

But the singing only got louder. And the forest seemed to be getting darker. The whole world around him was closing in on him. Swallowing him up. Figuratively and literally. He wasn't sure if the voices he kept hearing, which barely carried over Barney's singing, were real or not. Was anything real anymore?

… " _… BP's out of whack …"_ …

Clint stumbled down despite his hardest efforts. The sharp, indescribable pain in his legs got too much. He stayed down on all fours because he had no other option, gasping because he didn't dare to scream. He hung his head, his throat tightening rapidly. That was when the ground underneath him began to cave in. He fought back when his hands sunk through but there wasn't much he could do. He kept sinking, down, down, down…

… " _… losing him! …_ " …

… " _… charging …_ " …

… " _… CLEAR! …_ " …

When the searing agony spread through him Clint finally gave in to a scream. Or tried to, anyway. Because he was already buried under. There was nothing but darkness keeping him company. That and Barney's never ending singing.

Was this hell?

"Hell? Oh, no, this isn't hell. Not yet." Phil Coulson's voice sounded nothing like the calm and soothing one he'd grown accustomed to. "If you want to see what hell's made of climb your way up."

Clint knew that he was probably insane. But surely anything was better than _this_? So he began to dig through the dirt, ignoring that each move felt like his skin had been peeled off. Ignoring the agony and fatigue. Ignoring everything but the need to get out.

… " _… back …_ " …

… " _… vitals are stable, for now …_ " …

… " _… back to us … you can do it … come back …_ " …

Clint gasped helplessly when he finally broke into surface, even if his chest felt like it'd been pummeled by Thor's hammer. At first he was too dizzy and disoriented to comprehend what he was seeing. When it all registered he almost wished that he'd stayed under, after all.

It was a cemetery. And not just any. Those stones… They all had familiar names.

Barney. Phil. So many important people he'd lost… And then…

Thor. Bruce. Tony. Steve.

Natasha.

And finally Laura, along with their children.

Clint really, honestly couldn't breathe. Couldn't focus. Couldn't even scream, no matter how much he would've wanted to.

 _No, no, no…!_

"You're useless, Clint." Coulson had never sounded like that before. Cruel, unforgiving. But was it any wonder…? The eyes looking at him were unfamiliar. Surreally blue, the shade that still made him want to throw up. "You'll always let everyone down. What's the point of you?" All of a sudden his deceased handler's voice became deeper. "Just let go. Let it take you under. Do at least one thing in your life right. Being dead isn't so bad."

It wasn't like Clint had any chance to decide. Because at that very moment he was sinking once more. This time more permanently. Heart, body and soul.

Through fire and ice. Through far more pain than he'd ever experienced before. It felt like he'd been torn to pieces. He wasn't sure if he was on his way to hell but it definitely felt that way. The deeper he sunk the louder Barney's singing became, until it was almost deafening.

All alone. Abandoned. With nothing left to lose. Until he had everything to lose.

' _Daddy?_ '

Clint's eyes flew open. Although he saw nothing but darkness Lila's voice was left echoing into his head. Taunting him, calling out to him.

' _Hear that? It was Lila, through the phone. Come back to her, you ass. Come back to us._ '

What choice did he have?

Going down had been horrible. Crawling back up was a thousand times worse. It hurt so much that several times Clint was sure that there'd be nothing left of him by the time the deed was done. But he refused to give in. Refused to admit defeat. It was a nightmare and he could only hope that he'd manage to hang on long enough to wake up.

' _Clint?_ '

Something was reaching out to him through the dark. A hand. A touch. Like balm on open wounds. Was he waking up or sliding deeper? It was hard to tell anymore. Someone was humming and it wasn't his long lost brother. He twitched and the sound stopped abruptly.

" _Clint? That's it, c'mon… You're doing great, Feathers._ "

It was dark. Clint couldn't tell how much longer. Until it wasn't. His eyes weren't exactly cooperative but he managed to open them just enough to distinguish a figure. He nearly panicked until things cleared enough to show him Tony. The man was grinning like a loon, despite those suspiciously red and puffy eyes. "'Bout time you had enough with the beauty nap."

Clint frowned. He was trembling and still on high alert, a very big part of him fearing that he'd slip back into the dark pit. "You're… real?"

For a few seconds Tony stared. Then rolled his eyes. "Like you could imagine this level of perfection."

Something about that made Clint want to cry. Luckily he was too tired for strong emotional responses. Instead his eyebrows furrowed while he struggled to focus despite rapidly losing what little energy he had. "Were you… singing to me?"

It took a bit too long before Tony managed to scoff. "Of course I wasn't. Now get some sleep. I'll let the others know that Sleeping Beauty's finally awake."

Clint lost the battle to stay awake before he got the chance to dig out the truth.

* * *

In the end two agents were assigned to transfer Chemist to an unknown location. Something warned her that things weren't quite right as soon as they parked in front of what could only be a safe house. Obviously the agent sitting on the passenger's seat hadn't anticipated it, either, because panic flared in the young man's eyes. "What…?" A single gunshot cut the question short.

The remaining agent looked at her. Despair could be seen in that gaze. "Let's go inside. He's waiting."

Chemist didn't ask who this 'he' was. She had a feeling that she'd find out soon enough. Instead she obeyed, curious to see what'd come out of all this.

The house was modestly decorated. It could've been described as dull if it wasn't for the sinister air lingering everywhere. The agent was actually shivering while looking around with alert eyes. "I… I brought her in. Just as we agreed."

A very familiar hooded man emerged from the shadows. Slowly, dramatically. "Yes, you did. And I thank you for your services." Something flew through the air in a nearly soundless breath. Three seconds later the traitorous agent fell to the floor, dead. "But I'm afraid that I have no further use for people who might betray me in a heartbeat." The man's attention then shifted to her. "I hope that you've had enough of your own personal vendetta because we'll be very busy."

She smiled. "I suspected that you'd come for me. Doctor."

"Of course I did." The arrival held out an arm. "Shall we?"

She nodded and accepted the offer. They were well on their way towards the awaiting car before he spoke again. "You should know that Hawkeye is still alive."

She sighed. "I had a feeling that he might be stubborn enough to pull through." Her eyes shimmered with mischief. "It's alright. I'm actually quite looking forward to seeing him again…"

* * *

The second time Clint woke up he was a great deal more lucid. Still, for a moment he panicked, as though afraid that it might all crash down on him once more. Until a familiar, rooting hand grabbed his. "It's alright. It's over."

He turned his head just enough to see Natasha sitting on the edge of his bed. She seemed utterly exhausted but otherwise perfectly fine. She most certainly wasn't dead or dying.

"You okay there, Pigeon?" Only a careful ear caught the worry in Tony's voice. "Don't you dare pass out on us again!"

Clint shook his head. Which wasn't his best decision ever. "'ot gonna pass out", he murmured, wincing at how raspy and off his voice sounded. Without saying a word Thor offered him a glass of water. He accepted it with a grateful smile, then arched an eyebrow at the looks on the others' faces. The whole team was there, looking like they hadn't slept in days and… "'y are you looking at me like I may keel over any second?" Bad choice of words. Bruce shivered. Tony and Natasha tensed up. Thor's eyes flashed in a way he didn't recall seeing before. Steve blanched. Clint held up his free hand. Which, apparently, was still connected to a I.V. "'sorry. 'wasn't thinking."

Tony sighed. "Well, three days in a coma does that to you. Not that you'd do much thinking, anyway." The billionaire clapped his hands together. "So… Who's up for a 'Bourne' marathon?"

They began to fall asleep one by one as the movies advanced. Bruce was the first one to nod off, his head falling to rest against Thor's shoulder. The Asgardian didn't seem quite sure what to do about the situation and sat tensely until also falling asleep. Tony snatched a picture of the two, of course. Then went under himself. Steve fought a mighty battle but eventually all the sleepless nights got too much. Natasha was the last to give in, as always. Her fingers more twitched than actually squeezed Clint's hand tighter. He tightened his hold as a response. It seemed to be all the reassurance she needed. In a matter of minutes her breathing evened out to peaceful slumber.

As the fourth movie advanced Clint looked at his team, at his second family. They fought hard to bring him back and were still there to guard him. He smiled as he closed his eyes, feeling incredibly lucky. With them right there beside him he wasn't afraid of the nightmares that might be waiting for him.

* * *

Clint had no dreams. When he woke up only Steve was there. Pleased to discover that his voice was coming back Clint asked for his phone and a few moments. He was quick to spot his friend's reluctance to leave. It was oddly heartwarming. "Steve, I'll be okay. I swear. And Tony's system is keeping an eye on me more carefully than any of these machines, remember?" He had a feeling that at this point even a sneeze would send a small army of medical professionals flooding in. Was it annoying or adorable? With Stark the line was often thin and blurry.

Steve nodded stiffly. "Of course. Just… If you need anything…"

Clint's eyes softened. "I know." The 'thank you' was unvoiced but loudly audible.

As soon as Steve had left the Hawk dialed numbers. It took far too long before someone picked up. Before Laura's familiar voice floated to his ear. " _Clint?_ " It sounded like she didn't quite dare to believe it. Neither did he.

Clint closed his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks while a quivering smile lit up his whole face. The relief crashed down on him like a tidal wave. "Morning", he managed.

It sounded like Laura bit back a sob. Or then he imagined it. " _Morning, sleepy head. About time you woke up._ "

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Wait, was the Doctor Doom passing by…? Did Tony actually sing to Clint? Will we ever know? Oh well, at least Clint's awake and on his way back to his feathery self! (BEAMS)

Sooooo…. Any good? At all? PLEASE, leave a note to let me know! It'd be AWESOME to hear from you guys! It always makes my day to encounter fellow Hawkeye fans. And keep in mind the request are still far more than welcome!

 **UP NEXT:**

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal (the team is shocked and confused when it looks like their Hawk has turned into one of the bad guys, but is anything as it seems?) (a three parter)

Awkay, I've gotta get going now. Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll tune in for some more arrow and feather filled adventures.

Take care!


	32. Bitter Taste of Betrayal, 1 (AoU fix it)

A/N: PHEW! I'd written almost half a chapter until I decided to start it all over again. (chuckles) BUT, here we are! Hooray…? We'll see just what came out…

First, though…! A MILLION thank yous for your fantastic reviews, listings, support and love! You have no idea how good it feels to know that there are others who love Hawkeye (almost) as much as I do.

Awkay, because I have a feeling that you'd like to get going already… Let's rock! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **THE MAXIMOFF TWINS WILL JOIN IN FOR THIS THREE-PARTER.**

 **A LITTLE TONY X PEPPER. SMALL MENTIONS OF CLINT X LAURA.**

 **A VERY HEAVY T-RATING FOR THIS ONE...!**

* * *

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal, part 1 of 3 (feat Maximoffs)

* * *

Anyone entering the shadowy, dusty room would've faced a quite… interesting sight. Most of the furniture had been either toppled over or smashed. Shards of glass lay on the floor, along with droplets of blood. At least the screams weren't echoing on the walls anymore. A little further from the door, which had been forced open with a considerable amount of violence, lay five heavily unconscious or dead men. One of them, the only one even remotely awake, had managed to crawl all the way to the torn apart living room. He was reaching out towards a button that would've summoned a small army for his aid. A boot covered foot interrupted the motion violently, slamming on the fingers and smashing them mercilessly against the floor. The man's lips opened for a scream but he no longer had enough breath left for one.

"Good effort." Without removing the boot still assaulting the fingers the other person knelt down, eyes staring hard and unforgiving into the beaten man's pain filled green ones. "But now, let's try this a one more time… Where is agent Barton?"

The man groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "Even… Even if I knew… Why the hell… would I tell… you?"

A head nodded towards the deceased men. "If you want to die as well I'm more than happy to fulfil that wish. But cooperating would be much more useful to both of us."

The man chuckled bitterly and spat blood to the floor. "What… What makes you think… that even if you'd find him… you could save him?"

Lips opened for another question. That was, however, interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing. The beaten man's phone. The assaulter was fast to grab a hold of it and pick up. "Now what?"

Well. The call was meant for the attacker, after all. The first thing that answered was a long, heavy sigh. " _I was under the impression that I sent you to a mission in Istanbul. Imagine my surprise when you were located to Berlin instead._ "

"Istanbul's a sealed deal. If you want to give me a distraction you should know better than to send me on one of those rookie level sparring sessions", the booted bringer of destruction growled. "Now let me focus on _this_ mission."

" _I've sent men to look for Barton…_ "

"I've given your men five months. Much longer than I should've", was the snarled response. It sounded like something coming from an outraged wild beast. "Now it's my turn."

" _Romanoff…_ " Nick Fury was too late. The conversation was already over.

Finishing the infuriating phone call Natasha took a couple of evening breaths, never once letting her expression falter for even a second. With a perfectly steady hand she inspected the phone. And ended up finding something interesting. Her eyebrow bounced up.

On the screen a green light was blinking steadily in the middle of what looked suspiciously lot like the city's outline. A tracking signal, obviously. Which led to some quite interesting questions.

Natasha showed it to her victim. Her eyes narrowed to signal that she was done playing around. "For your own sake, start talking."

The man's face revealed that their little chitchat wouldn't continue much longer. "It's… It's not Barton."

She nodded slowly, disappointment bringing a bitter taste to her mouth. "Alright. Thank you for your honesty." Her foot did press harder, however. "Someone who may help me find him, then?"

The man blinked twice. Slowly. Barely there anymore. "For your… sake… Pray you never… find him." With those words he was gone.

Claus Stinnes. A high ranked Hydra operative. Natasha reminded herself of those facts when the pressure of her boot finally became too much and the fingers cracked. Maybe so valuable that he'd given her some proper leads. She focused on that because going through his eerie last words was unthinkable. She left the building without looking back.

True, there was a time when she was only bound to Clint by her gratitude. By the fact that she owed him debt for his decision to risk his life in favor of finishing his task to kill her. But now, after everything they'd seen and been through together…

This was personal, and Black Widow never, _ever_ did 'personal'.

* * *

Upon marching away and eventually taking a motorcycle she didn't sense the person observing her from the rooftop of a nearby block of flats. A pair of blue eyes narrowed while an arrow was held against her, her life hanging in a delicate balance without her ever even knowing about it. The arrow remained for several long seconds after she disappeared before it was finally put away safely. The observer vanished like a ghost.

* * *

Fury had barely managed to start recovering from his phone call with Natasha before there was a sharp knock. The arrival entered without waiting for his response. It was a young man with shortcut brown hair and blue eyes that seemed able read more than they should've. The visibly expensive, tailored suit spoke of an office worker. Fury knew better.

The man invading his office was Jack Jones. If that really was his name, because it sounded more like the most ridiculous fake ID ever. Fury, however, was far more familiar with the man's nickname. The Cleaner.

The smile aimed at him brought a predatory gleam into those eyes. If the younger man so chose, he would've certainly made a spectacular supervillain. "I'm sorry to intrude like this. But I'm afraid that the matter is urgent."

Fury's stomach twisted uncomfortably. It was harder than it should've been to keep his emotions in check. "Is this about Barton again?"

"My team… has been keeping a very close eye on him since the first traces we received a month ago." Jack approached, a pair of ridiculously pricey looking shoes clapping sharply. "If you don't mind…?"

Of course Fury minded. But it wasn't like he could've admitted as much without showing a sign of weakness that he wasn't planning on succumbing to before this man. He nodded sharply. "By all means, agent Jones."

Considering the man's status and remarkable security clearance, the 'agent' was more of a mockery than anything else. Jack's frosty fake smile revealed as much. "We encountered some… interesting footage."

It was a small house, decorated with a minimum amount of furniture and pale, bland colors. "It's a safe house. Or well, actually, three apartments that were used as such", Jack explained. "Most recently they were inhabited by six people who used to be members of Hydra. The information they had might've been enough to shut it down permanently." The younger man's face hardened a fraction. "This… is how they ended up."

Perhaps they lived in separate apartments. But the six people had been brought together in death. The first thing Fury saw was the blood. Then the arrows.

"It took almost a week before the practically destroyed security footage was at our disposal. But there's no doubt and I have five people to support my identification. Clint Barton was caught leaving that building."

It took a while before Fury managed to look towards the other man. There was no question about what would come next. About the price of this betrayal. "You're going to kill him."

Jack nodded as though they'd been talking about which dish to choose at a restaurant. "Imagine the nightmare this would cause. A S.H.I.E.L.D agent and an Avenger, committing to those horrific acts? The public is only just starting to trust the Avengers. This would destroy all that, permanently."

"So he'll be taken down? No questions asked?" The thought made Fury feel sick to his stomach. To imagine Clint falling like that…

"Of course he'll be questioned. We might even obtain valuable information from him." Jack's answer was sincere and free of all emotion. A business deal, that was all this was to the young man. A necessary evil. "I'm truly sorry that this is the only way. Those who gave me the orders demanded that I shouldn't tell you before the deed is done but I trust you not to do anything hasty."

All of a sudden Fury understood. Well, maybe this man had a hint of conscience left, after all. "Thank you, for your consideration. Now, I was in the middle of something…"

"Of course." Jack was walking away with his back to him when the man spoke a one more time. "Once again, I'm sorry. But if it's any consolation, remember that at very least he will die with the reputation of a hero. I'll make sure of that personally." The door slammed like the hammer of a judge.

Exactly four seconds later Steve Rogers emerged from the office's toilet, to which he slipped during the call to Natasha. There was a solemn look on the super soldier's face. "How fast can you get me to Berlin?"

"How quickly are you ready to go?"

* * *

Tony Stark had always been a very social person. Someone might've said too much so. Bruce Banner was pretty much his polar opposite. Yet somehow they managed to click. The 'mad scientist' parts of them hit it off, leading to them creating some, in Tony's humble opinion, pretty darned awesome stuff.

It still felt weird to have Bruce missing. It was nine months from Sokovia and so far there hadn't been a trace of his science brother. And now Clint was missing as well, had been for months and they had no idea what happened despite all the countless hours they'd spent searching, together and separately. Of course Tony wasn't worried. It was just that work felt more fun with someone of Bruce's IQ and talent around. And maybe, just maybe, it just so happened that missions were more fun with an easily teasable Clint and the Hawk's stupid sense of humor around.

Tony's 'manly sulking', as Pepper had called it several times, was interrupted when his phone started ringing. He frowned at the caller ID. "Hey. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against hearing your sexy voice but I thought you were supposed to be busy."

The second he heard Pepper stifle a sob his whole world _stopped_. It might've taken a second or a year before she finally spoke, her voice forced to remain even. " _There… There was an attack. I promised to call you._ " She had to pull herself together for a while. " _I… I'm okay, I swear. But… Ten people died, Tony. And it's… It's chaos here and I…_ " She trailed off and the billionaire had a sinking feeling that the sound he heard next was a new sob. " _He… He killed two men, Tony…! They… They stood right beside me, and he executed them._ "

Tony was shaking miserably from rage and sheer terror. The whole world was still moving in bizarre patterns before his dazed eyes. None of this was making any sense. His mouth was suddenly so dry that it took a mighty while before he could speak. "Who is 'he'?" He realized too late how threatening his tone must've sounded to her fried nerves. He did his best to tune it down a bit before trying again. "Who attacked?"

" _Hydra. They… They were pretty insistent to make sure that those who lived would know._ " It was audible that Pepper was still hiding something. Her breath shuddered. " _I… I think he was supposed to kill me, too. To get to you. But… He stood there, looking at me, and… changed his mind._ "

Tony was beginning to feel dizzy because of shallow breathing and a sudden certainty that he'd hate what would come next. He licked his lips. "Who was supposed to kill you?"

The silence that followed was one of the loudest things Tony had ever heard. The words Pepper half whispered, sounding horribly sad, were deafening. " _Clint. It was Clint._ "

* * *

The building Natasha found was actually quite disappointing. It looked like a nearly abandoned research facility. It was already rather dark and she'd seen several men and women in lab-coats heading home. Eventually only three security guards remained. Moving as swiftly and soundlessly as a cheetah she moved in.

Getting in was no problem. Finding what she was looking for… Well, it certainly hadn't been made easy.

It seemed that she'd misjudged the building's size at first. Similar to an iceberg, most of it was hidden underground. Sterile, metallic and positively chilling hallways followed each other. She passed by countless doors to countless horror stories.

Until she passed by a room that had something she definitely recognized.

It was folded on one of those sickening, metallic exam tables. Like a scientific research that no one cared about anymore. Some dust lingered on it.

Clint's suit, the one she'd seen him wearing on far too many missions to count.

The discovery captured Natasha's attention to a point where she made a very, very stupid mistake. She forgot to be on alert. Which was why she didn't notice security guard number four sneaking towards her. Luckily someone else did.

There was a swish of air that made the hair in the back of her neck stand up. Before she could blink the guard was already falling and landed in an ungraceful, heavily unconscious heap to the floor. Leaving her alone with her savior.

Natasha didn't gasp. Nor did her eyes widen. She merely stared, perhaps becoming a little paler than she had been. What she uttered was horribly clichéd. "You… died."

Pietro Maximoff wasn't wearing his signature grin. But it was him, without a shadow of a doubt. "Yeah, well… I thought so, too. I guess I managed to outrun even death." A poor joke. But he could be forgiven, under the circumstances. "Where's Wanda?"

Natasha shook her head. Mainly because she wasn't sure what else to do. The guard chose that very moment to start stirring. She prevented a full awakening with a determined kick. "She tried to become an Avenger for a few months after…" She was, for once, discreet and left out the last words. "But in the end it was too much. No one's heard from her in six months."

For moment or two Pietro appeared genuinely crushed. Then very familiar determination took over his eyes and face. She'd seen someone else carry that same look, a lot. The speedster nodded fiercely. "We'll find her", he stated, as though it was a fact. He then frowned. "What are you doing here?"

The guard groaned but gave no other indication of returning consciousness. Natasha gritted her teeth. "Let's continue this elsewhere", she decided, moving to Clint's suit and grabbing it along. He would've hated it being left into the hands of these monsters. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

"Yes, ma'am." Pietro smirked at her expression when he stood behind her. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle, I promise." He took a hold of her, narrowly avoiding a black eye with keeping his hands in line. "Hold on tight, Spidey."

Less than a blink later they were gone.

* * *

In a small, reeking room that could only be called a cell Wanda Maximoff jolted into full awareness when the door was opened unnecessarily loudly. For a moment the dream she just had, of her and Pietro playing together as kids, persisted before fading away at the quite unfriendly face of the arrival. "Get up. He needs a reboot."

Her heart sunk far more heavily than any stone. She gulped, which did nothing to help with the nausea. "It's too soon", she pointed out. "He…"

"Unless you want _me_ to reboot him…" It sounded like the hiss of a snake. "… move, now."

Wanda's shoulders slumped but she refused to let the defeat show on her face. Instead she took a deep breath and lifted her chin a little, then got up and began to follow the man. For a moment she itched to use her powers until memories of the five times she tried that flooded in like a wall of bricks. She'd already brought enough punishments on someone perfectly innocent.

Wanda refused to speak a word during the long walk. She spent that time bracing herself because she knew that what she'd be led to would hurt. She wasn't mistaken.

In the dark of the room, which was almost identical to hers, she saw a figure curled up on an extremely uncomfortable bed. His back was to her but she could tell that he wasn't asleep. He never seemed to be these days. He was shivering and she could smell blood. "Have you tended to his wounds?" she bit out.

"You really expect that any of us would be able to touch him now?" There was a pointed nod towards the archer. "The faster you work your magic the faster we'll be able to give him a checkup."

Only sheer willpower kept Wanda from snarling something she would've been forced to regret later. She pushed all of her concentration towards the injured man while approaching him. "Clint, it's me."

Just as she knelt beside him he turned his head, enough to let her see his eyes. They were hazy and full of agony, nearly desperate. If there was one thing he should've never been it was desperate. "Don't…"

Wanda gulped thickly. Everything inside her screaming and raging against the injustice of this all. "I'm sorry", she whispered, so quietly that the man at the door wouldn't hear. She had no idea of the single tear that rolled down her cheek. "I'm so sorry." Her hands were already glowing.

Clint's small moan of pain, protest and discomfort tore at her heart like a knife.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear… Poor Clint – and Wanda, too! Just how bad is this going to get? And what, exactly, is going – and what's going to happen next…?

Any good, at all? To be deleted rather than continued? PLEASE, do let me know! It always makes my day to hear from you.

I'm afraid that time's a bit short so I'll sneak off now. Until next time, guys! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: (BEEEEEEAMS) I really hope that it'll meet your expectations! And yay, I'm SUPER happy that you enjoyed the previous chapter so!

Oooooh, what a fantastic prompt! And totally something I could easily picture Clint doing. (nods furiously)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 13: (jumps with joy) It feels absolutely fantastic to hear that! I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

PrincessApplePie: I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it! And even happier that it managed to bring a smile to your face. (BEAMS)

Oh my gosh…! THANK YOU so much for the song mention! I always listen to music for inspiration while typing so I LOVE 'theme songs' for chapters.

Gigantic thank yous for the review! I really hope that you'll enjoy what's to come.


	33. Bitter Taste of Betrayal, 2 (AoU fix it)

A/N: Phew! I almost gave up on trying to update before a good night's sleep. But here I am, at an insane hour. So… Yay…?

Before I get going, though… Gosh, thank you so much for those AMAZING reviews and support! It seriously warms my heart that Clint's this loved. (beams, and hugs) Let's prove the world that Hawkeye isn't worthless and unloved!

Awkay, because I seriously don't have time to waste… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **HINTS OF TONY X PEPPER AND CLINT X LAURA.**

 **THE RATING'S STILL A VERY STRONG T ONE – THING'S ARE GONNA GET PRETTY MESSED UP…**

* * *

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal, part 2 of 3 (feat Maximoffs)

* * *

The city was dark and rain that'd started falling out of the blue did nothing to improve Steve's mood as he rushed towards a very questionable looking apartment building in one of the city's less inviting parts. All he knew was that he was headed towards an apartment Natasha and Clint sometimes used as a hideout. According to Fury she'd be headed there as fast as possible. Hopefully it'd be fast enough. Steve shivered and pulled up a hood to provide protection against the weather. He found himself missing the familiar Captain America uniform but reasoned with himself that it might be for the best to not rouse unwanted attention.

The second Steve entered the tiny apartment, using a spare key he'd received from Fury, he froze. Not because the sight he faced would've been full of violence. But because the apartment looked like no one had been there in months. There was a bag that without a doubt belonged to Clint on a visibly uncomfortable bed. Along with a photograph of Laura and the kids. There was only one reason why the archer would've left such a treasure behind. It was out of fear that it might end up to people who might go after the Hawk's dearest and best kept secret. Whatever Clint had expected to face was far worse than an average mission. Even on the messed up Barton-standards.

Steve's attention was coaxed elsewhere when he more sensed than actually heard that he wasn't alone anymore. He whirled around and was immediately greeted by the barrel of a gun. A couple of loaded seconds of silence ticked by. Eventually the firearm was lowered, allowing him to focus on Natasha's grim face. "You should be more careful." Her eyes darted around the apartment. "This is a spy hideout."

One corner of Steve's lips twitched despite the circumstances. "I know. I noticed the two trap wires."

"Three", a new voice noted just as Natasha's lips opened. A finger pointed towards Steve's feet. True, his ankle was pressed lightly against a wire. "Stay sharp, Cap."

Very, very slowly Steve turned his head. Not quite trusting that he could've heard correctly. His eyes widened a fraction when his buzzing brain confirmed that he was indeed either losing his mind or seeing ghosts. "How can you be alive?" he blurted out before he could consider anything gentler or more profound.

"I'm fast, remember? Everything about me is fast. Including my healing. As soon as the bullets hit me my body began to work on fixing the damage." For a moment, just a moment, something like disgust and anxiety flashed in the boy's eyes. The speedster seemed almost haunted. "Hydra helped."

"Wanda felt you… die", Steve pointed out, uncertain if using the final word was acceptable. The soldier cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. How, exactly, was a subject like this supposed to be addressed? "There was a funeral. Who or what did we…?" He left the rest hanging but it was still very much audible.

Natasha gritted her teeth, hard. "Hydra was involved, remember? Best case scenario, it was a pile of rocks in that coffin."

Pietro shifted with discomfort. Understandably enough this wasn't a pleasant topic to be reminded of. "I… think I was gone, for a bit. And then I woke up in that Hydra base." There was another nervous twitch. "Look, as much as I love this… catching up business Wanda's missing. And apparently so is Old Man. So let's focus on that for a bit, okay?"

True, they had more urgent matters at hand. For a couple of stolen moments, the three of them processed the situation until Steve's eyes shifted from Clint's belongings to Pietro and Natasha. "Do you two have any idea where he might've been taken? Or if Wanda's with him?"

Of course they couldn't know the latter part. But as for the first question… Pietro smirked. It didn't look quite like one of those the two of them remembered. "I took the liberty to snoop around a bit before Spidey here showed up." The youngster pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket. "They have several possible spots nearby. But this…" The speedster jabbed at the paper, a map, determinedly with a single finger. "… looks like the only one that may be big and well equipped enough."

Natasha nodded sharply, her eyes gleaming in a far too familiar manner. "Good. Then let's go."

Steve would've wanted to keep certain information to himself. But for the safety of his two companions… "Wait." He gulped. "The thing is… Hydra may not be the only problem."

Natasha frowned. Her eyes hardened as she already suspected. "What do you mean?"

Steve wasted a moment with hesitation. "I… Just before I headed here I heard that Clint… may have been doing something…" What word would even suffice? "He's… killed people. The kind of people we're supposed to protect."

Natasha's eyebrow bounced up and a quite dangerous look took over her eyes. "He's in the hands of Hydra. With all their drugs, equipment and maybe even Wanda."

"Hey…!" Pietro protested.

Natasha didn't seem to have heard. "… And you imagine that he's doing any of that willingly?" Her expression dared him to question her. "We have to get him out of there, as fast as possible. And I'm prepared to do a second cognitive recalibration if I have to."

* * *

For a very long time Wanda was under the illusion that the organization which gave her and Pietro their incredible powers was the only thing the two of them had left in the world. That they couldn't possibly have a proper life outside it. That guinea pigs was all they'd ever be anymore. Until the Avengers arrived and they got a taste of something better. Only to have it torn away from them in a flash.

Pietro's second chance was interrupted by a rain of bullets. Hers was cut short by a picture and a brief text that arrived to her phone one early morning. The young man on the picture was Pietro. She knew because she would've recognized her twin anywhere and no one, even Hydra's best scientists, would've been able to deceive her. He was visibly in a very weak condition but, against all odds and logic, alive. The message gave her a location and firm instructions to come alone, without telling anyone a word about this new information. Of course Wanda left. What else was she supposed to do? She left behind what could've been and dashed straight into a trap. And what was worse, not much later she lured someone else to the trap with her.

* * *

/ _"Make sure that he won't be a threat or we'll kill you both and your brother."_

 _Wanda tensed up, a horrible taste rising to her mouth. She fought her hardest to keep her expression stony. "You'll kill us all anyway", she growled._

 _"Not just yet. You see… I need him. And I need you, to keep him under control." A venomous sneer revealed a pair of yellow stained teeth. "Do you know what's the most satisfactory way of destroying something? To blow it up from the inside."_

 _They beat her up enough to make the trap appear authentic. Or that's what they told her. The lives of her brother and someone unnamed hung in a balance. Little else registered to her at the moment._

 _"For all your sakes… break him. Break him, make him bend under our will. Or I'll break all three of you, permanently."_

 _Wanda was drifting in some strange place between wakefulness and unconsciousness when something pulled her violently to the waken world. Sounds of intense struggle could be heard from the hallway, briefly. Then it became deathly silent. Seconds later the door of her cell opened and a much too familiar man limped in, covered in cuts and bruises but his eyes full of iron hard determination. Her heart dropped all the way to her stomach._

 _Of course they had to choose Clint Barton, the one who first convinced her that she might be worth more than_ this _._

 _"C'mon, let's get you out of here", he murmured. Gently, like a parent handling their child, he helped her up, one arm supporting her and the other hand holding a gun. "Do you think you can walk a bit?"_

 _Wanda wanted to tell him to run. To get the hell away from her and this mess. But then the ice cold, harsh reality of the whole hopeless situation crashed down on her, rendering her speechless. She nodded and hung her head to keep him from noticing how tears of grief, rage and frustration shimmered in her eyes._

 _They made it to the very last hallway separating them from freedom. For a second, just one treacherous moment, Wanda imagined that perhaps Clint had succeeded in eliminating the whole threat. That maybe they were free, after all. Then, just as hope began to rise, it disappeared to nothingness at the sight of a red dot dancing on the back of the archer's head. It was without a doubt from a sniper's gun and there was no way the Hawk could've noticed it. The message for her was loud and clear._

 _'_ CHOOSE NOW _'_

 _Wanda didn't even have a choice. Clint paid no attention to it when her hand moved. He trusted her. And that made what she'd have to do a thousand times worse._

 _Clint didn't even have the time to notice that her hand was glowing before she'd already grabbed a hold of his shocked mind. He raged against her invasion, with all he had. But he was far more injured and exhausted than she was. He never stood a chance, not really._

 _Wanda didn't utter a sound until they'd been separated. Until she was once again locked into her tiny, dark dungeon. There, finally, she allowed a few tears to roll and for the second time in less than a year screamed at the top of her lungs._ /

* * *

Wanda swallowed, hard, and pressed her legs even more tightly against her chest. Her hand tightened around the unresponsive one held in her nearly desperate hold. "I… I'm sorry", she whispered. The words sounded and tasted hollow after the about a million times she'd repeated them over the past few months. She wiped her eyes with her free hand although they didn't feel moist anymore. "That you were pulled into this mess. That I haven't been able to get us out. That I…"

The door opened. She stiffened and tightened her hold still. The man beside her fixed a pair of hazy eyes towards the man that arrived, like a soldier prepared for a battle. The sight made Wanda's stomach turn. If she'd been in a more coherent state of mind she might've noticed that his stance was protective and he moved just a little closer to her.

The arrival looked at her with unconcealed mockery. "So? Has he been patched up properly?"

Wanda's eyes flashed dangerously. She was barely able to hold her tongue, knowing all too well that careless words would only worsen the nightmare. "Yes."

"Good." The arrival focused on her companion. "Now come, Hawkeye. Something rather urgent awaits you."

"What?" Wanda's temper flared and she squeezed Clint's hand so hard that it had to hurt. He didn't react in any way. "You saw his injuries! He won't be able to handle…!"

"Agent Barton, do you feel ready for fieldwork?"

Clint nodded. Unhesitant, prepared. What kind of pain medication had they given him? "Yes, sir. I'm ready to do my duty."

"Good, I thought so." The other man lifted his chin. "Intruders are approaching this facility. I want your help to fend them off."

Clint nodded firmly.

Wanda felt sick. Because all of a sudden it was all incredibly clear to her. Who these intruders were, what this would mean… "Clint…!"

For a heartbeat Clint's hand trembled in hers, strained to hold back. The man he once was fought to break free. But then the moment was lost. His fingers slipped from her grasp and he walked away without a single backwards glance. When the door slammed closed Wanda found herself wondering, with horrible dread, if she'd ever see him again.

* * *

Outside, blissfully unaware of what exactly was waiting in the building, a group of three observed in a tense silence. Formulating a proper plan. Trying to prepare themselves for any possible worst case scenario.

"So…" Steve inhaled deeply. "Quicksilver, you create a distraction…"

The Captain was interrupted by something red flashing by. A blink or two later several small explosions rattled the area. " _Leave distractions to me, Cap. They're my specialty._ "

For a second they all stared, dumbfounded. In the end it was Natasha who broke the silence. "Iron Man?"

True enough, the familiar iron suited billionaire was right there before their eyes. Sweeping the ground with Hydra agents, quite literally. " _I heard that you two were going to have a party without me. 'Couldn't let that happen, now could I? Now get in there. I'll join you soon._ "

Something about the whole situation felt… off. But there was quite little time to process what that something might be. And so the trio ran, taking in the maze of hallways and whatever enemies might be waiting inside.

The progress was painfully slow, in more ways than one. Well, for Natasha and Steve, anyway. Hydra wasn't an enemy to be taken lightly. Their agents were well trained and heavily armed. But they had Steve's shield, Natasha's skills and Pietro's speed. Along with a furious amount of determination.

They weren't about to leave two of their own trapped into this place, even if they'd have to fight them both to get them out of there.

The two others tensed up when all of a sudden Pietro froze with a gasp, his eyes widening. Before they got the chance to ask what was wrong the boy answered and was already running. "Wanda…!"

They followed the best as they could, fighting off several enemies as they did so. The journey to what appeared to be the heart of the building took ages. But finally they found a firmly bolted door that'd been made of sturdy metal.

Well, there were certain things that no metal stood a chance against.

Steve's eyes flashed. "Step out of the way, now." If those words hadn't been enough to convince them the raised shield was. It flew before they barely had the chance to react. The door gave way easily.

Pietro didn't waste a second. Knowing that the two of them would have his back the speedster rushed in. "Wanda!" And then, following that sound, was a whimper which almost succeeded in being more horrible than the heartbroken, desperate scream of the sister when she once lost her brother.

Natasha opened the door further, allowing herself and Steve a view inside. In a flash they both preferred if she hadn't. The sight made their insides turn.

There were tears of anguish in Pietro's eyes while he held his sister. She was still alive but unconscious and bleeding heavily. And sticking from her was an arrow.

"Get her to a hospital." Natasha's growl was heavy and loaded. Carried an uncharacteristic undertone of emotion. "Now."

Pietro didn't need to be told twice. After shielding his already injured sister against the impact of his speed he rushed off. Leaving Natasha and Steve looking at each other with solemn expressions.

Whatever took place before their arrival… Whatever was the explanation behind this all… They feared that their team would never be the same again.

While Natasha proceeded to fight an enemy who chose that unfortunate moment to arrive Steve realized that his phone was ringing on a silent mode. He picked up the item and frowned at the caller ID. Fury wouldn't contact them in the middle of a mission unless it was a case of an emergency. "What is it?"

" _Did Iron Man already arrive?_ "

Steve's blood ran cold. "Yeah, he did. Why?"

" _I've been trying to contact you for a while now._ " Fury's tone would've been enough to give a loud warning of the bad news to come. " _Stark Industries did their best to hide the news but half an hour ago I found out that one of their factories was under attack. Ten people were killed. Pepper was also there._ "

Steve found it very, very hard to avoid the kind of language he usually scolded others over. This was starting to sound very, very bad… "Who attacked"

" _Hydra. With an archer._ " Fury sighed heavily. " _We know that Hawkeye wouldn't do something like that out of his own free will. But Iron Man… I highly doubt that he'd pause to ask a lot of questions. So find him before he finds the Hawk._ "

Steve was already running, Natasha firmly on his tail.

* * *

Tony operated as though his mind had been separated from his body. He registered the amount of destruction he was causing. The people he encountered. But none of it really got to him. It was like he'd been watching a movie.

Until, as though on a battlefield after the fighting ceased, it became incredibly still and quiet.

Tony breathed hard, staring at the destruction around him with a vague sense of nausea. He removed enough of his suit to reveal his face and opened his lips. Even he didn't know what he'd been about to utter. Perhaps nothing.

And then he realized that there was still someone else alive.

His gaze darted swiftly and sharply to the side. There, mere meters away, stood Clint Barton with the kind of an expression he'd never before seen on the archer's face. Holding an explosive arrow against him.

* * *

The two were too preoccupied to notice that they had audience. Still dressed in far too expensive clothes and wearing an ear comm Jack Jones took position at a location from which even the keenest of eyes wouldn't spot him. With swift, experienced motions he prepared his favorite firearm and settled for a wait.

He was fairly confident that Iron Man would finish this one for him but he wanted to be sure.

* * *

For a few breaths all was absolutely still. The men stood and stared. Waiting, evaluating, calculating, trying to obtain a proper grasp on the horrific situation.

In the end Clint's fingers twitched. Then, like in slowed motion, his hand first fell, then lost hold of the bow and arrow. They fell with an unnaturally loud clatter. The Hawk shook his head fiercely, appearing incredibly tired and pained. "… 'ony …" Nothing more came out before Clint moaned in pain and was also falling.

Tony operated faster than his thought traveled. He caught the Hawk and they sunk down, slowly, slowly, until they were both on their knees. The billionaire's broken, hurt heart was beating so furiously that he was almost sure that Clint could hear it. He gritted his teeth hard enough for it to actually hurt. "You… You attacked the person who means the most to me in this world", he whispered into the archer's ear, his voice breaking several times. "If… If someone did that to Laura, and the kids… Would you forgive them?"

Clint was shaking and panting. Clearly in a horrible amount of agony. The words were so quiet that they could've as well been a trick of his imagination. "I'm sorry."

That was when Tony noticed the dead guard right beside them. And a gun. He gulped when vomit rose to his throat. The inventor was fairly sure that Clint didn't notice how his hand moved and wrapped around the metal, eventually raising it against the archer. His head was buzzing and his hand was far from steady. Even like this, not having to see Clint's face… "So am I", Tony whispered.

Steve and Natasha made it to the scene just in time to see how Clint gasped and shuddered when a bullet slammed at the archer.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Okay, so how badly do you guys wish it wasn't Tony who shot Clint? Because if it was… (shudders) Gosh, this whole mess…! Poor Clint! And Wanda, too.

Soooo… Any good? At all? 'Wanna read chapter three? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know! It seriously makes my day to hear from you.

Awkay, it's INSANELY late so I really have to go. Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll stay tuned for that one.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: (BEAMS, blushes and bows) That's totally what I aim for! I really hope that you'll be as happy with what's to come.

The Maximoff twins are AWESOME! I just couldn't resist including them. (grins)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guesty Guest: WELCOME BACK! You've been missed. (HUGS, and grins from ear to ear) Awww, fret not, I totally understand obsessions of that sort. (giggles) Either it's perfectly sane or sanity is overrated.

Yay, glad to meet someone else who likes Cass! (high fives) Although I've understood that we're not exactly the only ones…?

(Je parle un peux de français aussi. I'm absolutely horrible at spelling it, though, LOL… Je suis désolé…!)

Clint hitting his head started bugging me the moment I heard that BANG. I instantly thought to myself 'well that HAD TO do some damage'. And WHAM, a whump chapter was eventually born! (grins)

I know, right? It shouldn't make sense yet somehow it makes PERFECT sense. (chuckles)

What can I say? I'm absolutely hooked on what may be hidden in Clint's past. (wipes away drool) (Sane people, where?!) Ah, as for The Chemist…! I'm pretty sure that she'll appear again either / and in this collection or my other story. (smirks) The thought is just too juicy to resist.

(laughs until stomach starts to hurt) (gasps) (chuckles some more)

Things look pretty bleak right now, right? (Well, save Pietro's miraculous re-appearance.) We'll see just how things develop in chapter deux…

We'll see about Vision…! I quite like him. We'll see if I'll include him to this collection eventually…

I laughed SO HARD at that dialogue! (I'm pretty smitten with DP after that new movie, btw.) It's been over thirty chapters. Clint's basically immortal by now…! Let's hope that he stays that way… (gulps)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until we type again.


	34. Bitter Taste of Betrayal, 3 (AoU fix it)

A/N: Phew…! It took me AGES to finish this because this wasn't exactly the easiest to type. I hate it when the team fights (which is my I'm dreading 'Civil War' a bit, as much as I'm also eagerly looking forward to it). But now the final part to this three parter is finally here! Yay?

First, though… HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE thank yous for the absolutely amazing reviews, listings, love and support! It never stops filling me with joy how dearly our favorite Hawk is loved. Let's show the world that Clint deserves his spot in the Avengers! (BEAMS)

Awkay, because the clock just keeps ticking… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TRIGGER WARNING** for mentions of suicidal thoughts – this gets a bit dark BUT stick around until the end and there may be a ray of sunshine…! **A VERY HEAVY T-RATING.**

 **BITS OF TONYXPEPPER AND CLINTXLAURA IN THIS ONE.**

* * *

The Bitter Taste of Betrayal, part 3 of 3 (feat Maximoffs)

* * *

The only sounds Tony could hear were his heart hammering madly and his blood rushing, boiling in his veins. He gasped and shivered, barely able to breathe. Slowly yet surely the unthinkable situation began to register to him.

He was holding a real, actual gun, his finger was already one the trigger.

Against Clint Barton, someone he'd learned to consider a good friend.

And this wasn't some sick nightmare.

Was he really going to do this? Without a single question? Without a hint of mercy? What was becoming of him?

Tony's chaotic train wreck of thought came to a violent halt when Clint shuddered violently all of a sudden. The man's small gasp was somehow able to break through to Tony's consciousness. The gun slipped to the ground, clattering horribly loudly against the sudden eerie, haunting quiet.

Tony's mouth opened but all that left him was a small, surprised breath. His eyes were widened when they met Clint's. The archer was horribly pale upon looking back at him. It was impossible to determine which emotion in the Hawk's eyes tore at Tony the worst. The shock, betrayal, sadness or acceptance.

Time stood still for a while, the two of them locked into the macabre, heart shattering staring contest. Time finally resumed when Clint's eyes slipped closed and the man began to slump down, unconscious. In an instant, without any thought, Tony grabbed a hold and guided the archer to lay down on the cold, hard ground. The trembling that'd taken over the Iron Man's entire body was a harsh, nauseating contrast against the archer's unnatural stillness. "… Clint …?" And finally, with that barely audible word slipping through his lips, Tony really, honestly woke up.

Where a nightmare would've usually ended this one only grew deeper.

A pool of blood was growing steadily underneath Clint. Eventually it reached the recently fallen gun, covering it mercilessly. Somehow the gunshot still echoed in the air between and around them.

Tony gasped, since what erupted from him couldn't be called a mere breath. His eyes blurred as they stared into Clint's closed ones and it wasn't until months later it occurred to him why. "I… I didn't…!" He knew that his finger twitched, that there were all sorts of horrible thoughts in his head just moments ago. Or had it been hours already? But he couldn't have pulled the trigger, right? Then again… The evidence was right before his eyes. There was no one else to point his finger at. That realization crash-landed on the billionaire's shoulders, weighing a ton.

Tony's lips opened although there were no words that would've redeemed him. Steve's authoritative, uncharacteristically sharp voice cut him short. "Is he still alive?"

Tony nodded, not facing his friends. Were they such anymore? In a spectacularly short amount of time so very many things had been destroyed…

There was fairly little Tony could do. As though watching a movie he stared while Steve gathered Clint to his arms. The soldier murmured something inaudible despite the fact that the Hawk was far past the point of hearing anything. Natasha gave him a single, ice cold glare that spoke absolutely everything necessary. As far as she was concerned Tony just did something unforgivable. And the infamous Black Widow was hardly the type that did forgiveness.

Obviously Steve and Natasha had a car hidden somewhere. The Iron Man heard a distant sound of the engine starting. Soon after Steve returned, Clint's blood staining the Captain's outfit. There was always a tiny, often nearly perfectly disguised spark of anger in the soldier's eyes. At the moment it was ablaze in all its blood stilling glory. "Mercy and justice are two of the few things that separate us from the people we fight against." It wasn't quite a hiss but close. "We don't kill in cold blood. Especially people who are supposed to be our friends."

Tony's eyes narrowed at the words that cut more harshly than a knife. He gritted his teeth hard. "You're that sure that I took the shot?" he spat back.

"I know that you didn't. The bullet came from a wrong angle." Steve's eyes hardened as a response to the hostility radiating from him in waves. "But I also know that if the one who did take the shot had acted seconds later he might've been too late."

"He could've killed Pepper." _But he didn't_ , Tony's mind reminded him immediately. Because the archer chose not to. Pepper tried to tell him as much. The billionaire chose to not listen.

Steve took a breath. For a few seconds a real threat of physical violence was thick in the air until it vaporized, barely. "We found Wanda from that building. We haven't been able to ask any questions yet but I'm sure that you can imagine how she may fit into the equation. Especially since Pietro is still alive and was held captive by Hydra." Seeing that the words hit home the Captain turned around and began to walk away from the set of what became a horror story. "What kind of a team are we if this is how little we trust each other? If this is how easily we are turned against one another?"

* * *

Far above the drama Jack Jones looked on with the darkened, calmly accepting eyes of a professional. Once the faceoff between Tony and Steve began he put away his gun, left his hiding spot and walked away without looking back. On his way he fired a text to the people who handed this yet another grim assignment to him.

' _Hawkeye is down._ '

* * *

Steve's words were left echoing into Tony's head. Taunting him. Each and every single one of them cutting horribly. His head fell and instantly his gaze locked on his hands. He wanted to throw up when he saw the blood coating them.

How badly wrong things had gone so very quickly…!

He shivered when his phone began to ring. Something twisted uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he saw Pepper's name flashing on the screen. He had to gather himself for a really long moment before he was able to pick up. "Hey. Are…?" His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"

" _Yeah._ " She didn't sound fully certain of the answer but at least the tone was far more like herself than the one he heard during their previous conversation. " _Still a bit shaken but… I'm okay._ "

"And the baby?"

" _Mini Stark's perfectly fine, too._ " Pepper knew him very, very well. Was it any wonder that she caught something instantly? " _Tony, where are you? What have you done?_ "

That final question, just four simple words… They slammed at Tony with the kind of a force he'd never experienced before. He didn't notice how a couple of tears rolled down his unhealthily pale cheeks. "I… I may have done something horrible."

* * *

What no one had noticed was that two more people had been observing the whole disaster unfolding. They saw Tony's appearance, then Clint's. They saw Jack Jones. They saw the archer go down. As well as the loaded exchange between Tony and Steve. And finally the tears on the billionaire's face.

It was the perfect Greek tragedy.

"I'll admit that I doubted your plan at first", the older of the two confessed. "But seeing the results… This couldn't have been scripted more perfectly."

The second man, armed with a bow and arrows, smirked. "The utter destruction of the Avengers. Torn apart from the inside. Even Fury won't be able to fix this one." He began to leave, satisfied by the results of their cruel game.

"Was it necessary to shoot an arrow at that girl, though?"

A pair of blue eyes flashed. "Of course it was. She was becoming annoyingly defiant. She needed to be taught a lesson."

"Like your brother?"

The steps paused abruptly. It took all of his willpower to not do something hasty. "Never, ever mention my brother again", he growled. With that threat left behind Barney Barton disappeared from the scene.

* * *

Even before the appearance of his talent Pietro had been a restless kid. Constantly in motion, always speeding from one place to another. Being confined into the hospital's waiting room was nothing short of torture on his fried nerves.

They told him that Wanda's injuries were life threatening. That she was lucky to be alive and not out of the woods yet but she had a strong chance. At the moment all he could do was sit and wait. With the arrow that nearly killed his only living family member in a tight, nearly crushing hold.

His head snapped up the second he heard steps. He didn't have the slightest clue what to think and feel upon seeing Natasha and Steve at the room's doorway. Both of the arrivals had blood staining their clothes. It was easy to determine that it wasn't their own just from the grim looks on their faces.

To say that there was discomfort in the room would've been a dramatic understatement.

Pietro swallowed, hard. His fists balled. "I… Hell, I _died_ for him!" He squeezed the arrow even more tightly, as though it was the sole cause of all his misery. "And this… This is what I get in return!" Rage flashed in his eyes when Natasha grabbed the item without a word. "Hey!"

Natasha inspected the arrow carefully. Then tossed it aside and met his eyes firmly. "That wasn't one of Clint's", she announced. Sounding sure of the matter. "We won't know what happened there before one of them wakes up. But Clint wasn't the one who tried to kill your sister."

Pietro's jawline tightened. Like a moth to the flame his eyes were glued to the arrow, even if the sight of Wanda's blood made his stomach turn. "Sorry, but… Right now I have no idea what to believe in anymore."

There was fairly little that could be said after those words. They waited in a deep and thoughtful yet surprisingly unloaded silence. Still, despite everything, managing to find a tiny bit of comfort from each other.

At eleven hours, six minutes and thirty-eight seconds a somber faced doctor could be seen approaching the room, clearly bearing bad news. At the moment Pietro experienced something utterly foreign to him. The whole world, absolutely everything, around him stilled.

* * *

It was a bizarre world. Dark yet not threatening. No temperature seemed to exist. It wasn't too warm or cold, not even just right. Only pure, utter nothingness. The one thing to be seen were the incredibly beautiful, colorful lights that reminded Clint of Aurora Borealis. They were so mesmerizing that it was impossible to look away.

"Do you think this is real?" Wanda murmured because anything louder would've felt out of place.

Clint scoffed. "Of course not." He was starting to feel tired and heavy. As though he'd been about to fall asleep although he was already dreaming. Odd. "You should wake up, now." _While you still can._

Wanda sighed. "I know." Somehow it was still possible to feel her gaze. "You'll wake up soon, too, right?"

"Stop worrying", Clint commanded the best as he could. It came out surprisingly firmly. "I'll be fine, I promise."

It was bizarre to feel so completely, utterly alone when she left. Clint sighed and closed his eyes, finally letting the exhaustion get the better of him. He was almost sure that the enchanting lights were humming a lullaby.

* * *

Wanda opened her eyes. Simple as that. There was no screaming or drama. She simply slid back to the waken world, as subtly and quietly as she left it. To meet a pair of eyes she knew as well as her own.

Pietro looked absolutely exhausted, like he'd been to hell and back a couple of times. But when he saw her awake a rare, bright and honest smile took over his whole face. She couldn't help but respond the best as she was able to. She felt a hand in hers and squeezed tightly.

Later there'd be difficult questions and pain. A long, hellish road to recovery. But they were both alive and finally together again. For now, she preferred to focus on that thought. The hell could come later.

* * *

Steve couldn't understand, for the life of him, how he could simultaneously feel incredibly numb and ache all over. He folded his arms a little more tightly around his upper body while watching how behind a glass window Natasha sat with Clint. Her back was to him but the soldier guessed that she was talking to the archer. He could only hope that her words would reach the Hawk from whatever dark place his mind was drifting in.

It'd been five days. Clint lost a shocking amount of blood. Which led to numerous complications. It didn't help that the bullet did quite a bit of damage. One of the archer's kidneys had been removed and it'd take a very long time before his body would recover. If he'd recover at all. There was a very real possibility that they'd lose the archer before they'd get any answers to the numerous questions lingering in the air.

"I showed Stark the security footage from that Hydra base." To most people Fury's voice might've sounded devoid of emotions. Steve knew better. The older man was utterly exhausted. "He needs some time to think."

Steve snorted. "Stark doesn't think." That footage… It'd never, ever leave his memories. Wanda being forced to use her powers on Clint… The archer struggling furiously but inevitably failing… Both of them tormented by not only physical torture but also the crushing load of guilt… "Do we have an ID on the two men who escaped yet?"

Fury shook his head, his expression darkening. "They never revealed their faces to the cameras. But we're trying." A subtle, barely noticeable look was darted at the younger man. "The Avengers should keep trying, too."

Steve's eyes either blazed with barely controlled anger or shone with moisture. It was hard to tell. "Take a look around you. Bruce is still missing. We haven't seen Thor in a long time and there's no telling when he'll choose to appear again. We… We may lose Clint. And Stark…" His steps were uncomfortably loud in the otherwise quiet hallway while he marched away. "Hydra won. There's nothing left of the Avengers."

* * *

Over two weeks later Tony stood behind the glass that separated him from Clint. His hands trembled and he shoved them harshly into his pockets. His head buzzed and spun, leaving his thoughts scattered and unfocused. He swallowed, wincing at the taste in his mouth.

For once the archer was alone. Now would've been the perfect chance to… What? Did he have any idea?

"Are you here to finish the job or just creeping around?"

To his embarrassment Tony actually jumped at the sound he expected to never hear again. His gaze swept only briefly towards Pietro. "I don't know what Rogers and Romanoff have told you but I didn't shoot him."

"Are you going to?"

Tony gave the kid an incredulous look. "Of course not!" He focused once more on his friend. Or was it former friend, now? The thought brushed him with misery. "What he did… It was horrible." It took two and a half weeks of running around and away from everyone. It was at the beginning of week two Fury found him with the footage. Now, finally, he'd been able to at least somewhat process what he saw. "But… It wasn't him."

Pietro was unnaturally quiet for a couple seconds. "Well, good. Because… They're both victims of those…" The boy's whole face contorted. "Since she woke up Wanda's been having nightmares. She wakes up crying and screaming. She refuses to talk to me about… any of it, just keeps saying that she's sorry. And whenever I mention Clint's name she has a panic attack." The speedster's eyes were pure lava when meeting his. "So… They were both pulled into that sick scheme. They're innocent. If you hurt Clint you'll have to hurt my sister, too. And if you do that no fancy suit of yours will be enough to protect you."

Tony gawked for a while. Then melted into a tiny smile. "You can be a real badass, Speedy."

"Tin can."

"Do you have any idea how alike the two of you are?"

For those few precious seconds they'd actually succeeded in forgetting the situation at hand. With those words reality caught up with them once more, making both their shoulders slump. It was Pietro who eventually spoke. "Just go in there and talk to him." The boy nodded towards Clint's unconscious form. "That guy… He made me do the one genuinely brave thing I've ever done in my life. Without him Wanda would've never joined your team. And even there, in the forest… I could see that you fought harder for each other. For the team. Especially after he got injured." The kid's eyes hardened to an almost comical extend. "So suck it up and go in there, and prove to him that he's needed." The speedster then frowned. "Isn't that how the saying goes? 'Suck it up'?"

"You can be really annoying, did you know that?" Still, as soon as the younger man had left Tony took a deep breath, then stepped into the room. His feet were unsteady but so far determined.

For several long moments, a small eternity, Tony just stood beside the bed, staring at the Hawk. Clint looked so very vulnerable there, like a single rough touch would've been able to shatter him. And to think that for a while Tony was ready to…

"I… I'm sorry." Was that his voice? Because he could barely recognize it. _For almost shooting you… For avoiding you… For…_ The list went on and on and on in an endless loop. "I'm sorry." Then, unable to stand the sounds of the machinery and the crushing weight sitting on his chest, the usually brave man did something that was against his nature. He bolted.

If Tony stuck around just a little longer, or glanced over his shoulder, he would've seen how Clint's hand twitched, trying to reach out.

* * *

Natasha had fought mightily. But she'd been up without any sleep for almost four days. Eventually it caught up with her.

She had no idea how long she'd been asleep on the chair beside Clint's bed, keeping watch, when something jolted her back to the waken world. It was a brief, barely traceable twitch in the hand underneath hers. She already thought that she imagined the motion until it happened again.

Natasha sat up straight. Her facial expression betrayed nothing but every single muscle in her body tightened with anticipation. "Clint?"

It clearly took a lot of effort. But eventually Clint's bleary eyes were halfway opened. He frowned and looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. Finally his gaze found her. Whatever she'd expected him to say first it wasn't the single, barely comprehensible word he uttered. "Tony…?"

* * *

In three weeks Pietro should've grown used to Wanda's nightmares. They seemed to appear as frequently as his own, which showed a never-ending slasher film about his death and coming back to life. That night he was, for once, sleeping calmly when he woke up to Wanda's heart shattering scream. Instantly fully awake he pulled her into his arms and hugged her gently. "Shh… Shh…" Sadly waking up like that was becoming a routine.

However, this time something went differently. Because for the first time Wanda spoke of her dreams, even if the words were hard to understand. "He… God, Pietro, he fought back so hard, at first…! And when… When he realized that there was no way out… That he'd have to kill those people…" She gasped, barely able to breathe, let alone speak. "He… He was ready to die, to spare them… He… He wanted to die…" She clutched at his shirt so hard that it tightened painfully. "He… He's only alive because… if he died… They would've killed me, too." A small whimper left her. When she spoke again her voice was quiet but stronger. "When… When he told them that he wanted to die… Told them to kill him because he wouldn't let them use him… They laughed."

For the first time ever Pietro didn't know what to say to his sister. He just held her tighter, wishing that there was a way to take this hurt, this trauma, away from her. It took forever before he made up his mind. "C'mon", he murmured softly, getting up and urging her to follow. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" There wasn't exactly suspicion in Wanda's voice. But she sounded slightly wary.

"To the only person who may be able to help you."

* * *

At first Clint held it together remarkably well, for someone who woke up after three full weeks following the trauma he went through before ending up to the hospital. He answered the questions of the medical staff, Fury and other far less pleasant S.H.I.E.L.D employees with precision and politeness that surprised them all. Yet things were bound to go downhill sooner or later.

Inevitably Loki invaded Clint's dreams, for the first time in ages. The trickster's face blurred together with Wanda's and for some reason Barney's. They were all sneering at him. They never once said a word, no matter how many times and loudly he demanded it. Eventually he woke up to his own hysterical scream, panting and his heart racing at such speed that the whole organ seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. No amount of gasping seemed to bring any breath into his lungs and a tiny, still rational part of him warned that he was close to hyperventilating. The machinery around him was beeping furiously.

The room's door opened and his chest tightened. This time it wasn't the hospital staff, though. Instead he discovered the Maximoff twins, Wanda still in her hospital gown and leaning heavily on her brother for support, both of them incredibly pale. They froze, unsure what to do in such a situation.

Of course Natasha had told him that Pietro was alive, after all. But actually seeing the young Sokovian… And this was the first time since the whole disaster he faced Wanda. It was impossible to tell which one of them was more tense and nervous.

"We…" Pietro cleared his throat. "Well, Wanda had some… unpleasant dreams. And maybe you wouldn't mind the company?"

Clint nodded towards the armchairs that'd been dragged beside the bed. Far more comfortable than the average hospital chairs, courtesy to Nick Fury's influence. He watched with tired yet careful eyes how the twins approached, then sat down. Touching was still off limits since it'd take a while before Clint would be able to stop expecting Wanda's hands to draw him back into his most vivid and cruel, continued nightmare.

Wanda gulped, clearly catching on. "Look… I'm sorry…"

Clint shook his head immediately. Firm and honest. "Not your fault", he announced. "I… may forget, sometimes. But… Never your fault." His head shifted slightly with difficulty, allowing him to look at Pietro. It took a few moments before he figured out what to say. "Good to see you alive."

"Bet you didn't see that one coming."

Clint didn't quite smile. He was still far from that space of mind. But a hint of warmth appeared to his eyes before they slipped closed without him noticing. Not much later the twins followed him to calm, dreamless slumber.

Natasha was unprepared for what she found in the early hours of the morning. At first she stared. Then a rare, soft half a smile took over her face. No one would see it, anyway.

Clint was fast asleep on his bed, his eyebrows furrowed but for the time being sleeping soundly. At last. The twins were also asleep. Pietro had lifted his legs on the bed and leaned as comfortably on his chair as possible. At the moment the boy was snoring slightly. Wanda, finally appearing free of physical and emotional discomfort, had leaned forward so that he upper body was resting on the bed, her head a slight distance away from Clint and one of her hands almost touching the archer's.

Natasha refused to use the word 'adorable'. But the sight did make her feel strangely warm inside. She was still smiling uncharacteristically as she walked away, soundlessly as a shadow. Those three needed every bit of rest for what was to come.

* * *

Wanda was the first one to be discharged from the hospital. Clint's turn was a week and a half later. Despite the… complicated situation the remaining team decided to take him together to the Farm to recover.

Tony was just returning to the hospital when his phone began to ring. He frowned upon noticing that it was Natasha. "What's wrong?"

" _Clint isn't in his room._ " She sounded incredibly furious. If it'd been someone else he might've thought that she sounded upset. " _It was the same after Loki. He isn't sure if he can trust himself with Laura and the kids._ "

Completely free of his will Tony's gaze rose. Finding the hospital's roof. His stomach plummeted. "I… think I know where he is."

" _I already checked the rooftop._ "

"Just… give me a chance." And he found himself meaning so much more than just the search. He was already running.

Natasha was silent for a moment. " _Are you sure that you're the right person…?_ " He hung up before she could finish.

Later Tony honestly couldn't remember how he made it to the hospital's rooftop, panting from all the running. There, barely a safe distance away from the edge, stood Clint. On unsteady legs, dazed eyes staring at the world spreading below. The whole situation was incredibly alarming.

Tony gulped. Then took a cautious step forward. "You're… not gonna jump, are you?"

Clint shuddered from startle and for a horrific second it looked like the archer's balance might break. But after a lifetime the man pulled himself together, then looked towards him. Visibly prepared for anything. "You're not gonna push me down, are you?" It didn't sound as light as it should've.

Tony felt sick. "I… I would never…" He couldn't even voice it. "Not really. Ever."

Clint looked at him with unreadable eyes. Then nodded slowly. "I know." Gentle. Honest. For a while they watched how a car after another sped by down below, so far away that it was for the best to not think about it. "I… When I was there, with Pepper…" There was a razor sharp moment of tension. "I noticed how she shielded her stomach, at the sight of threat. That's when I knew. And…" The archer wiped his eyes roughly. "Even if I couldn't save those ten others, even if I… I didn't have that control… At least I could save her."

Tony processed that for a long time. "You were sent after her, weren't you?" He took the silence as a reply. "What did they do, when you… didn't?"

Clint stiffened to an extend that looked truly alarming. Barely breathing. Then shook his head sharply. "Doesn't matter." The archer's facial muscles twitched. "Look… If someone, even a friend, came after Laura and the kids… I'd kill them, without questions. So…" They locked eyes. "I understand."

Tony nodded. It wasn't an absolution. It didn't magically make him stop feeling absolutely horrible, or chase away the crushing guilt. But it was a start.

"You never answered my question." Tony busied himself with sending the others a text that he'd found their escaped bird, then with helping Clint move as they began to leave to rooftop. "Were you planning on jumping?"

It took a little too long before Clint answered. "Nah. I just admired the view."

Neither of them was prepared for the reception they received in Clint's hospital room. The twins were there, poorly disguised worry on their faces. Natasha's expression was, as usual, impossible to read but the look of annoyance and relief she gave Clint spoke enough. Steve glared at Tony, then inspected the archer carefully with his gaze but didn't manage to relax fully even when spotting no new injuries. The trust wouldn't be rebuilt easily.

And then Pepper stepped forward. A small smile on her face. Clint shivered and almost recoiled a step until she took his hand. It was hard to say which one's trembled more. "So… Ready to go home?"

"Yeah." Clint's eyes held only a little bit hesitation. "Home sounds good."

It'd take a long time before Pepper would be able to calm down in the presence of the archer and before Clint would trust himself around her. But clearly they were both willing to try. Maybe they should all take a lesson from that…

* * *

There was only one place where the broken – possibly beyond repair – team could imagine recuperating. The Barton farm welcomed them with open arms and little questions, just like the previous time. If the children were worried about the blatantly obvious changes in their dad, they didn't let it show.

They got him home alive. That was all what mattered. The adults wished from the bottom of their hearts that it would've been so simple for them as well.

Five months flew by before any of them noticed. Clint and Wanda recovered slowly from their physical injuries. Emotional healing took far longer.

Laura had always been a very observant woman. Especially when it came to family. That early morning she stood by one of the house's windows, watching the team outside.

Lila was keeping Natasha busy with her drawings. Still the redhead had enough time to sneak constant glances towards Clint and Tony. Natasha was still keeping watch, even though the threat had passed long since. But day by day the worry and mistrust in her eyes lessened. Her trust wasn't gained easily and regaining it was almost impossible. But perhaps Tony would achieve it. Impossible was his specialty, after all.

Tony and Steve… were still having it rough. They were civil with each other but it was obvious that a lot more time would have to pass before trust could be even spoken of. It wasn't the first time their views clashed but by far the most vicious. Only time would tell if their friendship would recover from the blow.

The twins were settling to the group, slowly yet surely. Cooper was especially taken by Pietro, who was slowly getting used to being alive a second time. Laura wondered what her son would say if he found out that once his new friend gave his life for his dad. It was a lot more difficult for Wanda. Laura had always been a light sleeper and quite often she heard the girl walking around the house at ridiculous hours. Sometimes Wanda looked like she'd been crying and sounded like she'd screamed herself hoarse. But there was progress, little by little. Laura observed how Clint taught Wanda hand to hand combat. Both shivered when they made contact but neither retreated. Clint didn't blanch at the younger woman's touch anymore.

Yes, Clint himself… He still had nightmares, very often. Which was a big reason to why Laura slept even more lightly than in the past. Having his mind taken over once was a trauma. A second time… To be honest, for a while Laura was genuinely worried that her husband wouldn't recover from it. But Clint was a survivor. With a will of iron he put himself back together again, piece by piece. Gradually he was beginning to resemble the man who appeared to her ER once upon a time.

A small smile appeared to Laura's lips.

"Do you think they'll be able to work together again?" Nick Fury's voice asked from somewhere behind her.

She shrugged. "We'll see." She watched how Clint and Wanda exchanged a smile. "I've seen stranger things happening." She began to turn her head. "I'm not even going to offer coffee because…" She paused as she noticed that he was already gone. "… you never stay for coffee." She groaned and rolled her eyes, even if one corner of her lips twitched. "I hate it when he does that."

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: Just like he appeared to the Farm in 'AoU' – 'puf' and he was there. (grins) But seriously, those poor things! Fortunately it looks like they're on the mend. Despite the lingering tension… And there's a mini-Stark coming up! (BEAMS)

Soooo… Was that any good? At all? The box down below is itching to know your opinion!

 **COMING UP** (I haven't fully decided on the order yet – **feel free to vote** ):

Our favorite Hawk is presumed dead. Little does the team know that he's still very much alive, in a cave that's filling with water…

A little spar between Thor and Tony leads to Clint getting accidentally caught in between.

Clint's attacked in the most horrible kind of way. The injuries he receives are horrible. But physical recovery is only just the beginning…

After a grueling, dangerous mission the most hazardous part turns out to be the drive home when Clint gets into a bad car crash.

A THREE PARTER reveals what happens when a seemingly harmless annual checkup leads to Clint receiving a life altering diagnosis…

How do those sound – any good?

Awkay, it's practically morning and I've never made it to bed yet! So I've really gotta go. Until next time! I really hope that you'll all join in there.

Take care!

* * *

Guesty Guest: You sure are! (HUGS) (then chuckles)

Cas indeed! A major typo, there. But I'm sure that he'd forgive. He's just that awesome. (grins) I'm THRILLED to hear that I'd heard correctly and so many people adore him! But then again, who wouldn't?!

LOL! You're not alone. That happens to me a lot, too. (chuckles)

Those whump ideas are scary when they just attack me like that. Out of nowhere. Like someone would've flicked a switch. Now let's hope that our poor Hawk survives all my ideas…! (winces)

I KNOW! He's got the most fascinating background story… well, ever (parents, brother, the circus, the life after…)! I'm a bit miffed that it's never been portrayed in a movie. But then again, that's what fanfiction is for! (smirks) (That's an AWESOME headcanon! Another one is that Will is actually Clint, going by a false alias.) LOL! Let's welcome those poor things.

(snickers) (then gulps)

A thing to know about me? I'm absolutely, horribly cruel sometimes. (groans at oneself)

LOL! Exactly! (Heh, don't worry, I prefer a platonic bond between those two. They're the best science bros, tho.)

Okay… Okay… I just laughed SO HARD! (keeps giggling) Yup, totally your superpower. (high fives)

Awkay, it's high time I start heading towards bed for a few hours… MASSIVE thank yous for the review! Until we type again.


	35. A Hawk Without a Wing

A/N: In honor of Easter I'm early this weekend. Hooray…?

MY GOSH…! You guys are seriously baffling. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your FANTASTIC reviews! DANG, it feels SO GOOD to realize that Clint Barton has so many people out there who love him (almost) as much as I do (let's ignore how worrying it is that we love making him suffer, yeah…?). (BEAMS) LOTS of hugs to you all!

Awkay, because I'm a bit hungry (literally)… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **CLINT X LAURA IN THIS ONE. Mini-Hawks will make an appearance!**

* * *

A Hawk Without a Wing

* * *

By the time she was thirty-six Ellie Myer had always been average in every way possible. She had a normal childhood. She did well at school but not spectacularly. She ended up having a tolerable but mundane job. She married a man she met during her college days and they had two children, a house and even a dog. She led a good life with no notable highs and lows, with no big shocks or surprises. Sometimes it's a single bad decision that can change someone's entire life. For her it was taking an ill-timed phone call.

It was dark and rain had been falling heavily all day. Ellie was incredibly irritated as she drove towards home. The fight she was having with her husband over the phone wasn't helping matters. "… just decided that we're going to spend the entire weekend with your mother? Without even asking me?"

He sighed heavily. " _Ellie, please! You didn't hear her. She sounded…_ "

Ellie gritted her teeth, so hard that it hurt. She knew that she was being childish but she'd been waiting for this weekend for a long time and now… "So you completely forgot that it's our anniversary, didn't you? Again."

For a few seconds that spoke deafeningly loudly her husband was quiet. Then swore softly, most likely refraining from using more volume because the kids were nearby. " _Ellie, I'm sorry…_ " He went on but whatever he said she caught none of it.

Ellie had been distracted enough to go against a red light. She could've made it through with just a scare because the road was practically deserted. For the past half an hour, which was how long she'd been driving and they'd been first talking, then arguing, she hadn't seen a single other vehicle. Luck, however, decided to go against her. And all her husband's words drowned into the noise of a car's horn being honked.

Ellie turned her head just in time to have headlights blinding her. Since then everything happened so fast that she didn't even have the chance to cry out. The other driver seemed to have better reflexes. The car that'd been charging right at her changed its direction, brushing hers loudly but harmlessly on its path before continuing inevitably, the wet and slippery road making it impossible to stop entirely. The moment those headlights disappeared from sight was the most horrific moment of Ellie's life.

Out of reflex Ellie attempted to stop her own vehicle, so sharply that it was sent spinning a couple of times. Finally, after an eternity and a half, the car stilled, so that she had a direct view to the crushed remains of the other vehicle which had ended up to the side of the road. No one was climbing out.

" _Ellie?_ " It wasn't until then she remembered her phone, which had slipped to from her hand during the chaos. Her husband sounded absolutely terrified. " _Ellie, what happened? Are you okay?_ "

Tears blurred Ellie's brown eyes. She took a couple of shuddering breaths before managing to grab a hold of the item. "I… I'm okay. But…" She swallowed hard, which wasn't enough to erase the bitter taste sitting in her throat. "I'll… I'll call you back." She hung up without waiting for his reaction, then got out of the car and ran despite the fact that her legs barely carried her weight.

There were rocks on the side of the road, followed by a metallic railing that separated the road from a stunningly beautiful valley that spread down below. The other car had crashed on the railing quite hard, the driver's decision to avoid a head-on collision with her having pushed it to a path where avoiding a second disaster had been impossible.

Her heart hammering furiously and dropping all the way to her stomach Ellie prepared herself for the worst. The dread grew when she saw all the blood. She was fairly sure that the man's hair was blond but with all the red it was hard to say. His breathing looked and sounded horrible, it was more desperate gasps than anything else. The last thing she expected was to find a pair of eyes half open, hazy from pain and confusion as they were. Obviously the man was clinging stubbornly to whatever little there was left of his consciousness.

* * *

Clint Barton heard, as though from some other world, how a woman's voice he couldn't recognize tried to reach out for him. Asking what his name was, where he was hurting. He wished that he would've had enough breath to tell her who he was. To ask her to call Laura, or maybe the Avengers.

He really, really missed Laura. Because it hurt and, if he was brutally honest with himself, he was scared. When the stranger began to talk to someone else, most likely calling 911, he tried to remember his last conversation with his wife. It was before the mission. Wasn't it? All the details were missing somewhere in his chaotic, or perhaps shutting down, mind.

She laughed at something he said, even though it was stupid. He wished that he remembered what it was because he loved making her laugh. Then she cried a few tears, blaming lack of sleep that came with an aching, teething baby. They'd long since agreed on avoiding 'I love yous' before missions in fear of jinxing things but she told him to come back home soon. Sternly.

Goddamnit, Clint just wanted to go home…! He almost made it there, too. Just twenty more minutes and…

A hand grabbed his. Usually such unexpected contact would've startled him but something about this felt soothingly familiar. He squeezed back the best as he could, clinging nearly desperately to the feeble comfort.

Clint was barely aware of what was happening when the paramedics arrived. The questions they made were jumbled to his ears. Very soon darkness came, wiping away the world around him.

* * *

The second the man lost consciousness, appearing horribly pale and lifeless, Ellie knew that her life would never be the same again. She stared with wide, horrified eyes as the paramedics fought to save the stranger's life. They were all too preoccupied to notice the small, black bag that slid from the backseat to underneath the passenger's seat in the middle of the chaos. It would've contained his ID. And inside it his phone's screen kept flashing as it rang on a silent mode.

* * *

The mission had been long and hard. Upon heading home they all carried bruises, inside and out. The thought of sleeping for a week felt truly appealing to Natasha.

Natasha's thoughts of a warm bed were interrupted when her phone began to ring. She frowned upon noticing that the caller was Laura. Wasn't Clint home by then? She picked up as soon as she'd been able to pull over. "What…?"

Laura's tense, terrified voice cut the question short. " _I may be worrying over nothing, but… Clint sent me a text two hours ago, saying that you guys are back. Do you have any idea where he is?_ "

* * *

It was Tony who found the accident site. His heart stilled for a mighty moment when he saw the flashing lights and the part of the road that'd been closed. And then he noticed the entirely too familiar, basically crushed car. His stomach twisted into knots and, although he would've never admitted it to a soul, his eyes blurred.

 _No, no, no way…!_

Tony parked in such a manner that it was a miracle he didn't cause a second accident, then dashed towards the nightmarish sight. Quite vaguely he registered a hysterically crying woman who'd draped a shock blanket over her shoulders and the grim faced police officer interviewing her. Then his line of vision was filled by another police officer. "Sir, this is…"

"I don't care", Tony snapped instantly. Consequences be damned. He barely recognized his voice. "That… That's my friend's car. What the hell happened?"

* * *

Dr. Jocelyn Dormer had worked at the emergency room for almost ten years. The passing time didn't make facing the tragedies any easier. She took a deep, steadying breath, then approached her newest patient. "What do we have?"

"John Doe. The cops appeared just when we were leaving so we may have an ID soon." There was a morose look on the paramedic's face. "He tried to dodge another driver who failed to notice a red light and ended up swerving off the road. He's been bleeding pretty heavily and is now in a shock. BP's been out of whack. He tried to give up on us once during the drive here."

Further tests showed just how extensive the damage was. As soon as a catheter had been put in place they noticed that the patient was urinating blood. It was no wonder that he wasn't breathing properly when some more blood seemed to be filling up his lung. He hit his head quite hard and there was some swelling in his brain but they'd have to wait until he woke up to see if there'd been any permanent damage. If he would in fact wake up at all. His lower body took quite a bit of damage from where it was pinned into the car. The good news was that his back, albeit horrifically bruised and battered, would make a full recovery. The bad news was that his right leg wouldn't. It was crushed and in the end they had no other choice but to amputate it from knee down.

He lost his leg and a massive amount of blood. Eighteen hours after he'd been admitted there was still a good chance that he'd lose his life as well. But at least they finally had his name. And Dr. Dormer found out that some of his family was already there waiting for news.

Five visibly exhausted people had gathered into the waiting room. A woman with red hair who sat with her back unnaturally straight, a pair of sharp eyes darted at the doorway. A man with fair hair who stood before the window. He turned instantly despite having had his back to her and her not having made a sound. A man with a subtle amount of beard and haunted eyes who'd been pacing around but froze instantly when noticing her. In a few seconds she was surprised to recognize him as Tony Stark. Another dark haired man who'd had his face buried into his hands. He lifted his gaze slowly, almost cautiously, when she entered. The final occupant, a tall man who had the aura of someone with royal heritage, darted a pair of demanding eyes at her and folded his arms.

They stood and faced her as one. Like a family. And that was when it dawned on Dr. Dormer that her patient was in fact one of the Avengers. No wonder she felt like she'd seen him on TV. Well, she was quite busy with work during New York…

It was the smaller of the two blondes who finally spoke. His voice sounded unnaturally tight. "How is he?"

* * *

For far too long it was uncertain whether Clint would pull through at all. Every tiny step forward in his recovery seemed to be followed by ten fumbling ones backwards. He needed several surgeries and the complications seemed to refuse to stop occurring. He tried to leave them five times but the medical staff was even more stubborn and pulled him back. Until finally Clint's doctor announced that his condition was stable enough for them to let him try to wake up. Since then endless hours dragged by as they waited.

Clint's first awakening was nearly missed. Steve, who was keeping watch at the time, was incredibly tired. His eyelids drooped and almost closed until he heard a soft, barely audible moan. Instantly his eyes were on his friend. "Clint?" The archer was frowning. Encouraged, the soldier continued. "Clint, it's alright. Open your eyes, yeah?"

Clint sighed heavily. For a while it looked like the Hawk would slip away once more until his eyelids first twitched, then opened a crack. After a few moments of confusion, they seemed to recognize him. Relief flooded through Steve in waves.

Clint's first words succeeded in catching him off guard for several reasons. "That other driver…" The voice was hoarse from lack of use. "Did I save them?"

For a bit Steve stared, wondering how to answer and if he'd be able to control himself. Eventually he nodded stiffly. "Yeah, you saved her." _And it cost you…_

Clint seemed to be satisfied with that and oblivious to his thoughts. The man nodded the best as he could, then fell asleep once more, fatigue and medication pulling him under. Steve had to wait for ten minutes before felt composed enough to alert a nurse.

* * *

Clint woke up five more times before he was finally coherent. Each time a friend was there. Later he remembered vaguely Thor's silent support. And the sound of Bruce flipping through what was most likely a science magazine. Tony fought with someone before noticing that he was awake. The billionaire gave him a smile and said something he didn't have the time to catch. Clint lost consciousness wondering why his friend looked so tired.

Waking up number seven was the one Clint would remember for the rest of his life. Natasha was there when he came to, groaning as a horrific slash of white hot agony shot through his whole body. Every single one of his muscles tightened as a result, worsening the discomfort.

"Clint?" Did she sound worried? Natasha didn't do worrying. "Are you awake?"

The agony… It was everywhere. Gnawed at every little bit of his body. The worst, however, was his leg. If he hadn't known better, he would've thought that someone was sawing off the limb with a dull blade.

Disregarding the fact that it was a horrible idea and deaf to Natasha's protests Clint forced himself to a sitting position, gasping when the pain it caused nearly made him black out. He outstretched a trembling hand towards where the center of his agony was, reaching out through the blanket. Cold filled every little bit of him when he failed to find solid flesh.

"Clint…"

Natasha's warning didn't register. Trembling to the core of his being by then Clint pushed aside the blanket. What he discovered made the bottom drop from his world.

"Your leg… It was crushed beyond repair", Natasha explained quietly. "They had no other choice…"

"Get out." Was that his voice? His throat felt so tight that even breathing was a challenge he barely won. A distant part of his head warned him that he was on the edge of hyperventilating. "Please, just… Just get out… For a bit… Please…!" He didn't usually beg but now…

Natasha obeyed with an amount of reluctance he could feel. "I'll give you two minutes. Don't you dare even try anything stupid."

Clint waited until the door was closed, clutching the bedsheet so hard that his knuckles turned white. His eyes didn't leave the spot where his leg was supposed to be for even a fraction of a second. Then, losing all control and for a while even his sanity, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

* * *

The next time Clint woke up Bruce was there. He kept a close eye on the archer as the man first struggled to wake up and figure out what was going on, then tensed up as the memories came mercilessly. The scientist sighed heavily. "Clint…"

Clint shook his head. At first it looked like the way the man's eyes shone was caused by the room's lights. The choked voice revealed the truth. "Don't, Bruce. Just… Just save it, yeah?" The Hawk focused on breathing for a while. "Because… It hurts, okay? And… I don't wanna hear, not yet."

In a few beats Bruce realized that the way Clint wiggled wasn't caused only by emotional discomfort. He frowned, worry and sorrow making him feel unnaturally heavy. "Do you need some more pain medication?" Clint nodded, which alone was a sign that the agony had to be unbearable. The archer never, ever admitted to feeling pain unless it was practically killing him. The scientist fiddled with the morphine pump for a second, casting constant glances towards his friend. "Where does it hurt?"

Clint's jawline tightened and the man fixed his eyes firmly on the ceiling to avoid looking at him. "The leg." The words were bitter and tight. "It… It hurts, like it's still there. I keep telling myself that it's gone, but… It hurts." That was when the tears came. It was the first and last time Bruce ever saw the Hawk cry. "It hurts."

There were no words that could've made the agony go away. No magic tricks that would've made the loss more bearable. So Bruce did the only thing he could to support his friend. He lay a hand on Clint's tense shoulder and held on. In silence they waited together for the storm to pass by.

* * *

Lila Barton was still a little girl. There were a lot of things she couldn't understand about what was going on. She did see that her mom was sad and worried. Lila was told that dad had been hurt badly. The child was scared because she knew what that meant. This had happened far too many times, after all. It meant that she might lose him. That this time he might not come back home.

Lila had her very own tradition for those terrifying times. She kept talking to her dad all the time. Even though she knew that he wouldn't hear her it made the fear fade, just a little bit. Made her feel like he was closer somehow.

Then, ten days after the news had been broken to her and Cooper, her mom came to her room much past bedtime. There was a smile on her mom's face and tears in her eyes. The little girl's whole body filled with warmth when she knew what it meant. Her dad would be okay.

Lila had a tradition for those days as well, for the long awaited good news. She took a tiny knife that she wasn't supposed to have and crawled underneath her bed. There she carved a tiny arrow to the bottom of the bed. The picture gave company to several others. It was her very own, quiet way of saying 'thank you'.

A couple of days later her mom came to her room again with a strange look on her face and eyes that looked like she'd been crying. "I just talked to uncle Steve. What do you say if we'd go and see daddy?"

There was no way Lila would've said 'no' to that. Even if butterflies filled her stomach at the thought. She'd never actually seen her dad at a hospital before. Nor had she ever been to a hospital. What if it'd be too much for her?

The drive there was the longest journey Lila had ever taken in her life, figuratively and literally. Cooper, who was even more quiet than usual, seemed to feel the same way. At some point he took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. She returned it eagerly. It was a small relief to know that at least she wasn't the only one nervous.

The hospital was huge and Lila hated the smell that lingered everywhere. She took a subconscious step closer to her mom but refused to run away. After a much too long walk they entered a hallway where Natasha was waiting. The redhead didn't even try to smile and Lila was okay with it. She didn't feel like smiling, either. "Hey, you." The Widow's attention shifted to her mom. "Don't worry, Fury made sure that everything's safe for you being here. You guys got here faster than we expected, though."

Her mom shrugged. "Let's say that I was motivated." There was a palpable hint of worry and tension in the air. "How… is he?"

Natasha did answer something. Lila heard none of it. Because just then a low, pained cry met the child's ears. It was a voice she recognized, even if she'd never heard that heartbreaking, horrifying noise before. She and Cooper were running instantly, ignoring the fact that they might not be ready for what they'd find. Ignoring the voice of their mom, asking them to wait. It wasn't until they were in the room they froze. Time itself seemed to stop.

At first they saw uncle Steve, who had a frown of worry on his face. Then they discovered a doctor, who seemed to be handling some sort of a medicine. And then, finally, they noticed their dad. In the middle of all the machinery, appearing incredibly pale, small and fragile in the ridiculously huge hospital bed. It made no sense to Lila. Her dad was never, ever supposed to appear so weak and vulnerable, like he might break if she'd touch him. He was gasping and trembling, a sheen of sweat clearly visible on his pale forehead. There was a huge amount of wires connected to him and Lila moved her gaze elsewhere, unwilling to face them. A big mistake. Because that was when she noticed something else. The bedcovers had been either removed or kicked away, leaving his legs visible. Or well, what was left of them. Her eyes widened when she realized that one of them was missing. Instead slightly bloodied covers shielded the stump.

"Coop? Lila?" Her dad didn't sound like himself, either. He sounded tired and… scared. Her dad wasn't supposed to be scared. His face seemed to have fallen even paler as he looked at them with wide eyes. "Hey…!"

Lila couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't handle the emotions rolling through her like a tidal wave. And so she spun around and run, leaving behind her brother, her dad and Steve. She chose the opposite direction from which her mom and Natasha were approaching, then picked up pace. She had absolutely no idea where she was going. She just knew that she had to get away because felt like she couldn't breathe.

Her dash was interrupted when bumped into someone. She stumbled back a step and looked up, blinking to rid her eyes of the blinding tears. Thor's confused eyes looked back at her.

Without saying a word Lila wrapped her arms around the Asgardian the best as she could, burying her face to him. And finally let the tears fall properly. Let the crushing weight on her shoulders roll off with loud sobs.

* * *

Cooper stood there, absolutely frozen. Trying very hard to decide what to do. His heart was beating so loudly that it was deafening.

"Hey." Unfamiliar as it sounded his dad's voice caught all his attention. He still didn't seem to be breathing properly but at least the agony in his eyes was lessening. "It's… It's okay. I just got some medication. I'll be okay, I promise."

"You'll be tired, too, with that medication." His mom wiped her eyes so swiftly that he nearly missed it, making her way to his dad and kissing his forehead. Her hand found the archer's bigger one effortlessly and their fingers tangled together, ignoring the wires. "Sleep, okay? We'll be here, I promise."

Cooper backed away until he found a chair in the corner of the room. He sat down slowly, then pulled his legs against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. His eyes stung unpleasantly as he watched how his dad slowly lost the fight to stay awake and drifted off, his hand never leaving his wife's. She wiped her eyes again with her free hand. Cooper sat there soundlessly, keeping watch over his parents despite the fact that Captain America was also in the room. He didn't dare to look away for even a second although his eyes were so blurry that he could barely see. Not when he feared that after a careless blink his dad might be gone.

* * *

Thor had absolutely no idea what to do with the human child. How to console her. Eventually he picked her up as gently as he could and held her awkwardly. When she tightened her hold on him as a response and placed her face against his shoulder, still sobbing, he risked to hug a little more firmly. He opened his mouth, only to come to a conclusion that in this situation there might not be proper words. Eventually she quieted down. After a few brief seconds of panic, he realized that she was asleep.

Not knowing how, exactly, to proceed Thor began to make his way back to where the little girl ran from. It wasn't long until he faced Natasha. She blinked twice at the sight. Then, for the first time, he saw her smile properly, even if it was barely visible.

"What should I do with her?" he asked, careful to keep his voice so quiet that he wouldn't disturb the child.

"You seem to be doing just fine." Natasha glanced to side when Steve emerged from Clint's room, wiping his eyes, and headed towards the exit, without a doubt to get some air. For a second or two something changed in the redhead's eyes, only to disappear like the change was never there before she focused on him. "Why don't we sit down for a bit? These past days have sucked royally." Her eyes narrowed at as his lips opened for a protest. "Say 'language' and I'll smack you."

"There's a child present!" Thor exclaimed in a hushed yet scandalized voice.

"Do I look like I care?"

They slumped quite heavily to chairs that were mercifully nearby. Lila still clinging tightly to Thor in her sleep, Natasha staring at some spot on the wall with an unreadable expression. Time slipped by and in the end exhaustion took the better of them. The adults dozed off, Thor's protective hold on Lila not faltering for even a second.

* * *

Clint woke up to the unnerving sensation that it was hard to breathe. His eyes flew open and he blinked upon discovering a bush of disheveled hair. It took him longer than it should've before he realized that it was Cooper, who'd apparently climbed onto the bed while he was out cold and now lay on the side of him that had the last machinery and other hospital stuff. He smiled, as much as he could from the still nagging pain, then turned his head to see that Laura was reading a book on the chair beside his bed, clearly keeping an eye on him.

Alerted by his feeble motions she turned her eyes towards him and tried to grin. It didn't come out right. "I don't know what happened", she answered his unvoiced question. "I nodded off for a bit. When I woke up he was there beside you." One corner of her lips twitched. "Lila stopped by briefly to get Nate. She announced that she's going to teach Bruce how to change a diaper."

The mere mental image was almost enough to make Clint laugh. Almost. He sighed and sunk more heavily against the bedcovers, one of his hands stroking Cooper's head absentmindedly. "I gave them a scare, didn't I?"

"Not your fault", Laura announced firmly. She sounded like she might mean it. "We just… had a poor timing, is all."

"Hmm." Clint wasn't sure if he was convinced. He kept his eyes on his son to avoid meeting his wife's gaze. "I just… They're my kids. And… I scared Lila, so badly that she ran away. And I… I couldn't even follow her."

Laura was quiet for a while. "Well… If you want to follow her, you'll have to get out of that bed. And I know you. You will." Their eyes met and there was an honest smile on her lips. "You'll follow her out of this building. And one day you'll walk her down the aisle."

Clint didn't know what to say. He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump in it. "You… sound pretty sure about that."

Laura kissed him on the lips, firmly yet tenderly. "I am. Because that's the Clint Barton I met and fell in love with the second I lay my eyes on him. You always get back to your feet eventually. And you don't need to do it alone anymore, remember?"

As though to confirm her words the room's door opened. They pulled away from each other like a couple of schoolkids, even blushed a little in the room's dark. All other thoughts faded from Clint's head when he saw Lila at the door, with Bruce who had Nate in his arms.

For exactly five seconds the little girl was completely still and quiet. She then swallowed so hard that Clint heard it. "I… I'm sorry that I ran away, daddy", she whispered.

Clint shook his head. "It's okay", he swore. He beckoned her to come closer with one hand, mindful to not disturb Cooper. "Come here."

Lila shifted, uncertainty clearly visible on her face. "I… I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't, I promise."

That was all it took. Faster than he could prepare himself for she rushed to him and then clung to him. Holding on as tightly as if she feared that otherwise he'd slip away. And finally, for the first time since the beginning of the nightmare, Clint began to believe that maybe things would work out, after all.

* * *

Laura and the kids were forced to leave before the dawning of the next morning. Staying longer would've been too big of a risk, might've drawn unwanted attention. The goodbyes were wrenching and teary, and afterwards Clint requested to have a moment alone. Natasha wasn't worried, however. Far from it. Because she saw the look in her friend's eyes.

Hawkeye was on a mission, and he was going to fight with tooth and nail to get back to his family.

* * *

Three weeks later Clint's doctor announced that should things progress the way they did, the archer would get to go home in a few days. The very next day Tony stood behind the hospital room's door, knowing perfectly that no one else would be visiting at the time. It was ridiculous, really, that he had to gather his courage for a while before entering.

Clint smiled and arched an eyebrow upon seeing him. "Hey. You've been a stranger."

It wasn't an accusation. Still Tony felt a sharp stab of guilt. He cleared his throat and shifted weight. "I'm… sorry, about that. But… I've been busy with something." Dramatically as was his custom he revealed what he'd been hiding until then. A prosthetic leg, developed by Stark Industries. He was proud to come to a conclusion that it looked just like the real thing. "It's a super smart model, of course. It's effortless to fasten and it moves exactly like…" He trailed of for a moment. "… well, a real leg. And it's been designed to endure even Avengers missions. I made sure that the team knew to take your luck into account. Even one of your explosive arrows wouldn't make a scratch."

Clint stared for ages. Absolutely motionless, barely breathing. In the end it started to get a little worrying.

Tony shifted again. "Uh… You okay there, Feathers?"

Clint didn't cry. But the man's eyes did seem a little misty, even if the archer's facial expression was carefully in check. "You guys really want me back on the team, huh?"

Tony shrugged. "Well, of course we do." It was a simple fact. "What would we do without our eyes from the sky?"

Their gazes met and held. A lot was spoken in the moments of silence that followed. "Thank you", Clint murmured at last.

* * *

Two hours later Nick Fury was about to come and check up on his agent. Whatever he'd expected to encounter… It wasn't what he found when peering into the room.

For the first time in ages Clint was standing up, supported firmly by his brand new leg and Tony. The steps were tiny and clearly excruciatingly painful but Clint refused to give up. And Tony was taking every single new steps with his friend.

Fury slipped away without making a sound, leaving the two alone. He was content with the knowledge that the Hawk was clearly on the road towards recovery and would have several pairs of watchful eyes ensuring that he'd get there. If Fury's one remaining eye softened uncharacteristically no one would have to know.

* * *

Ellie Myer honestly thought that she'd never see the man who nearly died because of her again. Partially because she was almost certain that he was gone, that the biggest mistake of her entire life cost a life. She thought wrong.

A year later she was cooking dinner for her children – just the kids, because her marriage didn't survive the months following the disaster – when she heard her son's excited exclaim. "Mommy! It's the Avengers!"

Ellie put away the carrot she'd been chopping and made her way to the living room. "Really? Which city did they save this time?"

"London." Her son Philip grinned and pointed at the TV, the eight-year-old's eyes shining with joy. "Look, it's Iron Man!"

Her daughter Lauren, who just turned ten, wrinkled her nose. "Meh. I prefer Captain America."

Ellie was deaf to her children and blind to the mentioned heroes. Because all she could see was the man most people probably paid no attention to. He stood on the rooftop of a tall building, keeping a constant eye on the slowly calming down chaos down below. A silent force behind the better known faces.

It was the man Ellie almost killed. Standing tall alongside the rest of the Avengers. Alive.

"Mommy?" Philip's worried voice pulled her back to the space she was in. "Why are you crying?"

Ellie smiled and shook her head, then ruffled her son's hair. How could she even begin to explain…? Maybe she would, when they were older. Maybe then she'd find the courage. For now, she savored the feeling that she could breathe again, that a ton's weight had finally been lifted from her shoulders. "For no reason, love." She wiped her eyes, her first genuine smile in over a year widening. "Now come and help me with the dinner, you two. I think we can even have some chocolate muffins for desert."

* * *

 ** _End of Story_**

* * *

A/N: Hawkeye survives again! And awww, mini-Hawks! I just couldn't resist. (grins)

Soooooooooo… Was that any good in your book? Do leave a note to let me know! It'd be AWESOME to hear from you!

 **COMING UP: (the vote's still on, btw – the votes thus far have been counted and gratefully accepted)**

Our favorite Hawk is presumed dead. Little does the team know that he's still very much alive, in a cave that's filling with water…

A little spar between Thor and Tony leads to Clint getting accidentally caught in between.

Clint's attacked in the most horrible kind of way. The injuries he receives are horrible. But physical recovery is only just the beginning…

A THREE PARTER reveals what happens when a seemingly harmless annual checkup leads to Clint receiving a life altering diagnosis…

PLUS…!

In somewhere very near future poor Hawkeye will be subjected to drugs. (Ouch!) AND, I think I'll be borrowing a FANTASTIC idea from a certain 'Mission Impossible' movie…

How do those sound to you guys?

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see ya there.

 **HAPPY EASTER, AND TO THOSE NOT CELEBRATING HAVE AN AWESOME WEEKEND!**

Take care, have some chocolate eggs if you can and keep loving our favorite Hawk!

* * *

Guest (1): I TOTALLY know the feeling and share it! The poor thing. He's DEFINITELY, without a shadow of a doubt, my favorite, too.

That headcanon IS juicy, ain't it? (grins) I'll TOTALLY use it at some point.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): I'm OVERJOYED that you liked it! And noticed the Easter Eggs. (grins) I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 243: YAY! I'm mega-happy that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) Gosh, you can't even imagine how happy and flattered your kind words made me feel. I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the feathery journey!

Massive thank yous for the review!


	36. A Little Headache

A/N: First of all… **I'm so sorry that this isn't one of the poll options!** But this story wanted to be born NOW and I was powerless against it. I really hope that you won't mind!

Before getting to the actual story… GOOOOOSH! Thank you a MILLION times for all your incredible reviews. You guys are amazing! (HUGS) I'm enjoying typing this collection immensely so it's a joy to notice that this has gained friends.

 **ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER:** Thank you so much, 'Mission Impossible 3', for the idea that inspired this chapter! (bows humbly)

 **TONYXPEPPER IN THIS ONE, HINTS OF THE BARTON FAMILY.**

Awkay, before I've scared off you all… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride, although this wasn't a part of the poll.

 **AH, AND SO NO ONE GETS CONFUSED…! Clint has all his limbs in this one. THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER 'AoU'.**

* * *

A Little Headache

* * *

Tony Stark didn't sleep often. When he did he slept like the dead. Sometimes Pepper joked that even an explosion wouldn't rouse him. Which was why he was surprised when his eyes flew open in the dark of the night, his mind on full alert and already listening carefully, even if he had no idea what woke him.

There were no blaring alarms. Or screams, which appeared far too often in his nightmares. Hard as he tried he couldn't catch anything threatening, only Pepper's calm breathing beside him. Then, finally fully and properly awake, he heard the shuffling steps. The recognition that soon dawned was both a relief and unsettling.

Those steps definitely belonged to Clint and the archer was either incredibly exhausted or injured.

Carefully making sure that Pepper's rest wasn't disturbed Tony pressed a feather light kiss to her cheek, earning a very sleepy appreciate hum, then climbed reluctantly out of the bed. Of course he knew that Clint probably wanted to lick his wounds in solitude. But the guy had been absent for over two weeks. So sue Tony for being a little… concerned. Because he wasn't actually worried, of course he wasn't.

No matter how tired Clint was, no matter how badly the Hawk was aching, there was one place and one place alone where the archer headed whenever the man returned to the Tower from a mission. And indeed, Clint could be located to the kitchen area. By the time Tony got there his friend was preparing a mug of tea the stench of which made the billionaire shudder. "You sure you're not cooking up a biological weapon there, Feathers?" he quipped.

Clint shivered, caught off guard, which was a sure sign of the toll the mission must've taken on him. "Pepper's recipe", the archer revealed, his voice a little quieter and hoarser than usual. Tony's head was quick to diagnose either recent strangulation or a headache. Neither option felt very promising. "It tastes horrible but works miracles on headaches."

Diagnosis number two confirmed, then. For once in his life Tony wasn't proud of having been right. He frowned. "You had your head bashed in again, didn't you?" He shook his head disapprovingly, even if the other's back was turned towards him. "I've told you to stop doing that. Show Dr. Stark, yeah?" He rolled his eyes when his friend stiffened instead of obeying. "Look, I've seen you have a bullet dug from your arse and watched you vomiting. It can't be…" Clint turned, cutting him short. "… that bad." Tony winced. "Ouch!"

Clint gave him a dry look. Well, as much a man with one side of his head having been transformed into a bruise could. "Yeah, exactly. Ouch."

It wasn't just the bruise. One of Clint's eyes, which was in the middle of the disaster area, looked weird. It was bloodshot and the Hawk's pupils were uneven. "Please tell me that you weren't stupid enough to sneak away without letting an actual medical professional check up on you."

Clint rolled his good eye. "This mission was already a paperwork nightmare and I wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Besides, it's just a concussion. I'll live."

Tony stared for a few seconds. His friend definitely didn't seem very 'living' at the moment. "No offense, buddy. But have you looked into a mirror recently?"

One corner of Clint's lips twitched, a smile desiring to make an appearance. "Honestly, I've been avoiding mirrors. But I know that it looks nasty so I didn't go to the Farm yet."

Smart move, in Tony's opinion. The kids would've been terrified. And Laura would've given Clint's already aching skull a good, well deserved smack.

Those thoughts vanished when he noticed that Clint was practically swaying on his feet. "I know you have a hero complex, Birdie, but soon you're gonna fall flat on your face and I think you've got enough bruises there already. Sit down. I'll bring you the tea."

Clint obeyed without a word, which alone was very alarming. Tony delivered his friend the clearly much longed drink and gave the man a few moments before speaking, mindful to keep his tone low. "What was the mission about, anyway? It wasn't one of Fury's, I've pestered him enough to know for sure."

"Nope, it wasn't", Clint affirmed around a sip of tea and the wince that followed.

"And that's all you're gonna tell me, isn't it?"

"I'd have to kill you if I told you more."

"That joke just gets funnier every time." Tony noted with a degree of alarm that Clint seemed to have paled even further during their brief talk. It could've been just the growing exhaustion but with the archer's usual luck… "Seriously, though… I'd love to have someone from the med team to check that head of yours. Because you seem to be in enough pain to suggest that your skull's splitting in half. And your eye looks funny."

Those words made Clint freeze, the mug halfway on its way to the man's lips. The Hawk's good eye widened slightly. Whatever little color there'd been to accompany the rapidly darkening bruising vanished entirely.

Tony's stomach knotted. All of a sudden he was feeling very, very cold. "Clint?" So what if he sounded scared? He was allowed to! "That's it, I'm calling a doctor!" Bruce was sadly still absent, still missing and who knows where. But he knew a great number of medical professionals.

Clint gulped hard and for a moment the billionaire worried that his friend would throw up. The quiet voice that eventually came was eerily calm. The archer refused to look at him. "Don't call anyone. Just… I need you to take me to the med area and give my head a scan. Put on your suit, just in case."

* * *

Clint remembered falling asleep just before the final showdown of the mission. Which was bizarre because he never, ever fell asleep while a mission was nearing its end. It now occurred to him that he'd most likely been drugged. He woke up to a phone call that led him directly to the agent he'd been tailing – and to the said agent's current enemies, which explained the bruises. He'd been out cold for six hours. That was more than enough time…

"What _the hell_ is that?"

Tony's voice brought Clint violently back to the present time. He tensed up, then turned his head slowly and reluctantly to see exactly what he'd been dreading to discover. There, in the middle of a scan from his brain…

Clint's heart quite possibly skipped a couple of beats. It was hard to tell when his mind seemed to have shut down entirely. "That's a bomb." Hollow and numb. None of it was registering properly just yet.

Tony, who was thankfully dressed in his armor, stood absolutely still for two seconds. Then began to dash towards a phone. "I'm just… I'm not even gonna ask how it got there." Rambling on a panic mode. Not good. "I'll… I'll call Dr…"

"Don't!" Clint regretted raising his voice instantly when it felt like a chainsaw had collided with his head. That thing buried inside… Any moment now… "Didn't I tell you… Don't call anyone. Try to remove it… and it blows up." He licked his lips, finding them as well as his mouth oddly dry. "I've seen how these things are handled. There's only one way."

To both their surprise Tony actually stopped. Perhaps hoping for an easy miracle solution. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

Clint turned his head and stared at the unnaturally white ceiling above him. His head and heart were both pounding. "You've got a defibrillator here, right? Give me a shock. The current will fry the bomb."

"What?" Tony's shout quite nearly blew up his brain. "Clint, you're asking me to do something that'll stop your heart! You can't be seriously…!"

"I am." Clint turned his head again, relieved that he didn't actually have to see his friend's face from the mask. He tapped his own head with two fingers, even the gentle contact bringing a nasty flare. "This, right here… It goes off and my brain's toast. The other option… It's a chance."

Despite the suit he could see how Tony's shoulders slumped when the weight of the inevitable crashed on them. "Fine, you idiot. I'll fry you up. But on two conditions." The inventor took a deep, shuddering breath. "One, Natasha never finds out."

Clint nodded eagerly. Even if it made him want to throw up. "Probably a good idea", he agreed. "She'd kill us both." A poor shot at humor but with how heavy the air around and between them had become it felt like he had to at least try.

Tony either didn't notice or just wasn't in the mood. Possibly both. "And you… You come back. Your hear?" It sounded like the Iron Man's voice broke somewhere along the way but it was probably a trick of the archer's imagination.

Still… Clint could practically feel the waves of distress radiating from his friend. He nodded because it was the only comfort he could offer. "I promise", he murmured. Of course he couldn't really promise that. But he'd definitely try with absolutely all his might. Because… Well, he couldn't have Tony drag him back to kill him again, now could he?

For obvious reasons neither of them was in the mood for talking while they finished the preparations hurriedly. On the absolutely last possible moment Tony looked at him once more, reluctance written all over his posture. "Are you absolutely sure that this is the only way? I mean…"

Clint gave his friend a look that he hoped spoke everything necessary. _This_ is _the only way. Just do it. I trust you._ He didn't trust easily but he did trust Tony and wanted the man to know it. Especially if this whole fiasco turned pear shaped.

"Okay… Okay…" Tony swallowed several times, then braced himself visibly. "On three, yeah?" They looked at each other, both disconcertedly serious. "One… Two…"

The current rushed through Clint like a white hot flame, wiping away everything.

* * *

This was all just a nasty nightmare, right? Because none of this felt real to Tony. Or maybe it was more of him not wanting to believe that this was real.

Electricity traveled through Clint, making the archer jolt in a way that'd haunt Tony's nightmares until his dying day. Then… Nothing. Not even a twitch. No heartbeat. Even though the billionaire had known to expect as much it didn't make actually facing the fact any easier. Now…. Now he'd have to bring his friend back.

The suit was abandoned in a single breath, since the bomb clearly wasn't the problem anymore. Ignoring the bruises left by Clint's latest mission and the new marks he was bound to cause Tony kept pressing hard. Counted out loud in a feeble, almost childish tone that might've amused him under different circumstances.

One round of thirty compressions. No reaction. Another. Still nothing. Tony's eyes blurred from tears but he barely noticed. There was irony he couldn't quite appreciate in the fact that his heart was hammering fast and loudly enough for two while his friend's remained utterly still under his furious struggles. "C'mon, you bastard…", he muttered. "You… You promised, remember? So fight it, damnit! Stop being stubborn and fight!"

During round four Tony was desperate enough to start blabbering threats. He swore that he'd find a sharp shooter who'd smash all Clint's records although he suspected that such a person was impossible to find. He threatened even the archer's bow and arrows. Nothing happened.

By then a tear ran down Tony's cheek. "So… So that's it, huh? You'll just… You'll leave us like this? You just… leave… Us… The world… Laura… The kids…" How about that, he got a reaction. Just a slight shudder. Feeble but real. Tony's eyes widened before he went on like a steamroller, pressing determinedly. "You promised to teach Coop archery, remember? And… And you know me. I'd never train properly without you pestering me! So stop this and come back, you asshole!"

Maybe it was his pleading tone or the insult. But all of a sudden Clint's whole body spasmed and the archer gasped like someone who'd been diving for several minutes. Dazed eyes darted around wildly. In a flash the man was already sitting up, finding the strength from who knows where, and struggled to get up, to get away.

It took Tony several seconds to become coherent enough to function. He wrapped his arms around his friend and held on, sealing them to an awkward hug. "Easy, easy…! Don't… Don't get up yet. Just breathe. You're okay, you're okay."

Slowly Clint's struggles died down, leaving the Hawk still and wheezing. Eventually words could be comprehended. "… genius my ass … don't know … how to count …"

Tony couldn't help it. All his self-control had flown to the wind. He broke into a fit of hysterical giggles that sounded almost like sobs. It felt almost better than anything he'd ever experienced to hear Clint join in, even if it was hoarsely and quietly.

They'd be just fine.

Tony gulped thickly. His heartbeat was starting to calm down now that he could feel Clint's. "Do me a favor?" The inventor gritted his teeth, pleased that his friend couldn't see his face. "Never, ever make me do this again."

"'kayh…", Clint wheezed.

They were both startled when steps burst into the room. Out of nowhere a small group of medical professionals materialized, slowly but determinedly. "Agent Barton, would you lay down please? We'll connect you to a heart monitor…"

Releasing his hold on his friend, losing the constant contact to the evidence of continued life, was harder than it should've been. When the professionals began to work on Clint Tony turned slowly to see a one more person at the doorway. Pepper gave him a tiny smile, immense relief in her suspiciously watery eyes. Before Tony registered that he was moving he was embracing her, tears she couldn't see and he didn't notice rolling down his cheeks. Pepper held back, gradually assuring him of what he was beginning to believe.

Everything would be okay.

* * *

When Clint began to wake up he groaned at the annoying beeping sound that assaulted his ears and still aching skull. A hospital…? No, it didn't smell right. And the bed was too comfortable…

The Tower… But what…? Oh yes, the bomb… His chest still hurt. Thankfully it felt like at least Tony hadn't succeeded in cracking a rib.

Tony brought him back and he had no idea how to even begin to return the favor.

"You're awake, aren't you?" It took a few seconds too long to recognize Pepper's voice. "I saw that twitch."

Slowly, ignoring the fact that it took most of his strength, Clint forced his eyes to open a crack. He grinned, most likely dopily, at the sight of Pepper's face. "Hey." Well, at least his voice was working a little better. He frowned. "Where's Tony?"

"In the bed next to yours." At the look on his face Pepper went on. "He's perfectly fine. But I wanted to make sure that you both got rest and this felt like the best option." She narrowed her eyes at him, although the worry and friendly affection on her face reduced the impact dramatically. "You scared him pretty badly, you know. Although he'd rather lose a limb than admit it."

Puzzle pieces clicked together. Clint winced. "You saw the whole thing, didn't you?"

"Most of it, through security footage. I'm not going to ask how you got a bomb into your head. Good thing you came to where you could be helped."

Clint sighed. He wished that he would've had the strength to rub his face with both hands but didn't quite manage to. "I'm sorry."

"You're both idiots. But this still wasn't your fault." Pepper gave his hand a squeeze. "Now sleep. Tony will be fussing like mad when he finds out that you're awake."

Clint grinned although he probably should've been a little scared. His eyelids were already drooping. "Thanks."

Pepper said something as a response. Clint, however, was too far on his way to sleep to hear. He fell asleep, feeling safe under her watch.

Despite her fatigue Pepper smiled as she watched Clint's relaxed, albeit bruised face. Then, slowly, she turned her gaze to the room's other bed. Tony was still asleep as well, snoring softly, but the man's face appeared just a little more relaxed than before.

There were days when worrying over Tony and the rest of the Avengers threatened to drive Pepper insane but it was times like this when she realized that she wouldn't change a thing.

Content with that realization Pepper returned to reading. Humming softly and rubbing her stomach softly with one hand without noticing it. All was calm while she kept watch on the two men.

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: Awww! Clint's totally gonna be fine under THAT watch. Although Natasha may just beat him up when she finds out… (Because it's a 'when', not 'if'…) Am I the only one addicted to the idea of a mini-Stark…? (grins)

NOW, it's time to give the word to you! Was that any good at all? Back to drawing board? PLEASE, do let me know – **and keep requests coming**! Hearing from you guys makes my day.

 **COMING UP: (and yup, the vote's still on – I PROMISE that the fics that seem to be winning thus far will be published sooner than you could've guessed)**

Our favorite Hawk is presumed dead. Little does the team know that he's still very much alive, in a cave that's filling with water…

A little half-friendly fight between Thor and Tony leads to Clint getting accidentally caught in between.

Clint's attacked in the most horrible kind of way. The injuries he receives are horrible. But physical recovery is only just the beginning…

A THREE PARTER reveals what happens when a seemingly harmless annual checkup leads to Clint receiving a life altering diagnosis…

PLUS…!

How will Clint react when he's subjected to drugs…?

And we'll see a unexpected, unfortunate Farm accident…

Awkay, I've got about a million things on my 'to do' list so I've gotta go. Until next time, my feathery friends! 'Hope I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest96: I'm so, so happy to hear that! Despite having been a Clintasha shipper I fell in love with the Barton-family INSTANTLY. The kids are just too cute! I'd LOVE to spend time at the Farm, too.

Oooooh, that's a MARVELOUS promp! (nods furiously) LOL, I know! Even breathing is borderline dangerous when it comes to Clint. (chuckles)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Sunny Sea: Don't worry even one bit! (hugs) I'm thrilled that you enjoyed the story so much. And oh yes, this collection will DEFINITELY continue for a long time. I absolutely adore Clint!

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): Awww, thanks! (blushes) Poor Clint, right? Thank gosh he has so much help!

Thanks for the vote – and the AWESOME prompt, which'll DEFINITELY be seen in this collection! I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Me: YAY! I'm absolutely overjoyed that you liked it. OH, what a fantastic prompt! DEFINITELY befitting material for this collection.

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Heartbreaking it was. But I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it, anyway! Especially the Barton family because I LOVE them. You may not have to wait long, btw… 'Hope you'll keep enjoying the ride!

Ah, a crossover? Something I'm sort of working on already… (smirks and winks)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): I'm overjoyed that you've enjoyed these tales! We'll see what comes next… Oooh, and thank you for the juicy prompt!

Lots of thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guesty Guest: (grins) She sure did show up! (hugs) Now excuse me while I howl with laughter…

Don't worry, it's the same for me, too…! For some reason I seem to love typing and reading about my favorites suffering. Hmm, I wonder if I should talk about this to a shrink…

(Clint: YES!)

Awww! The Science Bros are AWESOME. Not as awesome as Clint, obviously, but still. I loved how they clicked instantly! (grins)

Superpower confirmed! (high fives)

(Ooooh! I actually have three guesses as to who that guy is. I'd love to hear – I promise to tell you honestly if I was right! Awww, don't apologize!)

Ya know… I don't think I've EVER encountered a fic where Clint loses a limb. I just couldn't resist the idea, cruel as it was. Oooh! Clint's going to have all his limbs in the future. ALTHOUGH, the idea you just gave me is SO JUICY that I'll definitely test-drive it sometime. (grins)

I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed the past couple of chapters so much! We'll see what troubles our Hawk flies into next. (grins) (A bad pun is badass.)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until we type again.


	37. A Hawk's Great Plunge (DEAF CLINT)

A/N: Ya know, I THOUGHT that I'd manage to update a couple of days ago. I ALMOST updated last night but after staying up until four A.M. I decided that I'd need to work on a couple of scenes when I'd be a bit more conscious. (chuckles) BUT, here it is, at last!

First of all… I'm absolutely blown away, here! Our favorite archer sure has a HUGE amount of friends. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all the reviews, listings and love! Let's prove the world, once and for all, that Hawkeye isn't the Avenger no one cares about (because yeah, I've actually faced someone claiming such – and saw red)!

Awkay, because stalling's just rude – I'm sure Steve would agree… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

THIS MAY GIVE A COUPLE OF CHILLS to those suffering from claustrophobia or fear of the dark…

* * *

A Hawk's Great Plunge (DEAF CLINT)

* * *

When one makes it through a massive fight with a big Hydra cell and comes out a winner, that person would usually call themselves lucky. And at the end of something like that the absolutely last thing one expects is to face an earthquake. The luck of the Avengers struck again.

They were at a high risk area. When Thor brought his hammer down and Steve blocked a horrific attack with his shield it was the last straw. The ground roared out of sheer rage, as though Mother Nature herself had been furious over the acts of violence. Then the whole world seemed to be shaking. Despite everything they'd ever faced and been through it was one of the most terrifying experiences in their lives.

"… 't… 'asha… Natasha…!"

Natasha frowned with irritation. It sounded like the voice had been calling out to her for a while but she didn't want to get up yet. She was too sore and tired. When a hand tried to touch her shoulder she delivered an instinctive kick and felt a warm brush of satisfaction upon hitting solid flesh. There was a sharp gasp of breath and someone stumbled. Soon, however, the presence looming uncomfortably close returned.

"… probably a concussion … waking up … you …?"

Natasha shivered when a second voice echoed in her ear. That's right… She had an ear comm… " _… alright … a few more Hydra …_ "

Well. That definitely cleared Natasha's head a little. With her usual stubbornness she fought until she was able to open her eyes crack. She frowned at the blurry blob filling her line of vision until she was able to distinguish Steve's worried face. Was that bruising…?

"… the he' happened …?" She didn't care if what came out was closer to drunken slurring than the firm command for answers she was aiming for. She needed to know. Because she was hurting and wanted to make someone suffer for it.

It was chilling that Steve gave her no chiding over the use of such language. The look in his eyes… Something was _wrong_. "There was an earthquake. None of us saw it coming, there was no time to react." His voice was hoarse. Was that blood staining his clothes…? "Good news is that whatever of the Hydra here survived has either been taken care of or just left."

"The bad?" Natasha croaked, hating the fact that she felt and sounded like she'd swallowed a large cactus.

"Everything else, pretty much." Steve was basically slumped beside her and his leg definitely wasn't bent correctly. But at least he didn't seem to have any life threatening injuries. The soldier swallowed hard, appearing nauseous. "We… We're a mess. Big Guy… got pretty excited. Thor's trying to negotiate but he'll probably need a lullaby. Stark's suit's battered but he's doing the best he can to…" The Captain trailed off.

"To what?" Natasha felt, very literally, how a spike made of solid ice pierced her stomach. The dread seeped in along, burning like lava. "Clint?" She sounded both perfectly coherent and absolutely furious. Anger was safe, familiar. It kept her alive for over the first half of her life thus far. She was also a stone cold realist. She didn't panic when Coulson told her that Clint had been compromised. She wasn't about to get hasty now, either. Even if every alarm bell in her was blaring.

Steve's jawline tightened to what had to be a painful extend. He refused to meet her eyes. "We… never found him, afterwards."

There are moments that become etched permanently to a person's mind, like scar tissue.

Natasha was most likely concussed and the whole situation itself was beyond overwhelming. So it was no wonder that she'd failed to notice something at first. But right in that moment her gaze traveled downwards, spotting one of Steve's hands. She saw what was hidden partially behind the soldier's back.

It was Clint's broken, blood stained bow.

* * *

It was over.

There were no more enemies to take care of. No more fights to pick. There was only silence and stillness. Tony did well with neither. Especially when the lack of action meant that he was forced to think.

He didn't want to think about that one last gasp of Clint's, which came tauntingly through the ear comm. He didn't want to think about the nauseating fact that his friend never had the chance to voice actual final words. After everything they'd faced, after everything that idiot had gone through, a freaking earthquake…!

Tony wanted to scream because he definitely had every right to do so. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of him he preferred pretending didn't exist would've liked to cry, too. But he hadn't done that since he was a kid and wouldn't start now. Even if the lump building up in his throat threatened to drive him insane.

" _Have you found anything yet?_ " Thor's voice boomed to his ear, startling him back into action.

Tony shook his head. Then realized how pointless it was and ended up doing it again. "Nah, not yet. The suit's a goner. It's refusing to detect any traces of life."

The five seconds of silence that followed were absolutely, crushingly heavy. The sound Thor emitted… It was nothing human. " _Agent Barton…_ "

It's curious how a person's own pain can deafen them from hearing another's. Tony's blood boiled while sheer, overwhelming rage conquered all other emotional responses. "It's _Clint_! And just… Just save it, okay? You wanna give up? Fine! But _I_ don't give up on my friends!" With those harsh words, which he predicted he'd regret in about ten seconds, Tony tore off his ear comm, tossed it to the ground and stomped on it as hard as he could.

' _Drama queen_ ', a voice that sounded suspiciously lot like Clint teased in his head.

Tony gasped. Really, honestly gasped. Like a man drowning on dry land. Then did what he'd always done best. He held up his chin defiantly, his eyes hardening and sharpening, and pulled in a painful breath. Then got to work.

Just like he reported to Thor his suit was too damaged to function. It kept him alive as the ground around him shook and crumbled but even it had limits. Most of it was, sadly, ready for a junkyard. But at least he was still able to cover his hands with iron before he half sat, half slumped to the ground and began tossing aside the stones and debris, ignoring the pain pulsating _everywhere_.

It was a grim task. Tony knew, in the back of his aching head, that even if he by some miracle found his friend he'd most likely face a dead body. But he absolutely refused to give in. Returning home without one of them… It was absolutely unacceptable.

It was a small mercy in a merciless situation that he wasn't aware of the tears running down his cheeks.

* * *

Steve wasn't worried about Natasha's reaction. He was incredibly worried about the fact that she didn't give one. She helped him to the nearest possible safe spot without saying a word and made sure that he was as comfortable as humanly possible without a flicker of a change in her expression. Then, just as his lips parted, she was walking away.

Only then did her façade crack. Her fists balled so hard that they began to shake and her shoulders appeared so tense that it had to hurt. When she finally spoke her clipped voice didn't sound right. "Keep reaching out for him. I'll go and take care of Big Guy." To most those words would've sounded cold but the Captain knew her reasoning. While Hulk was at large there was no way a medical crew would be able to land. Their own jet was in shambles. If Clint was still somehow alive the medical crew was his only chance to survive. To Natasha there was no 'if'.

It didn't matter how small the chances were. That Clint would've never, ever stayed missing and silent if the man was able to move or talk. Steve recognized it as denial. But unlike most people thought even Captain America was only human. He'd already lost too many comrades and friends. Not again…

Steve's hand shook barely noticeably as he lifted it to his ear comm. "Hawkeye, do you copy?" Suddenly it struck him that there were no living enemies nearby. There was no use for codenames anymore. His voice cracked the tiniest bit when he continued. "Clint, are you there? Clint?" And he kept calling out, tirelessly, even after his voice grew hoarse. "Clint?"

* * *

There was nothing but darkness and silence. So heavy and all-consuming that it was suffocating. Yet he knew that he was awake. He could feel his heart pounding. And the pain… It was horrifying. He tried to recognize the source but couldn't focus enough. He was fairly certain that he wouldn't have been able to move even if he dared to.

Clint swallowed hard and gasped when the simple action left him breathless.

His hearing aid… He lost it during the fall. And wherever he'd ended up landing on he was completely covered by layers of dirt, stone and maybe even debris. Even if he wasn't injured there would've been no escape on his own. So he was trapped with the silence and darkness as his only companions.

Clint tried to scream but had no idea if he managed to produce even a wheezing sound. He clawed the ground underneath him and then the solid, stone hard weight pinning him down out of sheer frustration, desperate to get _anywhere_ , but only managed to damage his fingernails. Still he didn't give up, even when he was left panting furiously and agonizingly for a breath.

Clint honestly imagined that it couldn't possibly get any worse from there. But once again fate succeeded in surprising him. Because choking in between two attempts of a holler, he felt the water that was rising rapidly.

* * *

Thor breathed hard, faster than would've been normal. His hands shook and no matter how tightly he balled his fists he couldn't hide the unsteadiness. He gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt, even if it didn't help any. He wanted to strike the ground with his hammer, repeatedly, but knew that it would've caused far more harm than good. He'd done enough damage for one day.

* * *

/ _In the heat of the battle Thor growled and smashed his hammer down, unleashing all his fury on the ground. The enemies flew. The Asgardian had exactly ten seconds to bask in the warm glow of satisfaction. Until he heard a gasp through his ear comm._

 _Thor's heart almost certainly shuddered and he turned his gaze without a though. His gaze locked with Clint's. The archer was high on top of the Hydra base. As the ground began to roar Thor could see his friend's lips moving but wasn't able to hear a word, even with the device pressed into his ear. The only thing he registered with certainty was the fact that for the first time since the crushing aftermath of Loki he saw fear in Clint's eyes._

 _That look was the last thing Thor had the time to register before the ground swallowed up Clint._ /

* * *

Thor didn't realize what he was doing until he realized that he stood where Tony was going through the chaos site with the air of despair. The hammer wielder lifted his chin. "I wish to assist. He is my friend, too." He wasn't ready to use a past tense just yet.

Tony looked surprised when the dust and bruise covered billionaire gave him a look. Then understanding seemed to dawn. "I know." The inventor didn't do apologies. That came close enough. "So let's continue to work."

They had no other tools but Tony's iron covered hands and Thor's hammer. Everything else was destroyed in the quake with their jet. And they were in for a hopeless task. Neither cared.

Thor's jawline tightened. "This isn't the right spot." He nodded ahead. "That… is the place where I saw him fall."

For a second, just one, something akin to heartbreak flashed in Tony's eyes. For that horrible moment the billionaire clearly considered the unthinkable. Then, with the usual Stark stubbornness, the man forced a stiff grin and nodded. "See? We're making progress already."

* * *

Bruce had woken up post-Hulk enough times to recognize it. He was exhausted in far more ways than one. Sore. And so horribly angry that he wanted to scream, at the top of his lungs. But this time something was different. He could feel it in his bones as his eyes flew open and darted around, taking in a far too familiar sight of absolute destruction. Of dead bodies. He swallowed, feeling horribly sick. "Did… Did I… The Other Guy…?"

"No. An earthquake did." Something was off about Natasha's voice. "Sit up carefully."

Bruce figured out why as soon as he began to push himself up. Glass along with sharp pieces of debris and stone were everywhere. It was oddly, eerily quiet.

Bruce looked at Natasha. She was bruised and had cut on her head but she was sitting beside him firmly. Her expression was unreadable but she was far paler than usual. He knew better than to ask how she was. "Is everyone okay?"

Natasha nodded stiffly. She refused to even glance towards him. "Rogers broke a leg and some ribs but you know how quickly he heals. Thor's bruised. Stark's suit is a goner but the idiot made it with just bruises."

That was all very relieving. But Bruce's chest tightened at the name which wasn't mentioned. "And Clint?" He was beginning to feel sick and the trembling taking over him wasn't the usual post-transformation one.

Natasha's jawline tightened. "He's missing." She folded her arms to her chest. "You're not an actual doctor but the closest thing we have for now. He's going to need you when we find him. How clear is your head?" Only someone who knew her very well was able to catch the words buried underneath her steel hard tone. ' _Because mine isn't and I may need you._ '

"Clear enough." His chest felt unnaturally tight and he didn't like the feeling that his control was slipping. He couldn't afford to let his control slip, especially now. He owed his friends more than that. But first he'd need to get up somehow. He bowed his head and licked his lips. "I, ah… A little help, to get up?" He was always a bit… shaky, after coming back. He hated it, especially now that Clint needed him to be strong, composed and competent.

Without hesitation – whenever did the famous Black Widow hesitate, anyway? – Natasha helped him up, not offering a word. She seemed to recognize the exact moment when he felt ready to stand up on his own and let go. They took in the devastation around them with somber eyes, two soldiers who'd seen too many battlefields. Two monsters who'd ended up caring too much.

"Let's find him", Natasha decided at last, in a voice that would've been without emotions to most.

"Let's find him", Bruce agreed.

They both knew that they were most like looking for their friend's body. So be it. They weren't about leave Clint behind.

Neither was surprised to discover that Tony and Thor were already working busily. No words were exchanged as they joined the do. What good would words have done? Rain was falling heavily while they carried out their grim duty.

* * *

Clint could feel the water rising. It wasn't pouring in but it was fast enough to tell him that he was in a deep trouble. Was it a broken water pipe or something from the nature itself? At least it didn't smell of anything suspicious. His heart was hammering out of control while he fought to keep his breathing in check.

 _Panicking won't help_ , he struggled to remind himself. _Panic won't help… Panic won't …_

In the middle of that rant he felt something soft yet solid brush his arm. Without a doubt that something had been coaxed into motion by the rising water. Clint knew, even without a hint of light, exactly what it was. He wanted to throw up, desperately.

Someone's corpse… A friend or enemy? He knew that statistically, there had been a lot more enemies but… What if it was Natasha? Or Steve? Or Tony? Or…?

God, what if he was the only one still left alive? Was that why no one was coming for him? What happened to the others? Were they alright? Or down there with him, in what'd soon be his watery grave?

Clint couldn't feel his own wheezing breath. But it felt like his chest had been set on fire. He gasped and felt a groaning sound bubbling in his throat. He continued to scream, to holler out, no matter how hopeless he knew it to be. Even if he suspected that he was barely able to produce a sound. He kept calling out in a desperate hope that there was still someone left to hear him.

Clint wasn't afraid to die. But not here…! Not like this…! Not when he had no idea what happened to his friends…!

Clint's whole body was trembling in the freezing cold water when he closed his eyes. Didn't he close them? It was so hard to tell. He focused whatever little strength and breath he had left. And he _screamed_.

* * *

The solemn group above was losing hope very quickly. They had a massive area to cover and absolutely no guarantee of what they'd find. They kept calling out to him, dug long past the point where their fingers bled.

And then they heard the scream. Quiet and hoarse but real. Right underneath the layers of debris they were working on.

They tripled their efforts. Dug through, no matter how much it hurt. Kept searching. And finally, finally they had a view to down below. Quite quickly the joy and relief evaporated.

The debris, along with Clint, had fallen to a cave that'd most likely been a secret tunnel to the enemy base. It was a small miracle that the whole chaos hadn't crushed Clint entirely. Still a horribly large chunk of concrete lay on the archer, effectively pinning him down. They couldn't tell for sure where all the water was coming from but it was rapidly filling the space that'd been closed by the earthquake.

That was their Hawkeye. With some enemy's dead body floating sickeningly nearby. As they stared water covered his face.

* * *

Clint didn't have the strength to stay awake anymore. He tried to pry his eyes open, to catch even just a tiny glimpse of hope. But he was too tired. Too cold. Too numb. Too far gone.

He was going to die this time, wasn't he?

Clint wasn't coherent enough to be terrified of or saddened by that thought. His sluggish mind accepted it as a solid fact, even if his body was by some miracle unwilling to let go quite yet. The waterline had already reached his chin and soon it'd cover his mouth, then his nose.

Clint's mom told him, once, that when he was born he didn't make a sound. Didn't make a fuss. It was befitting, somehow, that in the moments he fully expected to be his last he didn't make a much of a sound, either.

Just a small yet greedy gasp.

When the water eventually closed in on his nose Clint squeezed his eyes shut. Or maybe he just lost consciousness, it was impossible to tell. He never got to the chance to see the stream of light that flooded in just seconds before his team peered into his prison.

* * *

At first the team stared. "CLINT!" It was impossible to tell which one of them screamed. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe they just imagined hearing it.

Before the rest of them could even twitch Thor jumped in. He barely registered the cold of the water. The weight of his clothes was nothing. All he focused on was the sight of his friend down below, just floating. Lifeless.

Thor's chest burned from lack of proper breath. Sheer determination pushed him forward when he reached his friend. Removing the debris took a couple of attempts, even with his strength. He cut his hand in the process and the sharp, angry slash of ache was enough to distract him from wondering if removing the additional weight would do more harm than good. Clint wouldn't survive much longer under water. That was the most acute concern.

It was impossible to tell just yet how badly Clint had been injured. Thor did his best to grab his friend as gently as he could before they started the seemingly endless journey towards the surface. He kept holding on, furiously ignoring how still and cold the archer felt.

The chaos began as soon as they broke the surface. They were hauled to dry, solid land and before he managed to process what was about to happen Clint was torn away. Gently yet firmly. While Thor fought to catch his breath Bruce and Natasha began to work on the archer. They were stationed so that Thor didn't have a clear view to his unmoving friend but the grim looks on the duo's pale faces spoke far too clearly. They were talking in clipped tones while operating hurriedly but for some reason the hammer wielder couldn't comprehend the words. Tony stood a couple of steps away staring at the action, absolutely no color on his face and his arms twitching angrily, helplessly, at his sides. The billionaire was used to always being at the very heart of fixing the problems, of doing _something_ , and knew well that there was _nothing_ he could do now. Thor understood the feeling all too clearly.

"Thor?" Steve's voice brought him rapidly back to focus. How the soldier had managed to maneuver his way there with a broken leg at all, let alone unnoticed, was a mystery to the Asgardian. The larger man couldn't bring himself to look away from the duo working on a still horribly limp Clint but he heard the other's worry. "Are you okay?"

Thor nodded, deciding not to waste any of the precious breath he'd managed to obtain on useless words. Several agonizing minutes later, when med-evac finally arrived, the large, unshakable man brushed his own cheek nearly tenderly with two fingers. They came back moist.

* * *

Nick Fury was a man who didn't show emotions. Or experience a lot of them. In his line of job emotions were little more than an unnecessary complication. Still, when he heard how the latest Avengers mission ended, he was suspiciously quick to go and check the troupes. It wasn't about worry, of course. Only practical. He'd received a quite large amount of medical reports. That information kept spinning around in his head while he observed the group gathered to a painfully bright medical room.

Bruce had been protected by the Big Guy. Like the others he'd been digging and clawing the ground until his hands needed bandages. The scientist sat on a bench some distance away from the rest of the group, his face buried into his hands. Fury knew that in his case the damage was buried inside.

Thor had been lucky enough to make it through with cuts, bruises and lacerations. Well, lucky is a relative term. Judging by the way Thor's hands were shaking and that morose expression the Asgardian didn't consider himself very lucky.

Steve, who lay on a hospital bed, had broken four ribs, along with his leg from three places. The soldier was already healing quickly. In a few weeks he'd be alright if he'd actually allow himself the time to rest and recover.

Tony suffered a heavy amount of bruising. Arms, legs, chest, back and stomach area… Fury suspected that the billionaire would be black and blue when the damage would begin to show. The Iron Man's hands, however, suffered the most. The malfunctioning suit parts hadn't protected his fingers and knuckles properly when he worked on searching for Clint. There was lot of skin damage and two fingers had been broken.

Natasha had a very nasty concussion and a couple of cracked ribs. Still she sat on her bed firmly, her expression even and her posture straight, ready for battle. She wouldn't relax until the final member of the team would be where she could see him.

If things had been little less dire Fury might've had the time and focus to feel very proud of them. Today was a yet another fine example of how the Avengers had grown to function as a team. They succeeded, regardless of the fact that nature gave them a nasty surprise. Despite their injuries they worked tirelessly. They managed to save one of their own. They refused to leave Clint behind.

Yes, Clint…

The archer had a very impressive list of broken bones. As he read through the immediate report Fury couldn't even recognize the names of most of them. Internal bleeding was also mentioned. Considering the amount of time the Hawk spent underwater a fast approaching pneumonia wasn't much of a surprise. Clint had been rushed to an emergency surgery as soon as the man was brought in and now, four hours later, he hadn't emerged.

Yet the team was waiting, forcing themselves to stay awake. Loyally, stubbornly. Boneheads, all of them.

"So…", Fury stated when he finally stepped in. His eyes scanned through the battered, utterly exhausted faces. "Would anyone like to explain to me what happened?" He'd seen a hasty report but he would've very much appreciated a more conclusive version. At the blank expressions aimed his way the one-eyed man fought back a heavy sigh. "Alright, then."

None of the remaining Avengers commented when Fury took a seat beside them. They sat in an absolute silence, waiting for news on the missing member of their ridiculous family. Waiting for the hellish day to end.

* * *

For eighteen hours Clint's biggest threat was the treacherous internal bleeding. Then came the pneumonia and the raging fever. There were several times when his body nearly gave out.

When the most urgent problems passed by the archer was left with the broken bones. And a significant amount of damage to his back. It took a week before his primary doctor finally dared to proclaim that the Hawk would most likely walk.

Clint was oblivious to the whole drama. He slept through those hellish twelve days, first knocked out by medication, then gathering his strength. Waiting. The team waited as well. Kept constant watch. Barely dared to sleep. Well, at least for once they stayed close to medical attention.

Natasha sighed and rubbed her face tiredly with one hand. "You're late, just so you know." She didn't manage to sound as accusing as she wanted to. She slipped on Clint's hearing aid several days ago, as soon as the machinery around him lessened enough to allow it. At the moment she could still only hope that her words somehow found their way through, all the way to his thick skull. "We talked about being late after Oslo, remember? I thought that you'd know better by now." So what if her voice broke, just a little bit? She was tired, angry and irritated.

"Oslo?" Steve inquired in a sleepy voice.

Natasha's eyes narrowed. Her hand squeezed Clint's just a little tighter. "You were supposed to be resting."

"So were you." Steve shifted and attempted to scratch his leg. Judging by the grunt he made he didn't quite succeed. "So… Oslo?"

Natasha _didn't_ want to relive those events. Clint seemed to sense as much. Because just as her lips opened the Hawk's hand twitched in hers.

* * *

Much later – when he was able to stay awake for over half an hour at one go and walking – Clint claimed that Natasha irritated him back to the waken world. But that was indeed much later. As it was, three hours after the twitching fingers a nurse walked into the room and froze by the doorway.

The entire Avengers team was there. Tired and injured but recovering. And finally, finally sleeping. Well, most of them.

Steve lay on his own bed snoring softly, one arm under his head that'd been turned towards the archer. Thor had chosen a chair that had to be horribly uncomfortable for someone of his height and stretched his legs the best as he cold. At the moment the Asgardian was asleep with a serene look on his face, neck bent to a position he'd pay for after waking up. Bruce had picked a station spot a deliberate distance away from his most fragile friend, just in case. Careful to have a clear view to all the machinery still monitoring the Hawk and a quick access to the emergency call button. At some point, however, exhaustion had gotten the best of the scientist and he'd slipped into a light slumber that appeared restless. The medical staff never had the heart to take the hospital bed away from Natasha because she'd refused to leave her friend's side even when she would've been in no need of medical attention. At some point she'd dragged it right next to Clint's. At the moment she was in a deep, calm slumber, her hand clutching to Clint's in what looked like an attempt to ground him to the real world. Tony had dragged a chair to the archer's other side and now slept on it, legs propped up on the bed and back leaning against the wall, snoring loudly with a smile on his fatigued face.

Clint himself was awake. Barely, since his eyes were only halfway open and bleary. When he noticed the nurse he gave her a small grin which was more than enough evidence to promise that he'd be alright. He then brought a finger to his lips, clearly very much aware of how desperately his friends needed the rest. After a couple of mouthed questions concerning his wellbeing, nods and headshakes his body seemed to have met his limit. His eyes slid closed and he fell asleep, a tiny smile still on his lips. Obviously feeling safe and sound. While one of his hands remained in Natasha's hold the other tightened around an item the nurse only just noticed. It was his much loved bow, whole, shiny and clean. A promise and a reassurance.

Yes, Clint would face a long, incredibly painful road to recovery. It'd take a very long time before he'd be anywhere near well enough to work alongside his friends. But they'd wait for him because he was their Hawkeye, their eyes from the sky. He wouldn't have to take even a single step towards getting better alone.

The nurse smiled as well when she left the room, mindful to not make a sound.

* * *

 ** _End of story._**

* * *

A/N: D'awwwwwwww! So yeah, he's still far from okay. But he's getting there. The poor team, though! 'Must've been horrible, to imagine that they'd be taking home his corpse. (shudders)

SO…! The word's all yours, folks. Was that any good, at all? Back to workshop? To be hammered down by Thor? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from ya.

 **A QUICK QUESTION…!** I MAY be able to pull off a double-update next week. (One chapter on Tuesday or Wednesday, another on Sunday.) Since one of the poll options practically tied with this I wouldn't want to make those who voted for it wait. How would you feel about that?

 **NEXT TO COME…!**

A sparring session gone wrong leaves Clint fighting for his life.

And then, a horrific attack gets to the very core of Clint's being. The physical damage is appalling. The emotional scar tissue is even worse… (M RATING! I'm already sorry, guys, this'll be a tough read…)

THEN, in a three parter, Clint faces a surprising diagnosis that changes his life permanently. He's going to need all the help and support he can get. Will he pull through?

PLUS, a Farm accident puts Clint's life to risk – again…

Awkay, because a busy bee is busy… Until next time, guy! I REALLY hope that (as a dear reader put it in a review) I'll see you all on this same Hawk-channel. (smirks)

Take care!

* * *

Guest96: YAY! I'm super excited that you liked the story so much. I LOVE the 'M:I' movies, too, btw! Especially the latest couple of additions… (smirks and winks) 'Gotta love momma-Pepper, right? She's such a great team-mom! (smiles)

Colossal thank yous for the review! I really hope that you'll enjoy the tales to come as much.

* * *

Guest (1): I know, right! I'm soooooooo going to include a baby-Stark to one of these tales. The idea is just too addictive! (grins)

Thank you so much for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Crazy it was! I'm really glad that you enjoyed the insanity. I REALLY hope that the tales to come please you as much!

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): YOSH! I'm overjoyed that you had such a good time. (BEAMS) And I totally loved your prompts – the previous one and this new one! We'll see what's up for the poor Hawk next…

You have a great weekend, too! (hugs)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guesty Guest: LOL! That sounds like absolutely awesome time. (grins) Awww, don't worry about the length! I'm ecstatic that you enjoyed the chapter.

LOL, and awwwwww! Poor Tony, though. He must've been TERRIFIED (although he'd rather chew off a finger than admit it, I guess…). Thank gosh the story had a happy ending!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until we type again.

* * *

Guest (4): I'm THRILLED that you like my writing style! Heh, although Clint is DEFINITELY, without a shadow of a doubt, my favorite Avenger I LOVE the rest of the gang as well. Typing about this team is a massive joy! (beams)

Both of those options will see daylight veeeeeeeeeeeery soon. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy them! LOL! I can absolutely see Tony messing with the Farm's machinery as well. And knowing Clint's luck it's bound to cause problems…

* * *

Guest (5): You won't have to wait long… (grins and winks) I really hope that it's worth the wait!

Thank you so much for the review!

* * *

(for chapter 23) Guest writer: I'm absolutely baffled and flattered by your review! Gosh, I'm SUPER happy that you've enjoyed the collection so much. This is how I see Clint Barton – it's good to hear that I'm not the only one who appreciates this vulnerable side of him. (smiles)

OH MY GOSH, Hawkeye having his own movie…! It'd absolutely be a dream come true for me. Especially when he has hands down the most amazing (albeit horribly sad) background tale!

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	38. A Lesson on Teamwork

A/N: See? I DID manage an extra update this week! Yay? (grins)

THANK YOU, a million times, for your amazing reviews, listings and support! This collection is my favorite baby at the moment. It means a lot that you've chosen to join me for the ride. (HUGS)

 **A QUICK REASSURANCE ABOUT THE REVIEWS!** The site's having HUGE problems right now when it comes to the reviews actually showing. But fret not! I, along with lots of people, have already reported the problem. Once it's fixed the reviews WILL show as normal. Until then they're safe and sound in my mail's inbox. So fret not, no review will disappear!

Awkay, because it's getting REALLY late… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE** just a little bit after the first 'Avengers' movie, so the team's still in early stages…

* * *

A Lesson on Teamwork

* * *

Clint Barton had been created to survive. He'd been beaten down since he was a kid, in a million creative and varying ways, enough times to have that hammered as a fact into his evidently thick skull. Very few things had shattered him the way Loki's mind control and Phil's death did.

Yet somehow he found his footing again, even his sanity. He licked his wounds as well as a human being could after a trauma like that. He even became one of the Avengers although he couldn't even begin to understand why they'd need someone like him, someone who was… just human. But it helped, to have a goal, something to belong to, so he didn't question it.

Quite often, far more often than he should've because it freaking _hurt_ , Clint found himself wondering if Phil would be proud of him.

Their team was by no means perfect, of course. Clint himself was a prime example of that. They all had trust issues, towards themselves and others. They'd been thrown together under the worst of circumstances with barely any time to get prepared for it and minimum introductions. They were no team, just six people with a huge amount of package who were trying to learn to tolerate one another's presence. Now, with the turmoil of New York behind them… None of them was quite sure what they were expected to do next.

They did remarkably well with action and near death scenarios – those were what they were used to – but this downtime was driving them up the wall.

It took a long time before Clint made his decision and actually joined the others, at that point in name only. He had no idea if he'd be able to actually pull it off or if the others would ever learn to trust him. Honestly, he would've been more surprised if they would eventually accept him. He remembered leading the enemy to right to the people whose side he was supposed to be on. He remembered, all too clearly, hurting Natasha and attempting to do so much worse. They took him along to New York because they were outnumbered and desperate. Now Clint was little more than sticking around, waiting for when they'd come to their senses and tell him to take a hike. He did what he'd always done best. Kept distance.

He kept his distance to Thor because it was impossible to look at the Asgardian without thinking about Loki, and the trickster already had a far too firm grip on his head, still.

He kept his distance to Steve because the soldier reminded him far too much and painfully of Phil, of how much the idiot would've loved working beside his idol.

He kept his distance to Natasha because if things had gone differently, even just a little bit, her blood would've been coating his hands. It was one of his most frequent nightmares.

He kept his distance to Tony because… Well, it was Tony. Brash and loud. Just like he was, once upon a time. Now brash and loud were the last things he needed.

With Bruce he didn't have to worry about keeping his distance. The scientist seemed to be quite well on the same page. They were both terrified that they'd lose control yet again. It was far more comforting than it should've been to realize that he wasn't alone with his fears and worries.

As first weeks, then months, slipped by Clint adapted. Settled to wait for the unknown. He wouldn't have been a very successful assassin without patience, after all.

Most people say 'know thy enemy'. Clint's motto was 'know thy ally'. If they planned on winning future battles they had to be familiar with each other's strengths and weaknesses.

The surveillance… was actually surprisingly comfortable. While the others sparred Clint observed them, making mental notes and calculations. Steve was their leader but before the Hawk could feel comfortable with being led he needed enough data. So far he wasn't impressed.

As individuals they were excellent. As a team… Not so much.

Bruce spent as little time with the others as was socially acceptable, clearly worried about having so many people close to the potential Big Guy outburst. Natasha… was Natasha. She was able to cooperate with the others but that was it. She'd just weighed her options and chose that staying was her best bet. Before meeting Tony and Thor Clint had imagined that he had problems with authority. Those two were born to deliver orders, not receive them. Steve was a born leader with a heart of gold but not a miracle worker. Those three were an explosion waiting to happen.

And Clint had never been accused of being lucky.

The surest sign of Tony being comfortable with Clint's habits was that the billionaire had built a massive, metallic perch close to the ceiling of the biggest training room. The Hawk could enter it through a special door, without anyone noticing if he so wished or to join the others down below. That particular morning Clint had chosen the former alternative. He was practicing target throwing with knives, listening with half an ear as Tony and Thor sparred below.

At first it was nothing overly dramatic. A lot of thrown hits, which on occasion made even Clint's perch shudder slightly. Tony teasing and taunting, Thor striking back with low, far more controlled growls. Until all of a sudden there was a palpable change in the room's air. And single name, spilled through Tony's lips, made its way to Clint's ears. It was a name he would've preferred never hearing again.

"… Loki …"

Whatever Tony said around that strictly banned name which was to never be spoken… It was a hit below the beltline. Something to not be tolerated.

Clint reacted. He had no clue what he was about to do – because in full honesty, what could he have done? – but he was going to try. He used a rope to slide all the way down, hoping stupidly that he'd be able to stop a disaster. His lips opened as soon as he landed gracefully.

Clint never got to say a word.

Because just then Steve appeared. This time the Captain wasn't even trying to contain his ever present anger. A lot of words were spoken but Clint didn't hear them. Because just then three things happened simultaneously.

Thor's hammer went down. Tony struck. Steve held out his shield. The energy field those things combined caused was horrific.

Clint was flying and for a treacherous second it was a pleasant sensation. Then he slammed against a wall. For a microsecond there was hellish agony. Then _nothing_.

* * *

Admittedly, Thor had done a lot of things he wasn't exactly proud of. But the moment Clint went down with a sickening crack… He was sure that it'd never stop haunting him. The archer lay absolutely still, eyes closed and growing paler at a horrifying speed.

Time stood. Then everything began to crawl on in a slowed motion. Tony and Steve were running, their voices oddly muffled to the Asgardian's ears. "CLINT!"

Thor had seen his fair share of fights and been in them far more times than he could count. Never, ever had the end of one felt quite like this. Watching Clint just lay there. That thin trail of blood… Was it coming from the archer's nose or ear? Thor couldn't tell. No surprise, since he could barely breathe.

Thor's whole body jolted when a shadow sped past him. He didn't manage to lower his level of alarm even when he identified that the arrival was Bruce, not someone who'd mean further threat. In a flash the scientist was on his knees beside Clint. The Hawk showed no reaction even when careful yet determined hands began to work on him. Everything about the sight was horribly wrong.

The words registered to him as though through a thick layer of fog. "… don't move him! … no idea how much damage … happened? …"

Thor felt every little bit of him grow cold. He recognized the feeling. It smashed at him with the force of three of his hammers.

This… This was his fault, his doing – perhaps not entirely but still. He was sent here to finally grow up, to learn to take responsibility over his actions, to become worthy. He thought he had.

He never learned a thing, after all, and now Clint paid the price.

* * *

Tony was acutely aware of the fact that he'd done a number of things wrong in his life. Small ones… And such he'd never forgive himself for… He quite honestly couldn't remember the previous time messing up would've made him feel like _this_.

He locked eyes with Steve and found similar emotions swimming in the Captain's eyes. The same guilt and sorrow. The same shock.

This was _never_ , _ever_ supposed to happen.

"We need to get him to a hospital, now." Bruce's face seemed unnaturally tight with how hard he was fighting to maintain his self-control. "I know that this building has a medical wing, but… It won't be able to give him the kind of a help he needs."

Tony was already calling an ambulance, his hands shaking almost as badly as his voice did. Later he had no idea what he said to the operator. He did know that he was louder than necessary. All he could focus on was that Clint was still horribly still. Too still. And although the thought sickened him he couldn't stop himself from wondering if he'd ever see the archer's eyes open again.

Then the paramedics were there. They seemed to work on Clint for ages before finally deciding that they either couldn't wait any longer or that the Hawk was stable enough for transportation. When they left the four men stayed there. They all stared at the mark on the wall Clint's head caused and the few drops of blood on the floor.

It was a nightmare and it was about to get worse.

After an undeterminable amount of time a one more person barged into the room. It was Natasha, who clearly made it back from a mission early. Her eyes blazed and it occurred to them that it was the first time they saw her scared. "What happened?" she demanded.

* * *

Natasha held her quiet until they'd told her the full story. And while they made their way to the hospital and waited. She didn't make a sound even when a grim faced doctor arrived with disheartening news.

Clint's back and neck took a heavy hit. They'd have to wait until the man woke up to see just how extensive the damage was. They were, however, the most worried about his head. There was swelling in his brain and so far there wasn't a sign of it going down. The actual amount of permanent consequences was anyone's guess. The doctor listed a rather impressive amount of other damage as well but by then none of the remaining team felt like listening.

Natasha didn't speak. Yet they all felt the explosion about to happen. And eventually the legendary Black Widow did combust in her own silent, deadly manner. She wouldn't look at the three shaken men as she growled. "We're not going to talk about what happened today now." Her tone suggested that she might've done something she would've regretted if they did. She took several deep breaths. Was she trembling? "If we're planning on being a team… Then we need to get our shit together." Steve had no time to scold her over using such language until she already went on sharply. "The team Coulson dreamt of… This isn't it."

No one spoke because there wasn't a single thing they could've said to that.

If they thought that her berating was bad it was nothing compared to what they were about to face. Because just then Nick Fury entered the room, his one eye blazing hellfire. "Miss Potts just showed me a very… interesting piece of surveillance footage. Thor… Stark… Rogers… With me, now. We're going to take a walk."

Under different circumstances Natasha might've felt a hint of satisfaction or amusement at the way Tony's face blanched. She didn't think she'd ever seen anyone appear quite so shaken and guilty. "No one will ever find my body, huh?" the billionaire muttered. There wasn't a trace of mirth in his voice.

Natasha nodded. She didn't seem to be joking, either. "Not even all Stark Industries technology."

Somehow the room succeeded in becoming even more quiet than it had been once the group left. For a moment Natasha and Bruce were utterly silent until the scientist stood and made his way to her, slowly and hesitantly. If Natasha was surprised when he took a seat beside her she didn't let it show. Without noticing it they both relaxed slightly at one another's close proximity.

Neither of them was the touchy-feely kind. Bruce didn't reach out to hold her hand. Perhaps it was a good thing. If he had they might've noticed that his fingers were still stained by Clint's dried blood.

* * *

Several hours later the well scolded trio stood on the rooftop of the hospital, ignoring the pouring rain. Usually it would've been Clint's spot. It felt befitting, in some brutal way, that they occupied it now in his stead. It felt like some kind of a penance.

"What happened today… It can never happen again." It was easy to hear how much the whole fiasco was weighing on Steve's heart. "If we want to do this, if we're planning on being a team that protects people instead of harming them… We'll have to do hell a lot better than today." It was impossible to tell which one of the three was more shocked by the slip of a tongue. The Captain was squeezing the metal railing surrounding the rooftop so hard that his knuckles turned white. He was staring at some unidentifiable spot in the horizon. "It's not going to be easy. But are you willing to try and prove Fury wrong?"

Thor only hesitated for a couple of seconds. Then nodded firmly, steel hard resolve in his eyes. "Yes", the Asgardian declared, his voice booming through the rain.

"Yeah." Tony didn't appear any less determined. "When Feathers wakes up we'll make him proud." Because the option that they wouldn't get the chance to do so was unthinkable.

* * *

The recovery happened in stages. Slowly. Painfully. Even if scars remained at least the open wounds closed.

Tony and Thor reached a silent agreement, a wordless apology. By the end of week two they finally dared to spar together again to let out some steam. This time no one was injured.

On that same day Clint's vitals were finally perfectly stable and his primary doctor announced that the swelling in his brain was going down.

A few more days later it was announced that they'd try and see if the archer was ready to wake up.

Three hours later Tony made a phone call. So what if his eyes were red and suspiciously moist? It wasn't like the person he was contacting could see him. "Dr. Cho, 'morning. Or is it evening there? This is Tony Stark, we met…" He might've grinned if he'd been a little less worked up. "Well, it's nice to hear that I made an impression. I usually do." He took a breath. "So… I've been thinking, and I have a job offer for you…"

It wasn't until after that Tony and Thor dared to visit Clint for the first time. Neither offered apologies because at this point they would've been useless. Instead they sat there and kept watch, trying to make up for the fact that they failed to pay enough attention when it would've mattered the most.

"You look ridiculous with your hair shaved off", Tony revealed to his unconscious friend, and his voice broke.

It took four more days until Clint finally decided that perhaps the waken world wouldn't be such a boring place, after all.

Thor was the only visitor in the room when it happened. The Asgardian tensed up and felt a momentary stab of panic when Clint groaned and frowned, discomfort loud and clear on his face. Relief caused a clearly detectable thud inside the hammer wielder when one of Clint's hands reached out, feebly but still, to rub the archer's face. Then the archer's knee bent, as though the man had been planning on getting up. No paralysis, then.

"Carefully, now", Thor advised, doing his best to keep his tone low. "You've been unconscious for a long time and your body needs time to recover. Don't strain yourself."

"Strain… myself…?" Clint frowned. Then, for the first time in weeks, those eyes opened, only a crack but still. It took some time before they managed to focus on him. The archer blinked owlishly. "What happened? 'Cause… No offense, but you look like crap."

* * *

Months of recuperation and physical therapy followed. But eventually came the day when Fury's sharp gaze was scanning through psychiatrist Melissa Chalmers' report. "He's ready for active duty, then."

Dr. Chalmers nodded. "He still has those occasional migraines and I'm afraid that they're something that'll never disappear. And I doubt he'll ever remember those two weeks before the… accident. But he's about as emotionally stable as he'll ever be and I'm pleased with his physical recovery. There's no reason to keep him off field any longer."

Fury sighed heavily and shook his head. A Hawk? Rather a cat. He wondered just how many lives Clint Barton had. "He's lucky to have a thick skull." It was said almost fondly, even if he would've never admitted it.

"Hmm." Dr. Chalmers hesitated. "It's the rest of the team I'm worried about. Are you sure…?"

Fury smirked in his own, knowing manner. "I am", he assured the physician. "It was a tough lesson but they learned it well. They know what to focus on, now." Now the team seemed to finally understand what they were fighting for. He could only hope that they'd never forget again.

* * *

A lot about the nightmare was a mystery to Clint. He had a vague idea of what happened, of course. And he saw that Thor and Tony still tiptoed around him. Steve as well, although not quite as obviously. They were all infuriatingly protective over him. He understood – how could he not – but he didn't like it.

While Tony and Thor tried to prove that they'd changed, that they weren't the same people who lost control anymore, Clint fought to prove that he was still the same, capable person.

Things would never be the same again, that much was obvious. Clint had been left with permanent health problems. Tony, Thor and Steve would never stop having haunting dreams of what happened. But maybe, eventually, they'd all come out stronger. At least they were finally a real, proper team. Now was the time to prove it.

Clint was more than happy to feel the whole team behind him as he began the preparations for the Quinjet's takeoff. This would be their first mission since New York as the Avengers. A turning point. "Okay, people. Last chance to back down."

"Never, Birdie", Tony fired back instantly, no hesitation in his voice.

"We're ready to do our duty", Thor announced as well and Clint could imagine the firmly folded arms even without peering over his shoulder.

"Yeah, we are", Bruce agreed, even if not quite as firmly as the others.

"It's a team decision, then." Finally Steve sounded relieved, at home. "Let's go."

As Clint finished up the preparations he felt Natasha's hand on his shoulder. Usually he didn't like being touched unexpectedly but now he leaned against it happily. Loki's ghost no longer haunted in the back of his head. His mind was fixed on the future, not past.

So yeah, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing in a team like this, why Coulson and Fury had chosen him. He didn't know what his role and purpose were supposed to be amongst such incredibly allies. Maybe he'd figure it out one day. Until then he'd enjoy the ride.

Until then he'd just live, with all the heart Loki once ridiculed.

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot_**

* * *

A/N: And whoever thought that having a heart is a bad thing? (smiles) Nine lives? Clint's got a hundred…!

Soooooooooooo… Was that any good at all? Or a lousy miss? PLEASE, do let me know! You can't even imagine how much your comments warm my heart.

 **NEXT TO COME…!**

And then, a horrific attack gets to the very core of Clint's being. The physical damage is appalling. The emotional scar tissue is even worse… (M RATING! I'm already sorry, guys, this'll be a tough read… SERIOUSLY!)

THEN, in a three parter, Clint faces a surprising diagnosis that changes his life permanently. He's going to need all the help and support he can get. Will he pull through?

PLUS, a Farm accident puts Clint's life to risk – again…

Awkay, I reeeeeeeeeeally need to get to bed now. (winces) Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest 96: It feels so good to see how much he means to them, doesn't it? Because he DOES and I have a feeling that he doubts his worth too much.

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (1): That's so, SO good to hear! Gosh. I really hope that you'll be as satisfied with the next installment.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): (grins) I just really hope that the double update turns out worth the wait! I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed the chapter.

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	39. A Hawk's Flight in the Dark (M)

A/N: It's waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too late of an hour BUT I finally managed to type this update. Hoorah?

THANK YOU, a million and one times, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings and support! When I started this collection I was under the impression that Clint's the forgotten, ignored Avenger. THANK YOU, for proving me wrong! (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **A QUITE HEAVY TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEXUAL VIOLENCE! This chapter is rated M for a very good reason and may be very upsetting for some.** (winces)

 **A bit of ClintxLaura in this one, with mini-Hawks making a mini-entrance.**

* * *

A Hawk's Flight in the Dark

* * *

Clint had faced enough deep undercover assignments to be able to pinpoint the exact moment when his cover was blown. When he was led before Mikael Slevig he knew that he was in for something extremely unpleasant. It was almost terrifying how much the criminal looked like Steve Rogers. Until the ice cold smile appeared. "I don't believe that we've been introduced properly. Clint Barton, then, not Aaron Cross?" The psychopath clicked his tongue. "I don't like being lied to, Clint." The man tilted his head. "But maybe you'll be able to make up for it. I have a feeling that we'll have a lot of fun together…"

They interrogated him. Mercilessly. Clint had no idea how long. He was beaten, drowned, electrocuted, injected with all sorts of substances.

Clint was barely conscious when Mikael approached him yet again. There was a fully prepared injection in the man's hold. "Well… Since it looks like you're uncooperative I think I'll be able to come up with other…" A greedy gaze traveled up and down his firmly strapped body. "… uses for you."

All of a sudden Clint understood, with all too much certainty, just what was threatening him. His pulse sped up while sheer terror coursed through him. Keeping his expression neutral was a feat he barely managed. His eyes narrowed. "Touch me…", he hissed. "… and I'll bite off something that won't grow back."

Mikael chuckled. "Clint! Are you really trying to threaten me, in your position?" The syringe was placed to a nearby table. "I don't like being threatened." Those words were all the warning he got.

A firm, unforgiving pair of hands grabbed Clint's jaw, forcing it open. Open, open… Until there was a sickening crack.

Clint was glad that he passed out from the agony, there.

* * *

Clint's eyes flew open. A simple enough action, which required a minimum amount of effort. The pain was still there, burning intensely absolutely everywhere inside him. He couldn't bring himself to focus on it. Because every little bit of him was consumed by the realization that he couldn't shift even a finger. His eyes were the only thing he had any control over.

What…?

"You're awake, then? Very good. In case you're confused by your limited mobility it was a choice between drugging you and tying you up. This option… seemed to provide more possibilities." Mikael's voice came from such an angle that he couldn't see the man. It sounded like the villain kept moving as the speech went on. "I'm truly sorry about your jaw. But you brought it on yourself, really. I asked for answers and you refused to give me any. You should've known that I'd lose my patience."

Clint could actually feel his heart hammering. His foggy, pounding head worked furiously to figure out the situation but everything refused to make any sense. What the hell was that bastard going to do to him?

Clint stiffened and inhaled sharply when a hand brushed his damaged jaw. Gently, affectionately. Where was Mikael? His eyes darted around, desperate to catch even a glimpse, furiously attempting to help him regain at least a hint of control over the nightmarish situation.

"Pity, really." Mikael sighed and a warm breath caressed Clint's neck, making the archer feel sick. "It would've been lovely to hear you scream through this…"

And all of a sudden Clint understood, so clearly that he would've thrown up if he could've. He wanted to scream, to howl out, but the sheer agony that rewarded his feeble attempts was more than enough to convince him otherwise. He wanted to run. To fight back. _Anything_ to save what was left of his dignity.

Clint felt himself shift slightly and for a second of fool's hope he wished that perhaps the drug was fading faster than Mikael anticipated. That was until he realized that he lay on a bed and it just moved because someone had joined him. In a matter of seconds that seemed to stretch into hours Mikael's smirking face loomed above him. The man's pupils were blown wide. "Oh, yes…", Mikael murmured, hungry eyes scanning through his defenseless body. "This is going to be absolutely marvelous."

Perhaps the cruelest part of the drug was that Clint could feel every little bit of what was done to him. Slow, savoring hands first sneaking underneath his clothes, then starting to remove them. Callous fingers traced his scars, making them throb like they were brand new. By then Clint was trembling so badly that he was sure the other noticed.

And sure enough, Mikael chuckled. "Easy, there. I'm planning on taking my time with you."

Soon enough those unwanted, invasive hands and lips were _everywhere_. Inspecting him like he was a new favorite toy. Caressing his face, traveling from his neck and via his thundering heart to his stomach, pausing on a horrific scar that was left by a nearly lethal injury. Then the criminal's whole body was exploring him. And finally the eager intrusion reached his most private areas.

Horrific memories, such Clint had imagined long since passed, flooded into his head. Of a time when he was just as defenseless as he was now. Of a time when it was a different pair of hands. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, tried to escape in the only way he still had. But the physical agony was too much, rooted his mind mercilessly to the space and time around him. He had no idea of the couple of tears that escaped despite his best efforts.

It didn't matter that he had a broken jaw. It didn't matter that there seemed to be no breath left in his lungs. Clint screamed, trapped into the horror story.

Mikael laughed hoarsely. "How about that. I made you scream, after all."

* * *

It may have taken minutes, hour or days. As far as Clint was concerned it was close to a decade. Eventually he was just left there, naked and in tremendous agony. He tried to wait until the drug wore off in desperate hopes that he might finally find a way to escape. But eventually the physical and emotional strain became too much. His mind shut down and he passed out.

When Clint woke up he was blindfolded and hung from something metallic by his wrists, and he knew that nightmare wasn't going to end anytime soon.

If Clint had some vague idea of the passing time before he lost it entirely after that. The sick, soul crushing cycle repeated itself over and over again. There were the physical beatings, the endless questions that he wouldn't have answered even if his jaw hadn't been broken.

His mind wasn't under anyone's control anymore – there was no way those bastards would get anything out of him as long as there was a breath of life in him.

When those sessions ended, when he made the mistake of imagining that they might give him a moment of rest, Mikael came to him alone. Sometimes in a forced standing positions, sometimes laying down, Clint remained paralyzed by drugs while the psychopath had his way with him. Claimed him. Left marks on him that he'd carry for the rest of his life, however long or short that might be. Those were the only times when the blindfold was removed. Mikael seemed to enjoy whatever the man saw in his eyes. The criminal never said a word, offered no taunts or explanations. Somehow the silence made trying to think past the horror story that much harder. Clearly it was a part of the torture. As was humiliation. He was never given back his clothes.

Lifetimes passed by. But his captors had clearly made the mistake of not taking something into account. Clint had a much higher than average resistance to drugs. Little by little whatever substance Mikael gave him lost its effect.

First Clint was able to move his fingers and toes. Then arms and legs. As soon as he could he began to prepare his body for a breakout. Hiding his preparations was easy. Enduring until his body was ready… Not so much. Having Mikael violate him and knowing that he could've given a bite… A punch… A kick… Not doing a thing when he finally could've… It was the worst torture. But he knew that he wasn't ready. He might've been able to take down Mikael but not the man's goonies. Acting hastily would only get him into a worse trouble. Even though he knew that the desire to leave nearly overwhelmed everything else.

Then, finally, he was ready. His whole body felt electrified as he lay absolutely still, waiting, bracing himself. He was hyper aware of the touches, of the warm breath caressing his skin. He wanted to throw up and swallowed thickly, the horrific taste turning out to be almost more than he could take.

Mikael met his eyes. There was a frosty smirk on the man's face. "I love the way you're shivering, Little Bird."

That, if anything, was the last straw. With eerie calmness Clint watched as the other man's head traveled down, down, down on his torso. Until the spot was just right.

Clint had been fast since he was a kid. He was also a former acrobat and a well-trained fighter. Still, he was taking a huge risk because even though his companion was only wearing a shirt he knew of the knife buried underneath. Either he'd be quick enough or he was dead

At this point he was satisfied with just the thought of this being _over_ , in any possible way.

Clint's legs wrapped around Mikael's neck before the man had the slightest chance to see it coming. At the other's look of shock the archer squeezed tighter, tighter. With every single ounce of strength his body had left. First Mikael flailed and writhed, fighting desperately to break free from his deathly grip. Clint responded with twisting. The criminal went still and slumped, eyes open but unseeing. The Hawk emitted a choked sound that was dangerously close to turning into a sob, then another before he managed to stop himself. He was shaking horribly.

He couldn't lose control. Not now, not yet. It wasn't over.

With grim determination Clint kicked the corpse off of him and fought back a wave of nausea. Then, stiffly and at first feebly, he struggled his way up, nearly losing his balance twice along the way. He stood in the middle of the room and listened, breathing hard. It didn't seem like anyone had caught a hint of something being wrong yet. Good.

He checked the time from Mikael's wrist watch, careful not to brush the man's skin even by accident. Half past two. He suspected that it was night-time and remembered at adrenaline-induced speed that only three security guards should be present. He'd be able to handle three. What other choice did he have at this point?

Then steps approached the room before the door opened and time to consider ran out. "'You done with the Hawk yet? The systems just picked up something suspicious…" Their eyes met, effectively cutting the sentence short.

It was a speed contest from thereon out. The guard's hand moved at the same fraction of a second the archer's whole body did. Clint was stubborn enough to block out the sound of a gunshot as he dropped elegantly to Mikael's body and snatched the hidden knife. It flew through the air, shining like a diamond in the lack of light. It met the desired target just as the second gunshot rang out. The guard slumped down with very little sound, eyes wide and quivering lips open for a scream that'd never come. The firearm slipped from the younger man's hold, harmless.

Clint's heart was pounding so loudly that the sound nearly deafened him. The flood of adrenaline was almost more than he could take and he gasped as he made his way to his newest victim, stumbling far more than he would've liked. He was beginning to feel lightheaded but chose to ignore that for the time being. He preferred focusing on himself as little as possible, really, because fixing his attention to the things he had left to do hurt far less than going to what damage had been done to his body.

The guard was barely alive but those eyes nonetheless widened as Clint's face leaned closer. The archer's gaze was unwavering while he closed an eerily steady fist around the knife. His jaw hurt far too much for actual words but the single look spoke all necessary.

 _If you and I swapped places, would you let me live?_

The answer was chillingly obvious. Clint's hold on the weapon hardened still. Three more stabs sealed the kill but didn't succeed in making him feel more whole or in control. Didn't erase what'd been done to him. He could only make sure that those who were responsible would _pay_.

Clint didn't notice that he was still naked and covered in blood. Nor did he experience any pain at the moment, emotional or physical. All that existed to him was the need to _move_. So he did, dimly aware of the fact that he'd have to while he still could.

Clint didn't notice that he'd taken the guard's firearm but he must've because as he left the room he was clutching it tightly, stubbornly. Good thing, too. Because he'd taken no more than twenty steps before another guard was rushing towards the opposite direction. They were both so preoccupied that they nearly ran into one another before they noticed each other. Five quick and entirely too loud gunshots later only Clint was running, or at that point rather staggering, on.

It occurred to Clint, infuriatingly slowly and a little too late, that the last two of his victims must've been expecting an attack of some sort. Because the very last guard was waiting for him. The archer was crossing what looked suspiciously lot like a medical laboratory when his senses screamed that something was wrong. Exactly a second later there was a yet another gunshot before a dark, blurry mass was approaching him.

The fight was far more vicious than Clint's body would've been able to handle and if there was any doubt over whether his jaw was broken before there was no doubt about it towards the end. But he fought on because anything else was unthinkable. He kicked, punched and used up every little bit of whatever strength he had.

But sometimes even one's best effort isn't enough.

Somehow they reached a horrific standstill with Clint a knife held against the criminal's – who was barely old enough to be called a man and visibly terrified out of his mind – throat. He felt something solid against his own stomach and figured out that it was probably a gun. Slowly but inevitably it dawned on him that there was no positive outcome of the mess.

No amount of adrenaline in the world wouldn't have been enough and Clint's was beginning to fade. He was exhausted and throbbing pain seemed to have taken over his whole body. The world was swaying dangerously before his eyes although he was fairly sure that he was perfectly still. His next move would probably be his last so he'd have to make it count.

Clint slashed with the knife and noticed the other's fingers twitching around the gun's trigger but his heart was thrumming so loudly that he couldn't be sure if there was a gunshot.

* * *

Two and a half months. That was how long it took before the rest of the Avengers realized that Clint's deep undercover had gone wrong. A throughout investigation revealed that a former S.H.I.E.L.D colleague had sold out the archer in exchange for a pathetic sum of money. By then there wasn't a trace of Clint.

Luckily they had Tony's contacts, some more questionable than others. Two more long, nerve wrecking weeks later they had a location. Another three days that they didn't really have later they had a plan.

They preferred not trying to guess how unlikely it was that they'd find their friend alive. Because that option… wasn't an option. So they braced themselves for facing the nightshift of a massive, international criminal organization's base fifteen and whatever they might find inside.

" _Okay… These laboratories… They're just creepy._ " Tony's voice was quiet and not only due to the fact that there might be enemies nearby. Quiet and uncharacteristically shaken. " _If they've used this stuff on…_ " The billionaire trailed off unexpectedly. Quite soon there was a small, unidentifiable sound that made Steve's skin crawl.

The Captain's frowned, tensing up to a painful extend. "Iron Man? Do you need backup?"

" _No, no… Jesus…_ " Tony's voice had never, ever sounded like that. Sad, frail, furious, disgusted. Was it possible that the inventor was fighting back tears? Whatever the man had seen shook him to the core. " _I… found photos… Of Clint._ "

Maybe it was fortunate that there was no time for further questions. Because just then a gunshot rang out. Natasha dashed forward from her spot beside Steve and he followed as fast as his legs carried him. They both wore grim expressions as they did their best to stay calm, focused and professional.

Secure your surroundings. Make sure that you're prepared. Don't rush.

At the moment Steve felt more than happy to forget about those simple rules.

The hallways they ran through were eerily quiet. Whatever resistance they'd been expecting never rolled their way. Eventually they even found Clint. That very moment would never, ever leave their nightmares.

An enemy, a young man whose name they'd probably never get to know, lay on the floor. The wound across his neck left no questions as to the cause of death. Very close lay Clint, naked and covered in blood. The archer's wheezing, laborious breaths were definitely the most chilling thing Steve had ever heard. It was impossible to tell how much of the red substance was the Hawk's own. The five gunshot wounds they were able to spot spoke a grim tale.

"Steve…!"

Steve charged on without paying any mind to Natasha's call. He dropped himself beside Clint, hurried hands trying to analyze the damage and control the bleeding. In a flash his hands were slick with red and a searing sensation filled his eyes. "You'll be alright", he announced regardless, his voice a firm command. All of a sudden the body beneath his hands was as tight as the string of a bow, the muscles preparing for action. "But you need to hold still. You're inj…" He never had the chance to finish that sentence.

A pale and feeble yet determined had appeared to accompany his. At first Steve imagined that Clint was aiding him put pressure on the wounds. Soon, however, a sick feeling rolled in when it occurred to him that instead the archer was attempting to push his helping hands away. Steve met Clint's eyes to scold his friend over such irrational behavior but what he found in the other's blue eyes made all words freeze into his throat.

Clint appeared exhausted, terrified and furious. That look… It wasn't such anyone would've fixed on a friend. It struck Steve like a hammer why Natasha tried to stop him.

They'd seen enough pictures to know that Mikael could've been easily mistaken for being the Captain's long lost twin. There, badly wounded and bleeding out, Clint wasn't seeing his teammate. Those dazed and confused eyes reported a villain.

When Steve refused to relent Clint's protesting motions became even more stubborn, despite the fact that the archer barely had the strength of a small child. Talking was visibly excruciatingly painful. Still the former assassin forced out two chosen words. "Let … go."

Steve was too stunned by those words to question – out loud or in his head – what, exactly, the barely audible demand had meant. He didn't move, barely even breathed, until he was suddenly pushed away. Natasha took his place beside Clint, operating quickly and efficiently. To most her expression wouldn't have betrayed nothing but he saw the whispers of a million emotions on her face.

Steve opened his mouth and closed it again quickly. What use was there in comforting words? None would do in the current situation.

Steve looked away when Natasha started whispering something to Clint, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the archer was no longer conscious. When he spotted a quilt that'd been forgotten to the floor nearby he was moving before his body would've been ready for it. He placed in on Clint carefully, covering as much as he could to spare whatever was left of the man's dignity. If Natasha's small nod of gratitude was anything to go by she appreciated his gesture.

Soon enough the others appeared, morose expressions on their faces. Bruce was visibly struggling to maintain his self-control. Thor seemed eager to smash something, anything. And Tony… Were those tears rimming the billionaire's eyes? "Let's get him out of here", the Iron Man decided in an unrecognizable voice.

They all knew, all too well, that taking Clint away from the building of horrors wouldn't really fix anything but they clung to it because it was all they could do.

* * *

The injury-report they received was crushing. A massive amount of internal damage, such that threatened several organs… Broken bones, including the jaw… And then there was the sexual assault with its sickening results. Stitches were needed to fix some of it. They also took all sorts of bloodwork.

If he made it through the immediate, life threatening injuries Clint might still be sick for the rest of his life.

Thor disappeared as soon as the Asgardian knew that Clint was in safe hands. They couldn't blame the hammer wielder and knew that he'd be back as soon as he felt like he could be. Bruce and Natasha sat vigil in the waiting room, clearly prepared for absolutely anything. Steve made his way to the hospital's rooftop and was only a little surprised to discover that he wasn't alone. Tony stood quite close to the edge, hands fisted so tightly that it had to hurt. The billionaire was shaking miserably.

Steve approached without a word, knowing that his presence had been spotted, anyway. It took a long time before he finally spoke. "We'll get him through this." Because, really, what other choice was there?

Fifty-two cars sped by down below before Tony spoke. Steve counted. When the billionaire spoke the man's voice nearly disappeared into the wind. "What if we can't?" The inventor wiped his cheeks angrily with an unsteady hand. "I… I saw photos, Steve. That asshole… He took pictures, after…" Tony's body shuddered as though the man had been ready to throw up.

Steve wouldn't have been surprised. Not when he felt sick to his stomach as well. Violence like this… It was a foreign concept to him, especially when the victim was a man. Especially when the victim was a friend. "We'll never tell that to Clint." An obvious enough decision. "Whatever happens next… We'll keep him safe."

Tony nodded firmly and wiped his eyes again. Twenty cars flew by. "If you tell him that I cried I'll tell him about your 'Adventure Time' boxers."

"How do you know about them?"

"I didn't until now."

* * *

Maybe they should've guessed that waiting for Clint's physical condition to improve was the easiest part of the whole nightmare. It'd take several more months before the archer would be anywhere close to alright and he lost a kidney. Although the jaw was recovering nicely talking would also be incredibly painful for a while.

But against all primary odds Clint woke up on the day before Christmas. The scent of a much too familiar cologne assaulted him, striking away absolutely all else. Mikael's cologne. Panic flared through him, bringing along white hot pain.

No, no, hell no…! It wasn't possible! He killed that man! He…!

"Clint?" Tony's voice, not Mikael's. His brain kept telling him differently. Somewhere at his right a beeping sound was speeding up exponentially. "Hey, Clint, it's okay…!"

Clint couldn't keep listening, barely registered those words. Perhaps Tony was a telepath because at that very moment a small, cardboard made bowl was offered to him. Not a second too soon. Clint threw up, loudly and incredibly painfully, unaware of the tears rolling down his cheeks. From a place he couldn't quite pinpoint the lyrics of 'Feliz Navidad' echoed to his ears like an insult.

Eventually the hospital staff was forced to sedate him to keep the panic attack from damaging his still very much _not_ alright body.

* * *

Quite soon it became apparent that Clint's nightmares and anxiety attacks worsened in the presence of Steve and Tony. The cause of the former was obvious, it was Natasha who managed to dig out the latter. The results of the revelation were exactly what the Hawk most likely feared. They started tiptoeing around their injured friend. Whenever they were present, anyway. Whether it was to spare Clint from the emotional turmoil or for their own comfort was anyone's guess.

Almost amusingly it was Thor who operated as the voice of reason. The Asgardian cornered Steve and Tony to one of the offices of the city's Stark Industries headquarters. "I was under the impression that we're a team. That we were supposed to look after one another and others. So be a team. Help Barton. Because… I don't know how to."

Steve's shoulders slumped and a look of defeat appeared to the Captain's eyes. Tony sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Sorry, Goldilocks. But neither do we."

" _You three are impossible._ " They all jumped as Pepper's voice carried from Tony's phone. Clearly she'd been put on a speaker. " _Start with actually being there for him. Simple as that._ " Of course they all knew that it was anything but easy.

* * *

Nick Fury restrained a sigh as he stood outside Clint's hospital room, skimming through the report the archer had already written. Short and few worded. Very, very much unlike Hawkeye's usual colorful documentations.

"Physically he's improving." Natasha's tone gave away more than she would've probably liked. Her aura was her usual fierce one, supported by folded arms, but fatigue radiated from her in waves. She couldn't stop casting glances towards the room's door. "But he… reacts whenever a man tries to touch him, even if he tries not to. He won't eat and I haven't heard him utter more than a few sentences." He'd only ever seen her that frustrated once, after New York. She gestured towards her head. "He's lost, into that world of his own. Closed into his shell." She gritted her teeth, not meeting his gaze. "I don't know what it'd take to crack him open."

Fury emitted a sigh, his shoulders dropping as though a ton's weight had settled on them. "This is Clint we're talking about. There's no 'cracking open'."

Natasha cast a sharp look towards him. Frustration gave her eyes a dangerous gleam. "He's going to burn himself out if he keeps going on like this."

Fury locked his gaze on the door and made up his mind. "I was supposed to have a debrief with him, anyway. Now's as good time as any." With that verdict he marched into the room.

Clint lay on the hospital bed with his back towards the door. Odd enough for a man who never let his guard down. Fury had been reported that the archer was heavily medicated but he knew better than to assume that the man was sleeping. The Hawk soon proved him right. "No lemon muffins? I'm insulted." The voice wasn't slurred or weak. It was strained.

"You can't expect to get any when you refused to meet Dr. Island again."

Clint's whole body tensed up. For a few moments it looked like the man might charge for an attack. "You know that I don't work with shrinks." Once the damn had been broken there was no stopping the flood. It'd been building up for weeks and even the archer could only bottle up so much. "I have nightmares whenever I try to sleep. I can't stop feeling sick. Two of my friends can't stand spending time with me and I'm happy about it because I can't look at one of them and I nearly throw up whenever I catch a sniff of the other's cologne." Even though it had to irritate the Hawk's injuries the man was suddenly sitting, glaring at him with ice and lava. "I'm not interested in talking to Dr. Island because it'd be useless. I want myself back! I want my life back!"

Sadly, this was a Clint Barton Fury recognized. It was the Clint Coulson first recruited. It was the Clint after New York. This was also a Clint who was down but not out. "Use that anger and harness it. Prove that you're stronger than this. Just remember that you don't have to do it alone anymore." Because there was a great difference between this Clint and those Fury used to know. This man had a rather large support net willing to help him work through this trauma. That, of course, only if the archer would let them help.

* * *

Hours later Steve, Thor and Tony made their way towards Clint's room. Tony wished that Natasha and Bruce, who clearly had the same plans, hadn't looked so surprised to see them. "Hey", Bruce greeted them. "I… didn't know that you were also coming over."

"It was... a last minute decision." Steve shifted his weight discomfort. "Do you think seeing all of us is too much?"

Tony shrugged a little helplessly. "Well. If we're gonna be a team I suppose he'll have to get re-used to the idea eventually." At least he knew better than to wear that cologne, now. He arched an eyebrow at the gift Bruce was holding. "A Bonsai Tree? Seriously?"

Bruce shrugged. There was a sheepish look on the man's face. "I doubt the staff would've approved of a bow and arrows."

"True." Natasha nodded towards the door. "Now let's go and see if those to offed each other." It should've sounded more like a joke than it did.

They entered the room to find a hurricane site. Whatever Clint had been able to throw had been sent to motion. The Hawk stood in the middle of the chaos, appearing embarrassed, tired and even slightly relieved.

"The room pissed you off?" Tony guessed.

"Yeah, sort of. And… Well, I was told that I could be as active as pain allows." They caught a wince. "May have overdone it a bit, though…" Clint took a deep, shuddering breath. "Do you guys think you could help me clean up before my nurse kills me?"

Natasha scoffed. "That brunette, Janie? She wouldn't kill you, she's got a crush on you." She narrowed her eyes when Clint attempted to start clearing the mess. "Oh no, you don't. If you haven't popped any stitches yet you're close to it." With uncharacteristically gentle motions she began to help her friend towards the bed. It was a sign of hope that he didn't escape her touch.

The rest of them began to help. Thor and Steve taking care of the bigger items, Tony focusing mainly on whining and cracking silly jokes. Bruce also joined in after finding the perfect spot for the tiny plant, which Clint greeted with a pleased look and a nod of thanks. For the first time in weeks they operated as a team.

* * *

It was Valentine's Day when Clint finally returned to his wife and children.

Lila woke up to the sound of the front door opening. Her eyes filled with excitement as she knew who it'd be. She climbed out of the bed and made her way to the stairs as quickly as she could. Only to freeze as soon as the sight downstairs greeted her.

Her dad walked in very slowly, as though every step had been a world of agony, and might've stumbled if Natasha hadn't been there to support him. Her mom also moved to help him but he flinched away, as though afraid of her. Wrong, all of it.

Instead of the bedroom her dad was helped to the living room. Which also felt wrong. When aunt Natasha and her dad disappeared from sight her mom burst into soundless sobs. Lila wanted to cry as well.

What was going on?

* * *

It was four in the morning and Clint hadn't slept a wink. Which was the most likely reason why he didn't sense his wife approaching until she sat beside him. He shivered and nearly withdrew before he caught a firm hold of himself.

"You don't have to talk about it." Laura's voice was quiet and tender. And strained, even if she talked to a lot of traumatized people when she was a nurse. "But don't shut me out, Barton. Stay with me."

Clint looked down towards his hands, which were squirming and sweating with discomfort. He swallowed and didn't like the taste that filled his mouth. "I… I'm a man, and I let him…" He gagged dryly. "What if I can't be a proper husband, after…?" He trailed off and shivered. The nausea was almost more than he could take. "And… How can I keep my kids safe if I let this happen to myself?"

"You didn't let anything happen to you." Laura's voice was firm, uncompromising. "And if you imagine in that silly head of yours that you're any less of a man in my eyes now… Well, then you deserve a smack down from Natasha."

Clint's lips twitched. It wasn't exactly a smile but came close. He relaxed just a little bit even if he couldn't quite face his wife just yet. "Look…" He sighed. "You need sleep and… I'm not sure if I can, yet…"

Laura shrugged. He felt it even if he didn't see it. "I'm not tired, Birdie, so I think I'll keep you company for a bit. Coffee?"

They sat there, sipping coffee, until the children woke up in the morning. It wasn't a magic cure. But Clint found it a bit easier to breathe.

* * *

It was Bruce who drove Clint to the first meeting. He gave his friend a critical look, spotting loud traces of discomfort. "Are you sure…?"

Clint's sharp nod interrupted him effectively. "Just… Let's get this over with."

They walked into the huge building side by side. Neither spoke but it said a lot that Clint didn't tell him to go away. It wasn't until five steps before _the door_ Bruce stopped, reluctantly. He'd been able to take his friend this far but the archer would have to make the rest of the journey alone.

Clint lifted his chin and took a deep breath. Then, slowly, completed the journey. As soon as the Hawk opened the door the man froze.

Five women sat in the room and they all looked at the archer with clearly visible suspicion. Clint was obviously ready to bolt until they both saw the three rest of the room's occupants. They were men, strong and trained, just like Clint.

It was a support group for former and still active agents who'd been through sexual assault. When Fury first gave Clint the brochure the archer disappeared from the face of the Earth for five days. Only to appear behind Bruce's door, looking like he'd been to hell and back. The archer offered no apologies, back then anyway, or explanations. Instead the Hawk asked if Bruce could give him a ride somewhere.

Bruce returned to the present when Clint entered the room and took a seat. After a few moments quiet words carried to his ears. "So, I… honestly don't know how this works, but… I'm Clint Barton and… Well, last November I went through something pretty shitty…"

This was something private. Something Clint deserved to get the chance to handle alone, especially when the man had had control over far too few things lately. So, despite the fact that he wouldn't have wanted to leave his friend behind Bruce turned and began to walk away. He was comforted by the knowledge that Clint was finally safe and sound in every way.

As soon as Bruce made it outside he received a text message and wasn't surprised to discover that it was from Natasha.

' _Wanna have some coffee while we wait?_ '

* * *

It was April Fool's day when Cooper and Lila sauntered towards the kitchen for breakfast. The instant they smelled waffles they exchanged cautiously hopeful glances. Something about the simple scent felt incredibly right. The feeling grew stronger when they approached the kitchen and encountered the sight inside.

Their dad was the one cooking this time. Their mom murmured something they couldn't hear, then wrapped her arms around her husband's thinner than _before_ waistline and peered over his shoulder to see what he was making. For the first time since his latest return the physical contact wasn't met by traces of tension. Instead their dad leaned back and pressed a soft kiss to their mom's cheek before refocusing on the task at hand. So normal, all of it.

The kids exchanged wide, radiant smiles.

* * *

Natasha was taking a jog with Clint when the man received a phone call. She tensed up while he listened with a serious expression, responding curtly here and there. When he put away the phone it took far too long before he managed to speak. "It's… It was the test results." The man blinked once, twice. "I'm all clear."

A beat later Natasha understood. The final screenings for STDs. It was a relief that Clint had managed to dodge at least one bullet.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she noticed how Clint was shaking. Tears rolled down his cheeks, fat and heavy, as he cried for the first time since the whole ordeal ended. As he finally let go.

She knew that he wouldn't have wanted speeches or empty words so she offered none. Instead she stood there by his side, making sure that he knew that he wasn't alone. Despite the tears they both felt a little lighter as a spring breeze caressed their faces.

Natasha was blissfully unaware of her own tears.

* * *

On the Saturday before Mother's Day Laura woke up and stiffened upon realizing that the other side of the bed was empty. She panicked momentarily before hearing voices from outside. Curious, she got up and made her way to the window.

It wasn't until she saw Steve she remembered Clint mentioning that the Captain would be stopping by. To see if the Hawk was ready for active duty, was the official explanation. Of course they all knew that the archer wasn't. But they all also knew that Steve needed to see that Clint was recovering, that the man no longer treated his friend like a ghost from a horrific nightmare.

Outside Clint was shooting arrows. There would've been nothing out of the ordinary to the sight if Laura didn't know everything that'd happened lately. Each arrow hit the mark, easily and flawlessly. Finally her husband appeared relaxed, at home. And if the smile on Steve's face was anything to go by the Captain agreed.

Laura wasn't able to hold back a smile of her own.

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot_**

* * *

A/N: Oh boy…! It took me AGES to type this. I'm sure that you can see why… (shudders) Thank gosh Clint has such amazing people to help him through this nightmare!

Sooo… Any good, at all? Garbage material? PLEASE, do let me know! And I'm really sorry if the HEAVY subject material rattled you. (winces)

 **NEXT TO COME…!**

THEN, in a three parter, Clint faces a surprising diagnosis that changes his life permanently. He's going to need all the help and support he can get. Will he pull through?

THEN, Bruce needs to do his best to keep Big Guy at bay when he's trapped with a badly injured Clint.

THEN… This idea started off as a joke, LOL…! Who expected baby-Stark's grand entrance to be a mundane one? Not when Pepper has an injured Clint for a midwife while they're both held captive!

PLUS, a Farm accident puts Clint's life to risk – again…

Awkay, I REALLY have to go to bed for a couple of hours… Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): Now I'm happy that I updated, too! (BEAMS) I really hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as well.

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 96: (BEAMS, and blushes) I'm OVERJOYED that you liked the idea and my take on it so much! Those are my thoughts exactly. The poor thing's already been through WAY too much and then Loki happened…! Losing control like that must've been his nightmare. (shudders)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Exactly! With a group like that it must be REALLY easy to forget about the more fragile ones. Stuff like that… It's bound to happen. (winces) I'm overjoyed that you enjoyed it so!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): Awww, I'm glad I did! (BEAMS, and hugs) Ooooh, now there's a great idea – one that'll TOTALLY appear on this story! In need of medical attention and as far from it as possible… SUPER juicy!

Gigantic thank yous for the idea!


	40. A Tiny Black Spot, 1 of 3 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: SO, has everyone recovered from the previous chapter…? (winces apologetically) Because it's UDPATING TIME! First, though…

THANK YOU, so much, for all your reviews, listings and support! This story is so loved that I just don't have words. You can't even imagine how good your support for the Hawk feels!

Awkay, because stalling is rude (and I'm sure Steve would agree)… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE** after 'AoU'

 **CLINT X LAURA AND TONY X PEPPER IN THIS ONE**

 **WANDA-APPEARANCE**

* * *

A Tiny Black Spot, part 1 of 3 (FEAT Wanda)

* * *

Many nasty things start on Tuesday.

For the first time in… well, a very long time Clint woke up with a migraine. It was hammering his skull as thought it'd been bombarded by Thor's hammer. Or actually, that option might've been preferable. Weird patterns danced in his line of vision while he buried himself underneath a comforter. Too bad the warmth only made him feel worse.

His stomach certainly didn't seem to approve.

Much, much faster than his body would've been ready for Clint was on the move, staggering towards the room's toilet. As soon as he made it there he vomited loudly, emptying whatever little there'd been in his stomach. It left him gasping and his abdominal muscles cramping. But at least the crushing agony in his head transformed into a remotely more tolerable dull throbbing.

It took Clint far longer than it should've to get up and even then his legs felt hazardously shaky. Still he pushed himself onwards with iron hard will. He'd never been the type to just stay down, even when it would've been good for him, and he wasn't about to start now.

They celebrated Tony's birthday the day before but it seemed that _he_ was the one who was officially getting old.

An unclear amount of time passed by until Clint dragged his feet to the Tower's kitchen. Natasha and Tony were already there, fighting over the last remaining slice of pepperoni-pizza. The billionaire cast a long look and an arched eyebrow towards him. "Sunglasses while indoors? What are you, a teenager having their first hangover?"

Clint shrugged. He had no brainpower to waste on the jibe when said organ felt like it was about to explode. Which wouldn't have been solely unwelcomed. Blowing up might've hurt less. "Pizza for breakfast?" He was careful to keep his volume low. "I could ask you the same thing."

"It's half past twelve", Natasha revealed with an arched eyebrow.

Clint blinked once. Twice. "Oh."

"Yeah." Tony pushed the pizza towards him. "It looks like you need this more than we do, Tweetie."

Clint shuddered, a sharp slash of nausea washing through him. "I'm touched, Tinman. But I'll stick to sparkling water." He paused momentarily. "You didn't poison it again, did you?"

He regretted his words as soon as he felt the tension in the air. Was Tony seriously still feeling guilty after almost nine months? "I didn't _poison_ it. How was I supposed to know that you're allergic to honey?"

Clint shrugged. He really hoped that the painkillers he managed to find would work. "Yeah, well… Considering the facial bruises I gave you during our next hand to hand training I think we're even. I was sure Pepper would beat me up in return."

"Nah. Pepper's methods of punishment are way more devious." Tony's tone changed from distinctly pained to fond. Good, one crisis averted. "She kept you on decaf for a month."

Clint shivered, trying to make it look like the gesture was caused by disgust, not agony. "I sort of suspected. That stuff made me result to Starbucks."

* * *

Tony and Natasha watched Clint go, both noticing the slight stumble in his steps. One of them grinned, blissfully obvious. The other's eyes darkened.

"That guy and alcohol just aren't a fit", Tony declared while stealing the nearly forgotten slice of pizza.

Natasha's eyes hardened, as they always did when she was getting… concerned. Because of course she didn't do worrying. Children and weaklings worried.

Clint _was_ more than capable of holding down liquor, even if he showed that attribute as seldom as he could. She'd nearly had him drink her underneath the table enough times to know. And the night before she'd only seen him down two beers.

* * *

Clint was the one who talked Wanda into becoming an Avenger. He had a big enough impact on her and Pietro to have her brother give his life for him. So was it any wonder that out of all the members of the team she felt the most comfortable around him?

No special powers were needed to help her find Clint. It was soothing, in some funny way, how inside the Tower's walls they all had their routines. She found the Hawk from one of the many training rooms. What she discovered made a cold fist squeeze around her stomach.

Clint was shooting arrows at a target board. A very normal sight, really. Apart from the fact that one arrow had missed its mark.

Clint Barton didn't miss.

It also didn't seem right that her voice managed to catch the man off guard. "You've been caught, Old Man." The petname was a silent agreement between them. In some odd way it made them feel closer to each other and the one who'd never really be gone. "You skipped dinner. Again." She could already see traces of lost weight on the archer's muscular yet naturally slender frame. All about it screamed that something was wrong.

Clint shifted. If it wasn't for the barely disguised wince it might've been mistaken for being a gesture of discomfort. "I… didn't think anyone would notice."

"Idiot." Because he was, for obviously not having taken care of himself. As well as for still failing to realize how much they cared about him, even if they would've never uttered it out loud. And she wasn't afraid to call him out on it. "Of course we notice."

Clint shrugged, then fired a new arrow. She couldn't share the relief that flashed in his eyes when it hit the mark as flawlessly as it was supposed to. "The food… It just didn't taste right." He then cast a warning look towards her. "Please don't tell Steve. He's still new to cooking and he's… surprisingly sensitive about the results."

The unpleasant truth was that there was nothing wrong with the food. Wanda grinned, for a few moments of bliss ignoring all the alarming elements in the air. "My lips are sealed. On one condition." She revealed a sandwich. "You eat this or the next one offering it is Natasha."

With a roll of eyes Clint got to work. They both chose to ignore how hard it obviously was for him. Each bite seemed to want to crawl back up.

"Chicken?"

"Ham." Wanda frowned, casting a critical look at the man who was quickly becoming something like family. "You really should get your tastebuds checked."

"My tastebuds are fine, kid." They both emitted a sigh of relief when Clint soldiered down the last of the food. Several seconds later the man focused properly on her. "So, are you ready to get your ass kicked in a training session?"

Wanda responded with muttering some well-chosen words in her native language.

"Lovely, Wanda, very lovely."

* * *

Things had been stressful for the entire team since Sokovia. They were all worried about Bruce and Thor was absent as well. They would've wanted to look for the scientist but had a feeling that Big Guy would be able to look after himself and wouldn't appreciate being hunted down. And then there was the training and dealing with what happened to Pietro.

True, the speedster hadn't exactly spent a lot of time with them. But eventually the boy was one of their own, as well as painfully young. Steve had faced far too many occasions of losing one of his own. He knew that the tragedy was a lot worse for Clint.

It seemed that the archer was wearing himself thin, dividing his time between the Farm and the Tower. Clearly Clint felt that he owed to Pietro that he kept an eye on Wanda. That it was his duty to make sure that she was safe and prepared for the challenges she'd face, as an Avenger and a young woman who was getting used to a brand new way of life. And then there were the obligations Clint had towards his recently expanded family. And the guilt, the never-ending 'what ifs'. It was a massive load on one man's shoulders.

Steve knew that his friend would've needed rest but was also sadly aware that the man would've never settled for sitting back and taking it easy. So the Captain offered the next best thing. A way to let loose. Which was why they started heading for jogs in the morning whenever the archer was around.

They never spoke much. Which was exactly what they needed. A moment of silence in the middle of their chaotic lives.

That morning, however, something felt off. Clint ran beside him bravely for the first fifteen minutes. Then, without a warning, the Hawk's knees buckled. Steve was barely fast enough to break the fall.

"Hey!" Steve's heart was jumping wildly while he supported his friend and it had nothing to do with the physical exercise. "Eyes open, alright?" It took far too long before his friend seemed to be fully back with him. "What happened?"

Clint shook his head. Slowly, testing it. "I… guess I haven't eaten enough. And I may be a bit fluish." The archer gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I guess I wasn't well enough for this, after all."

Steve's frown persisted. As did the worry coursing through his veins. He helped Clint to a bench and sat down as well, mainly to make sure that the archer would actually stay down. "I'm taking you to Dr…"

Somehow, despite still clearly feeling faint, Clint succeeded in glaring at him. "No, you're not. Unless you want an arrow at your ass during our next mission. I just… need a moment to sit. And maybe a hotdog."

Steve wrinkled his nose and shivered.

They ended up sitting there for almost an hour, watching the sun climbing up. For the first time in his life Steve couldn't find comfort from the sight. Not with the nagging bad feeling in the back of his head screaming that his friend was slipping away.

* * *

While Clint slept soundly Laura remained wide awake beside him. She listened to his steady breaths while one of her hands moved on his bare belly, spotting far too easily that there was less of him than before. Something in her tightened painfully.

Most people would've been overjoyed by the fact that their spouse slept deeply and soundly. Untouched by nightmares and pain. Especially when Clint had a massive headache just before he retreated to bed. But Laura knew her husband. And if she allowed herself to think about it she realized that this undisturbed rest wasn't natural.

As always they slept with him curled protectively around her. His protective instincts were still on high alert, even if he was fast asleep. This time she also wrapped an arm around him and pulled him just a little bit closer. It didn't take as much willpower as it should've to avoid being alerted by the disturbing fact that he didn't wake up.

* * *

It's deviously easy to turn a blind eye on things that we don't want to see. But a time always comes when reality crashes down. Which in Clint's case happened to be a Tuesday. Of course it was Tuesday.

Tony was starting to nod off while working on one of his more infuriating inventions. That was until his in-built Hawkeye monitor came to life, telling him that the man was back from a mission. Almost instantly he was on the move, planning on checking the Hawk's usual spots for licking wounds. Simply because he was bored, of course.

As it turned out Tony never had the time to leave the room. Because all of a sudden Clint stood at the doorway. Eyes dazed, wide and a little unfocused. Several more or less patched up wounds were visible, blood stained his black gear. The archer was so pale that it was terrifying.

Tony's eyes widened as well without him noticing it. "Jesus…!" Then he was moving, arms flailing in a comical manner. "What are you doing here?! You should be in a hospital…!"

Clint shook his head even though it seemed to hurt. A lot. "… 'don't trust hospitals. But… I think I need help." The subtle insinuation that the archer did trust him was actually quite touching. At the moment, however, the billionaire had to focus on the part where it became apparent that something was wrong.

Tony frowned. He felt far colder than before. "What's going on?" An easy enough spot to start from.

Clint swallowed loudly. "My right eye… I can't see anything through it." It was quite possibly the first time Tony saw his friend scared.

One of his qualities Tony was proud of was his ability to function at a time of crisis. And that night, the late – or perhaps early – hour be damned, he had a full medical team working on Clint. He wasn't sure which one of them was more tense when the archer was about to get his head scanned. "Relax", the inventor advised. "That machine isn't gonna bite or anything."

Clint gave him a dry look. "Yeah? The same way as the arrow that bit off a chunk of my hand wasn't supposed to?"

Tony rolled his eyes, focusing firmly past the fierce stab of guilt. He knew, better than well, that as far as his friend was concerned there was nothing to forgive. The billionaire wasn't quite so keen to forgive himself. But at the moment he was willing to welcome any and every trace of humor, no matter how pathetic. "So I've nearly gotten you killed four times…"

"Five." Despite the fact that Clint was most definitely in a horrible amount of pain the man smirked. Detached himself from the moment. "Remember the Cairo incident?"

Without a warning, ignoring the people bustling around them, they began to giggle like a couple of five-year-olds. Savored feeling normal. It was a moment of bliss before the inevitable moment after which nothing was ever quite the same again.

* * *

Clint could barely breathe as he stared at the picture of what was supposed to be his brain. At the dark spot that wasn't supposed to be there. How could something so ridiculously small change _everything_?

For the grand total of ten seconds Clint allowed himself to panic. He actually did forget to breathe as the worst case scenarios, fears, emotions and a chaos of thoughts overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. Then, with the fire and unshakable determination of a soldier, he pulled himself together so fiercely that it hurt and gritted his teeth.

Slowly yet surely Tony's voice began to register to him. "… just… say something, yeah? 'Cause… I may be kind of, sort of worried here, and…" It was easy to tell how much the billionaire hated admitting that. "… and it'd be really, really nice to hear you say _something_."

Clint breathed in deep. Then out. Then in again. "So… Now what?" Because formulating a plan of action… That part he could deal with.

Did Tony just take a protective step closer to him? The billionaire was already contacting someone via phone, which was held by a curiously unsteady hand. "What we always do, Feather Brain." The man's voice broke the slightest bit. "We fight back."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh no… Poor Clint! It looks like he's in for a TOUGH ride. (shudders)

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? Rants? PLEASE, do leave a note into the box down below! And don't forget that requests are still more than welcomed.

 **UP NEXT AFTER THIS THREE-PARTER:**

Bruce needs to do his best to keep Big Guy at bay when he's trapped with a badly injured Clint.

THEN… This idea started off as a joke, LOL…! Who expected baby-Stark's grand entrance to be a mundane one? Not when Pepper has an injured Clint for a midwife while they're both held captive!

PLUS, a Farm accident puts Clint's life to risk – again…

Gah, it's ridiculously late so I've gotta get going. Until next time! I really hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

Guest96: I know, right? (winces) Poor, poor Clint! And poor team as well. But thank gosh he managed to get back on his feet in the end.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): Heartbreaking it was! Clint's the kind of a character one just wants to protect, isn't he? Especially now that we know he's got a family waiting for him to come back home.

Aaron Cross is absolutely awesome! (BEAMS) The idea of him and Clint being twins or even the same person… Juicyyyyy!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): (smirks sheepishly and offers tissues)

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

McDonalds21: I'm overjoyed that you've enjoyed the ride thus far! We'll see what's up ahead next. (rubs hands together)

OOOOOH! An awesome prompt! And the topic is something I feel REALLY strongly about, so… To my list it goes! (grins)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: (giggles) That's a perfectly understandable reaction. In case you were wondering.

I'm happy to announce that you got the prompt-thing exactly right. AND YES, YES, YES, TOTALLY! That idea is MARVELOUS. It'll definitely be seen in this collection, hopefully soon. I don't remember seeing a fic like that, either.

I'm SUPER happy that you've enjoyed the journey thus far so much! I REALLY hope that what's to come won't disappoint, either.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	41. A Tiny Black Spot, 2 of 3 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: DANG, time just flew by while I was typing this chapter! Especially in post-'Civil War' high. And now it's LATE. (winces) Meh, it was worth it. (grins)

Oh, you dear things…! THANK YOU, so much, for all those reviews and listings! It makes me INSANELY happy that Hawkeye has so many fans who love him (almost) as much as I do!

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's roll! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Tiny Black Spot, part 2 of 3

* * *

The rest of the team had to be notified, of course. As teammates and friends they deserved to know why Clint wouldn't be taking any missions with them for a while. The archer explained the facts as they were, calmly, almost robotically. Or like he'd taken too much Xanax, Tony mused bitterly as he observed the Hawk's unnatural composure.

A brain tumor. Operable or not was impossible to tell until the specialist Tony called would show up and inspect him properly. The warning signs had been right there for them to see but they'd turned the blind eye. This was the end of blissful oblivion.

Cancer?

Wanda excused herself quietly and left the room, not really looking at anyone. The others knew better than to go after her. Steve gave Clint a squeeze to the shoulder and assured that whatever the archer needed, he'd be there. Natasha didn't offer any words. Instead she stood beside her friend and took his hand, squeezing so hard that her knuckles turned white. Clint didn't complain although the hold had to hurt. And Tony… He stood there. Unable to come up with anything to say or do.

An hour and a half later Pepper found him from one of the training rooms. It took a full minute before Tony found his voice, only then realizing that it was the first time in… about two, maybe three hours he uttered a word. "I know that we've got it rough right now, but…" He trailed off, aching and embarrassed.

Pepper took his hand. It felt ridiculously good. "If you hadn't let me know I would've punched you." She stepped closer, so that he felt her warmth. "How's he taking it?"

Tony nodded towards the nearby target boards. One of them held a copy of the scan on Clint's brain. It'd been pierced by six arrows. One of them had gone straight through the tumor. The billionaire had a feeling that the number would've been bigger if more arrows would've fit through the infuriating dark spot. "Like he takes all crap like this." Scared as hell but prepared to fight with all he had.

"And you?"

Tony shook his head. He loved her but he couldn't talk about this, not yet. Not when the shock was starting to fade, leaving behind a raw, merciless sea of pain and something close to terror. At the moment he didn't want to think or feel. He wanted a drink, desperately, and it wasn't a good state of mind. "I wanna rip off that tumor and stomp on it."

"I know. But how about some pasta carbonara instead?" Seeing the look on his face Pepper smiled, despite the clear hints of sadness that remained. "Don't worry, I didn't do the cooking, Steve did. It seems that he's developed a mechanism to cope with stress."

"He's going to burn up the kitchen area again, isn't he?"

* * *

Clint listened with a strange sense of numbness as the oncologist Tony had called in explained what was going to happen next. Dr. Ashley Morse, wasn't she? He'd imagined that he was good with names but maybe he was allowed an exception, just this once.

She told him that there was a tumor in his head like he hadn't known as much already. She then continued and explained that there'd be some more tests until he'd undergo a surgery to have as much as possible of _the_ _thing_ removed. Then… Then they'd see what kind it was. How screwed, exactly, he was.

Clint fought his hardest to focus. To intake as much data as could be expected under the circumstances. But it was ridiculously hard to concentrate after the verdict that the tumor was in a tricky spot and threatened his eyesight.

Of all things that – his most valuable quality being at risk – felt like the most bitter insult.

It was Natasha who found him from the Tower's rooftop. She sat beside him without saying a word, closer than would've been acutely necessary. Neither noticed the rain pouring down.

"So…" Clint swallowed, fighting back an intense wave of nausea. "I… I heard that I'll lose my hair."

Natasha shrugged. A sudden passer by might've claimed that her face remained expressionless. He knew better. "You can pull off bald", she declared, not managing to keep her tone as detached as she probably tried to.

They sat there, ignoring the cold that was making both of them tremble. Their eyes were directed at the sea of lights down below but neither actually saw those. If one of them noticed how Natasha's hand took Clint's and squeezed neither pointed it out.

Clint took a breath. Then another. Tested the motions. "I'm not gonna die", he breathed out eventually. It sounded more like a plea than it was supposed to.

"No, you're not", Natasha affirmed. Firmly. Uncompromisingly. Her hand tightened around his. "You're going to come inside and eat a sandwich Wanda made for you because I haven't seen you eat anything in two days. And then you'll call Laura because she's worried about you."

Clint gave her a look that was close to amused. "What is it with people feeding me sandwiches? And how do you know that I haven't told Laura already?"

"Because I know how that head of yours works." At some point she'd apparently stood up and was offering a hand towards him. "Now get up. Let's back inside, because I'm freezing."

Clint did what came naturally to him. He got up. Soldiered on through the rain beating him.

* * *

Five hours later Clint sat in the room reserved for him, his hand shaking as he dialed a very familiar number. Waiting for the call to be picked up was torture. Hearing Laura's voice was nothing short of a stab to his chest. " _Clint?_ " And somehow she knew. She always knew. " _What's going on? What's wrong?_ "

As those innocent words struck him Clint finally did what he'd been itching to do since the meeting with the doctor. Or well, since the very first scan, really. He burst into heavy, nearly soundless sobs that echoed from the bottom of his heart and soul.

* * *

The day of Clint's surgery was ridiculously warm and sunny.

Wanda focused on breathing as she stood behind his door, trying to collect her thoughts and herself. Much to her shame she'd been avoiding Clint since he broke the news. She'd had so few people she'd genuinely cared about and she'd lost far too many of them. The possibility of losing a one more… She had no idea how to handle it.

She was still fighting to come to a decision when Vision's voice came from behind her. "I'm glad to see you visiting him. He's been worried about you."

Wanda wanted to scoff at that but didn't. Trust Clint to worry about her when he was the one… "I've been busy."

"And you are lying." There was no accusation in Vision's voice or on his face. Perhaps he understood. "But you're here now."

Wanda nodded. "Yeah. I'm here now." She licked her lips and glanced towards the door. "How is he?"

"I believe he's afraid, although he keeps denying it. The headaches are getting worse." His eyes softened. "I'm sure that he'll be happy to see you."

Wanda arched an eyebrow. She wasn't so sure after how she'd been avoiding everyone. "Do you think so?"

Vision nodded. There wasn't a hint of hesitation. "I'm certain. He's… missed you." And it was just possible that the Hawk wasn't the only one.

"Vision…" She then shook her head, changing her mind. "Nothing. Just… I'm glad that you're here."

Vision blinked once. Confusion was clearly visible on his face. "Where else would I be?"

Wanda opened the door after a quick, soft knock. Her stomach knotted painfully from worry when she discovered that the man wasn't resting in bed. He hadn't been taken in yet, right? "Clint?" she called out softly, not wanting to provoke the headache the other was most likely having.

"Present", was returned from the bathroom. His voice was a great deal quieter than usual. "You came to check that I haven't escaped through the window before they come to get me, didn't you?"

"Admit that you at least thought about it."

"Nat and Laura would beat me up for it. So… I'll pass." There was a moment of silence. "Do you, uh… think you can help me out a bit?"

Wanda wrestled with amusement, curiosity and dread. She narrowed her eyes while starting to move forward. "You'd better be dressed this time, Old Man."

"You walk in on me stepping out of a shower once and make it sound like you were traumatized for life."

"It was like seeing my father naked."

"That really hurt, you know?"

That was when she reached the bathroom. For a few moments the sight she encountered made her want to turn right back. Fortunately she was able to keep her expression in check, albeit barely.

Apparently Clint had been trying to shave off his hair. Too bad his hands were trembling so badly that he could barely hold the necessary equipment. Frustration radiated from him in waves. "The doc finally decided to let me take care of it myself but… Well." He nodded towards his hands, his eyes narrowing.

Wanda nodded slowly. In a few seconds she found at least a little composure. She made her way to him and pried the equipment from his unsteady fingers. "I… did this to Pietro, once. He wanted to look dangerous."

Clint would've most likely nodded if she hadn't gotten to work right away. He hesitated before speaking. "How old were you?"

Wanda's eyes darkened. The memories were fond but painful. Still too fresh. "Too young", she murmured, then frowned. "Try to hold still for once."

Clint gulped loudly. "I'm trying but… I can't."

"Oh." She really, really wished that she would've been able to produce something more coherent but all words seemed to be slipping from her mind. In the end she did something she hadn't since Pietro. She began to hum a soft, beautiful melody she vaguely recalled her mother singing for them whenever they had difficulties with falling asleep.

Clint didn't ask. Nor did he comment. Instead he relaxed, the tremors subsiding ever so slightly. A comfortable silence cocooned them.

And then it was all done. Not a scratch, just a clean shaved scalp. Wanda had no idea how to feel about the result. Her chest tightened painfully. "Well, I've got a new nickname for you. Professor X."

Clint gave her a wry look. One corner of his lips twitched. "Very funny. So Tony's introduced you to the world of comic books?" He looked at his reflection and wrinkled his nose. "Well. At least that's one of the good guys."

Wanda patted his head affectionately, subconsciously letting her touch linger longer than she meant to. If only her powers were enough to… "Well of course. One of the best guys."

"Tony's going to have a field day with this."

Wanda didn't even try to smile. "If he mocks you I'll shave him in his sleep." And she meant it.

* * *

Clint hated waking up from anesthesia from the bottom of his heart. He detested the sense of losing control and confusion. And he especially hated waking up when a lump had been removed from his skull and he had no idea how bad it was.

He wanted to be coherent. To be able to process and focus. Or well, he did until he actually woke up. Because the moment he saw Dr. Morse's expression his whole world tilted on its axis. No matter how doped up he was he knew that things were _bad_.

Apparently the tumor had been too big and in too tricky of a location to be removed entirely. It would've cost him his eyesight. Or possibly his life. They weren't giving up by any means, of course. But he was in for a tough round of treatments. He refused to think further than that, wouldn't even consider the possibility that…

"I'm sorry", Dr. Morse sighed and seemed to mean it.

Clint gritted his teeth. He looked at his hands to see that they were trembling. "Yeah, well…" He swallowed, fighting to convince himself not to gag. "So am I." He meant it, too.

He really didn't want to fall asleep there but he did, and dreamt of nothing but endless black.

* * *

Tony Stark had created an image of himself as the fun loving, smooth talking guy who never seemed to take anything seriously. It was a decision he'd made half consciously because the hard stuff, the… emotional stuff wasn't his strongest forte. He'd dealt horribly with his own feelings since he was a kid and he was even worse with those of others.

Tony didn't know what possessed him into volunteering to keep an eye on Clint while the archer came out of anesthesia properly. They all knew that someone would have to keep watch. Dr. Morse's words kept echoing in his head in an endless, infuriating loop.

… _inoperable tumor_ …

Something like that could be a death sentence. Tony tried to think past that, so hard that his head began to hurt. _Not in this case_ , he decided firmly – not desperately because he didn't do desperately. They'd fight _it_. They'd figure out something. They'd get rid of _it_. Because there was no other alternative. They weren't going to lose Clint, not like this.

In this battle losing absolutely wasn't an option.

"… 'op thinking …" Clint's eyebrows furrowed, which was the only visible sign of returning consciousness. It took what felt like ages before the feeble, barely audible voice returned. " … makes my head hurt …"

"I'm sure it does. You're not exactly used to thinking." Tony focused on keeping his tone low, even if relief surged through him. It felt ridiculously good to hear the archer talk, off as the sound was. "But this time the headache's from the brain surgery, buddy."

Clint's eyes opened just a crack, even if the man seemed to regret it immediately. "Buddy?" Did the Hawk actually appear amused?

Tony shrugged. "I've called you worse, you know?" He then shifted, wondering what he should do next. He felt helpless and _hated_ it.

"Hmh." Clint shifted as though trying to find a proper position. Such didn't seem to exist. The archer's face blanched in a terrifying manner and the man's eyes closed once more. "… stop thinking or leave …"

Tony shook his head firmly. He had to fight a very unmanly urge to hold his friend's hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

Clint peered at him with one barely open, bleary eye. "Me neither." The eye slipped closed once more. "… buddy …" The archer seemed to be asleep before the last syllable fell out properly.

Tony didn't sleep for almost two days after that. He was busy doing research on cancer treatment. Not that he would've ever admitted it to anyone.

* * *

The next time Clint woke up a familiar scent drifted into his consciousness. An impossible scent. It took a while before he even realized that he was awake and longer to figure out where he was. Then, with a sledgehammer hard assault of a headache, reality came crashing down on him.

Clint groaned and would've buried his face into his hands if he had the strength to move.

"Shhh…" Surely he was imagining that voice? It couldn't be… "Go back to sleep. They just gave you more pain medication but it'll take a while to kick in. Try to rest."

But oh, Clint wasn't interested in resting anymore. Despite the fact that it required all the little strength he had he wrestled his eyes open. At first he could only see blur and came close to panicking. Then, slowly yet steadily, the vision of both his eyes returned. Still it took some time before he managed to believe what he was seeing.

His wife was right there, stretched beside him on the bed.

"… shouldn't be here …" Was that his voice? His throat felt like it'd been beaten by barbwire.

Laura sighed and leaned forward to plant a kiss to his forehead. Somehow it made a small bit of the agony fade away. "My husband's been diagnosed with cancer and just came out of surgery. Where am I supposed to be if not here, Barton?"

Clint wished that he would've had it in him to talk. To touch her. Something, anything.

Of course he wanted her there, lay beside him, but the risks…

Laura seemed to read his mind. "Calm down, you worrywart. Fury ensured that it was safe for me to come here. That's why it took so long." She snuggled closer, her small, sad smile faltering slightly. "I'm… not sure how long I can stay."

Finally Clint's stubbornness paid off. He lifted one arm and wrapped it around her. "'s okay", he half whispered, half yawned. His treacherous eyelids were already fluttering. "We've got time."

"Yeah." Laura held on to him firmly, determinedly. Her voice sounded hoarse. "We've got time."

* * *

Clint had never reacted very well to anesthesia and strong painkillers. And this time the tumor seemed to worsen the impact. That night Laura stuck by her husband when he first shook and whimpered through three and a half hours of endless nightmares. Then he woke up and the nausea began. He threw up until Laura couldn't imagine there should be anything left in his whole body to vomit. They gave him medication as soon as he first threw up but it took far too long before it took any effect at all. When Clint finally managed to find some semblance of rest the man was practically comatose from exhaustion.

As soon as she could be sure that her husband was sleeping as soundly as humanly possible Laura left the room and leaned against the wall outside. It didn't take long before Natasha appeared. The redhead's gaze revealed a stunning amount of emotions. "That bad, huh?"

During Clint's phone call Laura held firm with telling herself that she didn't have all the facts. That maybe it wasn't as bad as she feared. Then she remained strong for her children, put on a brave face when she told them that their dad was ill and she'd leave for a bit to check up on him. And just now she kept herself together for Clint's sake. He needed her to be strong and composed. But now… Now she just _couldn't_ , not anymore.

Laura could've sworn that she felt a hand on her shoulder when she broke down to tears. And that afterwards Natasha's eyes were suspiciously red and puffy. Neither of them spoke. Forty-five minutes later they entered the room together, composed and ready to fight whatever was to come.

* * *

After the surgery Clint needed a breather before the treatments would start. According to Dr. Morse he should use the time to get as much of his strength back as possible. Clearly she didn't realize that with Clint she should've been far more specific than that.

Steve wondered if an oncoming heart attack felt anything close to the sensation that sped through him when he couldn't find the archer from his room. Before he had the time to truly panic, however, a computerized voice spoke. " _Agent Barton is in training room four and appears to be in some sort of a distress. His blood pressure and heartrate…_ "

Steve needed no more coaxing than that. He most likely broke some sort of a record – even in his own standards – with how quickly he reached the mentioned location. Indeed, Clint was there, wearing his training clothes. On his knees on the floor, sweating, panting and shaking. Slumped to what appeared to be the remains of a punching bag.

Steve's worry didn't quite disappear but lessened once he managed to convince himself that his friend was very much conscious and alive. Albeit clearly dazed and in a great deal of pain. "If I catch you training again I'll ask Tony to ensure that you won't be allowed into any of the training rooms. Understood?" He did his best to use his Captain voice but had a feeling that he failed spectacularly.

Clint nodded feebly. And clearly regretted it instantly. "Not… my best idea…"

It was Steve's turn to nod. "Clearly. But at least you taught the punching bag a lesson."

Clint's eyebrow arched. "Steve Rogers. Was that a joke?"

Steve couldn't help but smile back, even if only briefly. He attempted to help his friend stand, only to discover that it just wasn't happening. He swallowed. "Don't beat me up for this", he asked.

"I honestly don't think I could, even if I tried." Clint's tone wasn't as light as the archer probably meant it to be. The man was tense when Steve picked him up. And then, after about ten steps, fell terrifyingly limp. Having lost consciousness or simply fallen asleep was impossible to tell.

Steve's heart was still hammering from panic when he'd put Clint to bed and ensured that there was no acute medical emergency. He was breathing heavily and his eyes didn't feel right as he stared at his friend prone form, unable to get his thoughts under control. He balled his fists so hard that it hurt, a lot.

He came from a time where cancer was barely known, where it was a certain death sentence, and now…

"Steve?" Laura's voice made him shudder. She sighed heavily at the sight of her husband, her face paling visibly. "That stubborn idiot…! I was only out for a jog. It couldn't take longer than forty minutes…!"

Steve shook his head. There was a massive lump in his throat and it was hard to talk. "Not your fault", he managed.

Laura looked at him. She seemed to see something he didn't quite manage to conceal. "Not yours, either." For a few more moments they kept watch on their sleeping Hawk. "The thing is… I feel a bit out of shape. Do you think you could practice some hand to hand with me?" Her eyes were full of love and such pain only someone who'd been in love could understand as they watched her resting husband. "It'd be something to pass the time, while we wait."

* * *

Clint _hated_ having audience when he felt vulnerable. Which was why he usually isolated himself when he was sick or injured. But from the very start it became clear that his friends weren't about to allow him that this time. Which was why his first chemo session turned into a ridiculous group affair.

While Clint settled for the treatment with Laura as close as humanly possible the others started a round of Cluedo. Which lasted the grand total of ten uncomfortably loud minutes of insanity before they came to a mutual decision to do something else. It was an immense challenge since Steve and Wanda had absolutely no idea of most games and Natasha or the delicate machinery around them couldn't be trusted with anything electronic.

"You all know poker, right?" Tony asked at last. "And I don't mean the strip version. Maybe."

The billionaire was smacked or thrown at by several pillows.

Laura, who was sitting behind Clint with her arms wrapped around his shrunken waistline, grinned and shook her head. She kissed his ear before whispering fondly. "You just had to bring six more kids and their friends into the family, didn't you?"

Clint shrugged, leaning more heavily against his wife. If it wasn't for the hospital like environment and the fact that he felt like crap it might've all been cozy. "They keep me from getting bored. It's even amusing when they're not making me want to punch them."

"Don't I know." Pepper's voice surprised them and Clint wondered when, exactly, she showed up. Wasn't she supposed to be in a meeting…? "Sometimes I feel like we're the only responsible adults here. Well, at least Steve tries."

Tony glanced towards them. He was distracted from the game long enough to allow Wanda to cheat. "What was that?"

Pepper smiled fondly. She shook her head. "Absolutely nothing."

When the others' focus seemed to be elsewhere Clint turned his head and looked on as the hopefully lifesaving poison sped into his system. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep himself from trembling, only to fail miserably. Somewhere at his right a clock was ticking uncomfortably loudly.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: My gosh, poor Clint… This tough ride isn't even over yet…! Thankfully he's got his team AND, at least for a bit, Laura right there to support him. (sighs)

Sooooo… Any good? At all? Any new ways in which you'd like to see our favorite Hawk get tormented? PLEASE, do let me know! Feeding the cute lil' box down below is love.

IN THE NEXT ONE Clint's condition worsens and the others fear that the Hawk is fighting his final battle…

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): :) I really hope that the next chapter turns out worth the wait!

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): DANG, I'm happy to hear that you think so! This idea's been circling around my head for AGES. Now it's finally coming to life. We'll see how the story continues!

I absolutely adore the Maximoff-twins. I couldn't resist adding Wanda! (BEAMS)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest96: I'd say! (gulps) Poor Clint! And poor team! This is gonna be TOUGH.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: It makes me SUPER happy that you're so excited! (BEAMS) I really hope that the next one delivers as well.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Padawan: Mmmm, fascinating ideas! (grins) I've actually already started a fic where the Farm explodes. BUT, I'm super curious to see what my head makes out of those prompts! (rubs hands together)

I really hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.

Massive thank yous for the review!


	42. A Tiny Black Spot, 3 of 3 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: It took me longer than usual to update because I've spent the weekend away from my laptop. But I'm finally here now! Yay…?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your absolutely amazing reviews, listings and support! I CAN'T BELIEVE the amount of love this collection is getting. You guys are THE BEST! (HUGS) Let's keep Hawkeye popular!

Awkay, because time's running short… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Tiny Black Spot, part 3 of 3

* * *

When someone receives the kind of a diagnosis that Clint did time begins to move in bizarre patterns. He was hyper aware of it jumping forward. How could he not have been? Everything seemed to be passing by too slowly or entirely too quickly. The clearest markings of the slipping away time – aside the treatment sessions – were the changes in his body.

The forced baldness he could deal with and when eyelashes fell he joked to Laura that he looked like an alien. "Idiot", she scolded him and didn't mean it. She then kissed the top of his head, mindful of the surgical wound. The sensation made his heart flutter and crack all at once.

"Laura…"

"Don't you dare finish that thought."

So he didn't. Instead he grabbed her wrist as tightly as he could without it being painful. Held on.

Violent nausea seemed to be an unpleasant but unavoidable part of his new life. As the treatments continued his mouth became so sore that there were days when even talking was a challenge. His weight was on a freefall and although he knew that he was being vain it hurt. He was a small, scrawny kid and developing the physique he had _before 'it'_ hadn't been easy. It wasn't like he would've cared much about how he looked but it felt like he was losing a part of himself.

The pains were the worst part. They kept him awake. Gnawed at him. Threatened to drive him insane. On the worst days he couldn't stand being touched and even a single ray of light made his head feel like it was about to explode. Too often no amount of medication seemed to help. It was embarrassing how many times the sheer, all consuming agony brought him to tears.

Well, at least he wasn't facing it alone.

Steve kept cooking stubbornly, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make the archer throw up. Quite often, especially after the first couple of weeks, Vision joined the Captain. Which led to great many kitchen disasters and Tony announcing that soon he'd ban those two from the kitchen area. It was difficult to tell what Vision thought about anything but in a way it was heartwarming to catch traces of what could've been worry. Clint knew that Tony was doing research constantly, as though hoping to find a miracle cure for cancer. Of course he knew, because he _was_ Hawkeye – despite the tumor still affecting his eyesight – and because people tended to talk a lot when they thought that he was out cold.

Natasha didn't do a lot of sleeping anymore. The longer _the thing_ plagued the Hawk the more time she spent on missions. She'd never had many people she would've let truly, genuinely close. The thought of losing one of them… Was it any wonder that it scared her senseless?

Wanda chose the opposite way of reacting by becoming basically glued to Clint's side. Her training took place at the Tower, which was logical since her trainers also spent nearly all their time there. Clint snuck in to monitor a training session a couple of times when he was well enough, careful not to let himself be seen. She wasn't concentrating and half of the time she didn't seem sure what she was supposed to do. After that a decision of halting the training for a while was made fairly quickly.

The team consisted of people who'd grown used to facing difficult problems and _doing_ something about them. Clint knew because he was the same. And this… This was completely out of their hands. So they did what little they could. Attempted to help him through the… _situation_ , as they'd silently agreed to call it. Tried to withstand the storm with him.

Too bad Clint knew to expect that the worst was yet to come. Dr. Morse had been honest with him, almost brutally so. Things would get a lot worse before they'd hopefully get better.

* * *

The first _really_ rough spot was when they received a call that Lila was down with chicken pox and it became apparent that Laura's time at the Tower was over. Or at least coming to a halt. Neither wanted her to go, especially when – in full and absolutely honesty – there was no telling when or even if they'd see each other again.

But wasn't that how it always was when they were separated? Usually Clint headed for horribly dangerous missions and this was no exception. All they had was his stubbornness and their shared belief that he'd always fight his way back home.

In the early morning hours before her departure Laura held her husband as tightly as she dared to. Took in the feel of his hands and told herself that she'd feel them again. That he'd been through too many battles to go down like _this_.

They didn't do a lot of talking, mainly because Clint had another treatment session the day before and he was far too exhausted. His mouth was also getting increasingly sore. Words had never been that important in their relationship, anyway. "They need you", the archer murmured. "I've got this."

Laura shook her head and planted a kiss to the tip of his nose. "No, stupid", she murmured softly, her eyes closed. " _We've_ got this. All of us." Because it seemed that lately their family had grown dramatically.

For the next two hours they slept in each other's arms and neither had dreams, good or bad.

* * *

Tony didn't think he'd seen many things as heartbreaking as the goodbyes Clint and Laura exchanged. He borrowed her his private jet, of course. And even offered to drive them to the tiny, private airport where it was. Of course he knew that taking Clint out of the Tower in the man's current condition was a bad idea but there was no way he would've stolen these moments from the husband and wife. Which he absolutely refused to consider possible final moments.

The two hugged for an incredibly long time, just holding each other and taking in everything. When Laura leaned in to whisper something to her husband's ear Tony looked away, feeling that he was invading a private moment. The sounds of the jet preparing for a takeoff ensured that the words never reached his ears. By the time Tony looked again Laura was gone and Clint had been left to the air strip alone, staring at the disappearing aircraft.

The silence stretched until Tony couldn't stand it anymore. "Do you need to punch someone? I wouldn't judge."

"Do you volunteer?" Clint inquired without looking at him.

"Very funny, Birdie." For a moment he held his hand on the archer's shoulder although it felt like even the slightest pressure might make the weakened man crumble. He sighed. "Look… I'm not… exactly good at this. You know, emotional stuff. Pepper can confirm. But… It sucks, that she had to go."

Clint nodded surprisingly firmly. "Yeah. It does suck." It might've been missed if one didn't look at just the right moment. The Hawk wiped his eyes, swiftly and a little clumsily. The billionaire didn't have the heart to tease his friend.

Tony also noticed that Clint was swaying on his feet. He took a half subconscious step closer to his friend. "So, it looks like I'm on Hawk-sitting duty right now." He showed the rock-paper-scissors signs. "Food, meds or bed?"

Clint relaxed just a little bit. Which was heartwarming, whether it was because of sheer exhaustion or actual trust. "Bed." The man swallowed hard several times, fighting tears, nausea or both, as they stumbled forward. "Tinman."

"That just gets funnier every time."

Once they made it to the car Clint fell asleep in less than a minute. Tony found himself casting constant glances towards his friend, to a point where he was most likely risking traffic safety. To chase away the silence he switched on the car's radio but shut it down immediately when the host announced the time. He hated the way his eyes stung.

Tony had never, ever been good at dealing with silence. Eventually he started to hum 'American Pie', mindful to keep the volume so low that he wouldn't disturb his friend's much needed rest. As it turned out he didn't have to worry about that. In about a minute Clint joined him, at first quietly until they picked up volume out of mutual agreement. Eventually they were basically roaring it. Like it was their very own battle cry. By the time the song ended they were both laughing and if they noticed the couple of tears sliding down Clint's cheeks neither pointed it out.

It was a ridiculously bad day.

* * *

The second _really tough_ spot was a meeting with Dr. Morse a few days later. The moment he saw the look on her face he felt like someone had sucked all breath from his lungs. Everything spun in front of him.

"… not shrinking like we've been hoping …"

"So…" Clint tried to breathe. Not much luck, there. "Now what?"

"We have two options." Dr. Morse sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "We can… start considering options. Or we can go aggressive. As in, so aggressive that some people might consider it to go against medical ethics."

Clint lifted his chin defiantly. Flashes of his family – both families – passed by his mind's eye. "There's only one option, doc." He tried to grin and had a nasty feeling that it looked horribly wrong. "Let's go crazy with the poison."

Dr. Morse didn't seem quite as optimistic as he would've liked. There was a deep line on her forehead. "Are you absolutely certain? Because… I'm going to be brutally honest here, alright?" She gave him the grand total of three seconds. "I'm not sure if your body will be able to handle what's about to come in its current condition."

Clint gritted his teeth, hard. "So, it's choosing between a treatment that _may_ kill me and an illness that _will_ kill me?" He snorted. "There's no choice, there."

* * *

Wanda grew suspicious when Clint chose to have a treatment session after making sure that the others would be on a mission when he received it. She found him just as the treatment was about to start. The look on his face confirmed what she'd already been guessing. She gulped, her heart jumping to her throat. "What are you doing to yourself?"

Clint grinned sheepishly. Unable to mask the fear in his eyes. "Testing Plan B, I guess." He sighed heavily, trying to get comfortable while the healing poison began to speed into his body. "Look… This'll probably get ugly…"

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Pietro and I… We weren't born like this. Do you really imagine that I can't handle 'ugly'?" She noticed that the medical staff had put the archer on a catheter, which was a much too certain sign that things were indeed about to become unpleasant. Still, instead of fleeing she sat down and took a book, then began to read.

Clint grinned genuinely at her choice of literature. "Jane Austen? Seriously?"

"You find that shocking?" Wanda let her eyes twinkle with mischief, for a brief, unguarded moment feeling her actual age. "I… borrowed this from Steve."

The light mood didn't last, of course. Because the further the treatment session advanced the more violent Clint's symptoms became. The man kept throwing up when there should've been absolutely nothing left to come out. The more the archer's white cell count nosedived the weaker the man became. Eventually he was unresponsive.

Dr. Morse seemed to be preparing for the outcome that she'd lose her patient. Wanda… She was absolutely terrified, even if she would've never admitted it to a soul. She hadn't felt as helpless as she did there – sitting beside him in a ridiculous set of protective clothing, including a mask to cover her mouth and nose – since Sokovia.

" _Come back_ ", he murmured in her native tongue without even noticing it. Over and over again, like a prayer. " _Come back. Come back._ "

During that endlessly long night Clint's body crashed. But by some miracle it didn't shut down entirely. When morning came his eyes opened a crack, hazy and unfocused. He groaned and attempted to struggle to a sitting position until her unsteady hand stopped him. "Don't get up yet", she whispered and hoped that he didn't hear how her voice cracked. "Just rest."

Clint closed his eyes and fell limp, too exhausted and unwell to protest.

As though by magic Vision appeared just then. He looked at Clint with a frown, then focused on her. Neither needed to say a thing. He sat beside her, offering nothing but his presence, and that was enough. They sat together, keeping each other company and keeping watch.

Clint hadn't stirred again by the time the others returned three hours later. Of course they knew to suspect that something was wrong and found their way to the medical area. The second they saw Clint they froze. "What the hell happened?" Tony sputtered and for once Steve was in no state of mind to scold.

Wanda told them, as much as she was able to. By the time she was done she was shaking so badly that it was a miracle she could stand. Clearly all the stress and worry were catching up with her. In the end it was Steve who pulled her into a somewhat cautious hug. She clung to him with all her might, squeezing her eyes closed painfully tightly and determinedly not emitting a sound.

This was like losing Pietro all over again and the very thought was enough to make her want to scream just like she did then.

* * *

It wasn't a surprise that Clint became plagued by pneumonia. His immune system had basically been taken down, after all. But it shocked them all how bad it got.

Raging fever. Respiratory system in a bad enough shape to require an oxygen mask. Fever induced hallucinations that rattled them all.

Loki and a million other monsters from the past they had no idea of came back for a visit and there was nothing they could do to help their friend.

Dr. Morse was an excellent doctor but she was also a realist. When after several days the fever only kept spiking up she began to gently prepare them for the worst case scenario. It didn't look like his body was going to recover from the blow. It was the third _rough spot_.

However, it eventually turned out that Clint's stubbornness defied all expectations.

The team took turns in keeping an eye on their ailing friend. None of them said it out loud or even really thought about it but should the worst happen, they didn't want the archer to be alone. So they stayed by him, even if listening to his horrible, wheezing breaths was torture and watching his face become paler by each day was worse.

That night it was Steve keeping vigil. He'd started writing a letter to Peggy at least ten times and was so deep in thought that it took him a while to notice it. A twitch.

"… tell her …"

The feeble, strange sounding voice came so unexpectedly that Steve actually jumped. His eyes flew towards the Hawk and widened in a rather amusing manner upon finding his friend's open. Hazy but awake.

When he didn't seem to take any action Clint grew impatient. The archer clawed at his oxygen mask thrice before it finally budged. "… 'should just tell her … all that matters …"

How Clint, who'd been out cold until just moments earlier, could possibly know what was going on was beyond Steve. But the archer did, even if it took Steve a while to understand what his friend was talking about. He looked down towards the sheet of paper that only held two words. ' _Dear Peggy_ '. "What use would it be to tell her now?"

"'Cause every day counts." Clint sounded a little more like himself but was obviously fighting tooth and nail just to keep his eyes open. "… lost too much time … don't waste more …" The look on the archer's face was that of a man who'd seen something profound most people couldn't even imagine.

Steve nodded. Because really, what could he have said to that? He didn't talk until his friend was already almost asleep. "Get better soon. We need our Hawkeye."

Clint fell asleep with a smile on his face, despite the fact that the man had to feel ill and absolutely horrible. After making sure that his friend was as comfortable as possible Steve went back to writing the letter. This time the words flowed easily. Halfway through the process Steve was confused to notice what could only be a tear stain on the paper.

* * *

Natasha finally came to visit Clint two days later. And not a moment too soon. She fought back a groan at the sight that met her.

The infuriatingly hard headed man had clearly thought that going to the toilet alone would be a good idea. At the moment he was stuck leaning against the wall, trembling miserably. Unwilling to back down although the battle was already lost.

"Let me help you before you hurt yourself", she sighed at last. It spoke a lot that he didn't protest. "I knew that I shouldn't have left you unsupervised for this long." It was the best apology over being away for so long – over avoiding him – that she could muster.

Clint seemed to understand. "Don't beat yourself up about it. I would've probably gotten into a trouble anyway." He glanced subtly and swiftly towards her. "You okay?"

"No." She noticed that she was closer to him than she would've had to be. And that she didn't care. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Well…" Clint tried to smile although he had to be in pain. "For starters, I'll beat this thing. And then I'll kick your behind in a training session."

"In your dreams, Wilhelm Tell."

* * *

Finally, finally, came the day when the battle was almost over. The horrific treatment session wasn't in vain. Once Clint had recovered from the pneumonia they made some tests. It turned out that the tumor finally shrunk. Enough for it to be operated on. Enough to offer a chance.

"The surgery is still going to be extremely dangerous." Dr. Morse's voice held sympathy and steel. "I need you to understand all of the risks involved."

Clint glanced towards Pepper, who offered to keep him company. She gave back a reassuring smile, even if she appeared scared. He sighed. "It's like I told you. There is no choice."

Dr. Morse smiled. She seemed to understand. "Then it's settled."

* * *

While Clint began a yet another round to fight for his life in the operating theater his friends gathered to a room that should've been too small for such a crowd. They'd been told that the surgery would take hours. They didn't care.

In the operating room a heart monitor was keeping an eye on Clint's vitals while his head was cut open.

The others were much too aware of the clock ticking loudly on the wall.

Clint fought with unexpected bleeding, a seizure and even a briefly crashing blood pressure.

The team, accompanied by Laura who'd appeared just after Clint was taken in, did whatever they could to pass the time. Card games, darts… Eventually Steve brought them some food he'd prepared with Vision. They all tried it for the sake of being polite but none of them was able to swallow it.

"I'm so sorry, but…" Laura came close to smiling, which alone was a small miracle. "That's the worst tomato sauce I've ever had. How about I'd teach you the recipe I use? It's Clint's favorite."

Uncontrollable emotions flashed in Steve's eyes. Briefly but still. "Yeah, I know."

While Laura taught cooking the medical team was able to stabilize Clint. As the surgery continued the team helped with cooking. While the delicate procedure was finished the team tasted the food.

"I can see why Feathers fell in love with you", Tony complimented fondly.

They were just putting away the dishes when Dr. Morse appeared. At first they stiffened, preparing themselves for anything. They didn't dare to relax at all until the doctor smiled. "We'll have to wait for him to wake up to know for sure. But right now he's doing better than I would've ever dared to hope. He's…"

"… stubborn", they all chorused. Looney grins of relief on their pale, tired faces. More than one pair of eyes appeared suspiciously moist. "We know."

* * *

When Clint finally woke up, after a couple of days' wait to ensure that the swelling of his brain went down properly, the first thing he saw was Laura. They both smiled as they took each other by the hand. For a long time they simply basked in one another's presence, enjoying the fact that they still could.

"You officially have more lives than a cat." It was easy to tell that Laura was close to tears and only sheer willpower held her together. "You did it again."

Clint grinned. "I know." He was losing the battle to stay awake but it was alright. He was going to be okay. He was safe. "'Cause I see you, with both eyes." And he'd be damned if it wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But of course he wasn't going to say _that_ out loud.

Especially since he was fast asleep before the thought was finished.

* * *

Time passed by, so quickly that they had hard time keeping track. Clint recovered, slowly yet surely. Regained… himself. And even some of his hair.

Then it was already the time to receive some test results to determine whether the cancer was really gone or not.

Once again, going against his protective instincts, Clint brought Laura to the Tower. Mainly because he knew that if he didn't she would've found a way to be there, anyway. But it seemed like they weren't about to face the news alone.

The rest of the team was already there waiting, Pepper, Wanda and Vision included. Tony shrugged at the couple's surprise. "What? Did you really think that we'd let you face this alone?"

Natasha smiled. Really, actually smiled despite appearing nervous. "Now let's go in and get this over with."

Clint wanted to tell them how touched he was by their support. And, although it'd hurt, that whatever news he'd receive, he might never join them to field work again. This whole experience had changed him in ways that he couldn't explain. Made him see life in a different way. He couldn't run around the world again because he needed to spend more time with _his_ world. Laura and the kids… He'd already missed out on too many precious things.

But now was hardly the time for such revelations. Now… Now he'd hear the news, whatever they were. Then he'd prepare himself for facing the rest of his life in the best possible way.

They were just about to enter when Laura glanced towards her wrist watch. She frowned. "It's stopped."

Clint smiled although he didn't know why. His hand tightened around hers. "Good."

* * *

 ** _End of story_**

* * *

A/N: FOR EXTRA FEELS… Imagine that this happened before 'Civil War'. (WINCES)

Soooo… THE HAWK LIVES! (BEEEEEEEEEEAMS) Thank gosh! Quite the hurdle, he was put through in this one. And the team, too!

Was that any good? At all? Back to the drawing board? The word's all yours!

 **UP NEXT:**

Bruce needs to do his best to keep Big Guy at bay when he's trapped with a badly injured Clint.

THEN… This idea started off as a joke, LOL…! Who expected baby-Stark's grand entrance to be a mundane one? Not when Pepper has an injured Clint for a midwife while they're both held captive!

PLUS, a Farm accident puts Clint's life to risk – again…

Awkay, because it's WAY too late and I'm EXHAUSTED… I've gotta go. I really hope that I'll see you guys again!

Until next time!

* * *

McDonalds21: I REALLY hope that the next one delivers as well! LOL. I'm sure that I'll have a lot of fun with your idea! (grins)

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): Awww! That's AWESOME to hear.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): (bows humbly and beams) I'm overjoyed that you enjoyed it so much! I REALLY hope that the final part won't disappoint.

OH YES, 'Civil War' WILL be brought into this! (nods furiously) And those ideas of yours… Just tooooo juicy!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: I'm THRILLED to hear that! LOOOOOOOOOOL! I know, right? The thought it irresistible.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	43. A Hawk in Need (BABY STARK)

A/N: PHEW! It took me a couple of days longer than it was supposed to. I blame the Eurovision! Totally messed up my schedules and sleeping routines. (chuckles)

 **A small change in plans!** As it turned out the idea of Pepper and Clint being taken together charged forward and came out before the Bruce and Clint bit. I hope that you won't mind? Maybe baby-Stark will help? (grins)

THANK YOU, so much, for your absolutely amazing reviews! It means A LOT that so many of you are waiting for these updates. (HUGS) I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

Awkay, because it's already too late… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Hawk in Need (BABY STARK)

* * *

As they say in all those cheesy books meant for parents to be, a pregnancy is both exciting and scary time in the parents' lives. Pepper Potts agreed with the exciting; starting to realize that she might be pregnant, buying the test that confirmed her suspicions, feeling the baby move… She could honestly say that she'd never been as happy in her life. But even more she agreed with the 'scary' bit.

The first slightly scary part was telling people. It kind of helped that someone figured out on their own just a couple of days after she found out. She was having a rough, nausea filled morning. That's why she waited until all other more or less temporary inhabitants of the building had left before she sauntered to the Tower's kitchen area. She blinked twice upon finding a small package and a note. It was written in Clint's familiar handwriting.

' _This should help with the morning sickness. It's perfectly safe for the baby. -C ps: Congrats._ '

Despite still feeling incredibly queasy Pepper couldn't help but smile. A warm feeling settled into her belly and she brought a gentle hand to caress it. Trust a Hawkeye to see everything.

Later that day Pepper finally gathered her courage and told Tony. He came back from a rough, endless business meeting to find a gift waiting for him. He'd always loved getting presents and he was curious by nature. The paper had been torn off in a flash. After that he froze, his widening eyes staring the contents.

It was a black T-shirt with red rock-style letters on it announcing boldly ' _WORLD'S GREATEST DADDY_ '.

"Breathe, buddy." Clint's voice startled Tony so badly that he jumped and squeaked indignantly. The archer, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, was looking at him with deep amusement and understanding. "If you pass out now I'll knock you down again as soon as you wake up."

Tony stared at his friend with wide eyed shock. The world was still spinning around a little… "Pepper… She's…" He was in no condition to wonder how _Clint_ knew. It was a solid assumption that the Hawk knew everything.

"Uh huh." At some point Clint had moved and now gave him a warm pat on the shoulder. "Congratulations, daddy. Now stop having a panic attack and go to her before _she_ panics."

Tony wanted to, from the bottom of his heart. But he was paralyzed, his eyes unable to look away from the shirt. "Poor kid", was all he managed.

"Nah. Lucky kid." And clearly Clint meant it. A firm hand squeezed his shoulder. "It'll be a rough ride but you'll do great. Trust me."

Tony scoffed. Or maybe sobbed. Or then he was really, actually choking. How could he do great when he didn't have the faintest clue how to be a dad? He'd scar the poor baby for life! "Right… And you know that… How?" he snorted, sarcasm slipping into his voice.

"Because I know you. And if I can do it, so can you." Without any further explanations Clint was leaving. "I'll, er… Spend the night out of the Tower. See you tomorrow."

After his friend's departure Tony stood absolutely still for two more minutes. Then dashed towards the room where he knew Pepper was waiting. They didn't emerge until the morning. A few days later Clint discovered that a new set of arrows had appeared mysteriously to his supply collection. He smiled, knowing what it meant.

* * *

There were a few more scary parts along the ride. Such as cramps and bleeding, which left Pepper to a long bedrest. She didn't know if she'd ever been as terrified in her life as she was then, waiting helplessly to find out if the baby would be stubborn enough to keep hanging on. And all the preparations… She was horrified that she and Tony would forget something vitally important or do something that'd endanger their child's life. She'd always been protective of those she cared about but, at least according to Tony, as the pregnancy continued she became downright scary. A real mother lion. She bore that title like a badge of honor.

And Tony's missions… She would've never, ever told him to stop doing what he loved. But every single time he headed to a field she feared that he wouldn't come back to her, that he'd make a single parent out of her. Pregnancy hormones weren't helping her state of mind at all.

Pepper had a very limited amount of people she could talk about those issues with. Her friends didn't and couldn't possibly understand her situation fully. Bruce and Thor were still absent and honestly, they might not have been the perfect talking partners despite best intentions. Steve… Well, it was safe to say that he would've had very little insight over the topic. In her own subtle way Natasha blatantly refused to discuss babies and pregnancies. And Tony… was Tony, as much as she loved him.

Which left her with Clint, who was a parent himself. It was comforting to have someone tell her that her fears weren't ridiculous or insane. He'd obviously never been pregnant himself but he understood what she was going through. And he could handle her mini anxiety attacks.

During the pregnancy Clint was injured on missions thrice. They kept an eye on each other while he recovered. Even then he was a supporter and a sounding board, especially when _everything_ was taking its toll on her relationship with Tony. He was the one who had stern words with them when the billionaire started drinking more and when she started pushing the Iron Man away. Clint just was there, never making a big deal out of it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was there even during the final and biggest scare.

* * *

True, Pepper spent most of her time at the Tower. But whenever Tony was away on meetings and she wasn't working the massive building felt too big for her tastes. Which was why she'd held on to a beautiful penthouse apartment in a rather pleasant corner of the city. Tony seemed to enjoy the chance for a retreat it offered as well. From the beginning it became clear that their baby would have two homes. Which meant twice the amount of supply hassle.

In that very apartment Pepper had just taken a shower and gotten dressed when there was a knock on her door. She wasn't too surprised to find Clint. "Tony said that there was a… crib issue?"

Pepper smiled, letting her friend in. "You could say that. He's busy with business meetings and I'm pretty useless with those things." She arched an eyebrow. "But there's still almost two weeks to the due date and we've already got two cribs all set. He told you to check up on me, didn't he?"

Clint smirked sheepishly. "I admit nothing." He was about to say something more until his eyes strayed towards the monitor showing footage of the space outside the apartment. He tensed up to an eerie extend.

Pepper tensed up as well. "Clint? What is it?"

Clint's eyes darkened and his jawline tightened. He took a breath before speaking, his gaze never leaving the surveillance footage. "Do you have a place in this apartment where you can go and hide?"

Pepper nodded, trying to stay calm and composed despite the fact that her heart was hammering. She definitely didn't like where this was going. "Yeah, yeah."

Clint nodded sharply. "Then go there. Don't come out before I call you." Seeing the very open protest in her eyes he went on. "Pepper, you're pregnant! You need to focus on the baby's safety. Go!"

Of course she didn't want to go, to just leave him there facing who knows what kind of a threat. But as it was she'd only be a distraction, a potential risk. And Clint was right, she had to protect her baby. So, her heart heavy and hammering with worry, Pepper bolted.

She barely had the time to lock herself into a storage room no one would find without a throughout search before the madness began. The apartment's door was forced open and several people marched in, she couldn't tell how many. There were a couple of thuds, then heated words. She recognized gunshots, even if they came through a silencer, and felt her chest tighten considerably. The sounds of a battle were loud and clear. She distinguished a couple of screams but despite her best attempts couldn't tell if one or several of them came from Clint.

It seemed to take forever. Then steps entered the space outside the room, slow, searching. Was the arrival limping? Yes, definitely. Pepper tensed up to a point where she was shaking and the baby was moving around furiously, clearly sensing her distress. Soon the intruder could be heard right outside the door. Pepper pressed a hand against her mouth and closed her eyes, concentrating on breathing.

" _Pepper?_ " Clint sounded exhausted and pained. Still, his voice made her whimper with relief. " _You alright in there?_ "

Pepper nodded furiously. Then remembered that he couldn't see it. Her eyes flew open. "Yeah, I'm fine. You?" Because he didn't sound to be.

" _You know I always am._ " There was a brief pause while they tried to regain their composure. " _We…_ " He trailed off, sharply. " _I'll be back soon. Don't let anyone in._ " Then he was running away, the best as he could.

Pepper's heart raced while another battle, even more vicious than the previous one, broke out. Furniture was toppled over. Flesh met flesh. Unclear voices were growling at each other. And then, like a switch had been flicked, it became _too quiet_.

"Clint?" Pepper breathed out. Even if she knew that it was a horrible idea. There was no response.

Steps were approaching. Hard, strong, confident, not a trace of a limp audible. Quickly but soundless Pepper retreated towards the furthest edge of the small space she was confined in, hoping against all hope that her hideout wouldn't be discovered. She held her breath until she began to feel dizzy. Tears filled her eyes but didn't spill.

Someone knocked on the wall right next to the space's concealed door. Pepper swallowed hard when the hollow noise echoed around her. It was quiet once more until there was a bizarre hissing sound. She looked down on instinct and her eyes widened.

Gas was leaking into the room from underneath the door.

Pepper tried to hold her breath again. Fought to come up with a way out. No such luck. She slumped to the floor and was soon heavily unconscious with the knowledge that the nightmare was only just beginning.

* * *

Clint wasn't sure how he was still alive or how long he'd stay that way. His ears were ringing and none of what he was hearing sounded right. Was he dreaming?

"… about that one?" A foot nudged at him and if he'd had any strength left he would've plunged a knife through it. "We were only supposed to get Potts."

Hearing Pepper's name was almost enough to pull Clint back to awareness. Almost. In a flash he was slipping away again and knew it.

"We'll grab him along as well." The voice was fading out and vaguely the archer realized that it was because of his declining state of consciousness. "I know someone who'll pay a lot of money to have him, alive. We'll see how long he'll stay that way, though…"

It was a small mercy that Clint drifted away before those words – or the feeling that he just failed Pepper – really sunk in.

* * *

When Pepper woke up her first instinct was to make sure that the baby was alright. The firm, impatient kicks she soon felt had her relieved to a point where she nearly burst into tears. She then listened, attempting to distinguish anything that might reveal where she was. She couldn't make out anything aside the moldy air wrapping around her like a wet blanket. It sounded like she was alone for the time being, though. She considered that good news.

The first thing Pepper saw upon opening her eyes was a stone wall. Her gaze lingered on the walls around her, seeing nothing but bricks. There were no windows. The only source of light was a pathetically small lamp hanging unsteadily from the ceiling. She lay on a tiny bed that made chilling noises the second she shifted. She preferred not wondering who occupied it before her or what happened to that person.

Pepper took a deep breath, then glanced down and couldn't suppress a grin upon discovering that her bracelet was still there. The ones who attacked her apartment clearly imagined that it was harmless. Little did they know that it was Tony's creation. Without wasting a second she pressed the tiny button hidden to the bracelet's side, activating a tracking system.

She didn't know where Tony was or how long it'd take before he'd get there. She could only hope that he'd be fast enough. And that she wasn't luring him to a trap.

With backup having been summoned and the baby moving around soothingly Pepper's mind moved on to the final, chilling problem. Because although a lot of details were fuddled she knew, with absolute certainty, that she wasn't alone in her apartment at the time of the attack. There wasn't a trace of Clint in her holding cell.

Pepper looked towards the room's heavy, metallic door. "Hey!" She knew that she was risking it. But if the people who took her had intended to hurt her or worse, surely they would've done so by then. "Where's my friend? What have you done to him?" Because surely Clint was alive. He had to be alive. Anything else…

No one answered her. She kept glaring at the door until exhaustion crept in and she curled up the best as she could. Listening, waiting. She didn't know about the couple of tears rolling down her cheeks.

 _Wherever you are… Please be okay. Don't you dare…!_

If Clint died just because he tried to protect her and her unborn baby she didn't think she'd ever forgive herself.

* * *

They brought Pepper food. People with masked faces. Another good sign. If they didn't want her to see their faces, chances were that they were planning on letting her out alive. Maybe.

"Where is he?" she demanded while a tray of food was placed on the floor. Blood stained the arrival's hands. Her heart sank and she began to feel very cold. "What have you done to him?"

The masked person left without giving her a single word, leaving her feeling sick to her stomach and scared for her friend.

Briefly Pepper considered going on a hunger strike before she'd be granted answers. But she had her baby's health to consider. So eventually she ate, tasting the food carefully to ensure that it hadn't been tampered with.

* * *

Time passed by. She didn't know how long. At some point the motions in her belly changed, became painful twinges. She blamed it on stress. Clearly the baby didn't like the situation any more than she did.

Eventually her captors brought food again. She tried to ask about Clint, only to face the exact same lack of results as the previous time. It was so frustrating that she wanted to scream or perhaps punch someone. And she'd always considered herself a nonviolent person…

The pains in her stomach began to grow worse. And slowly yet inevitably she understood why. Her eyes widened. "Shit…!"

Coaxed by stress, no doubt, the baby had decided to make a grand entrance.

Pepper shook her head and began to pace. "Oh, no…! No, no, no!" Not under those circumstances, not when she was held captive, Clint most likely as well.

She paced and paced because it seemed to be the only thing that gave her at least a little comfort. She kept doing so until she froze at the sensation of something wet sliding down her legs. She didn't have to be much of a genius to figure out what it was. Her water just broke.

The prospect of the baby coming kept her head so preoccupied that at first she failed to notice the commotion in the hallway. Shouts, hits, punches… Just as she slumped to the side of the bed, unable to keep walking anymore, the room's door opened. She tensed up, preparing herself for something unpleasant.

The person who stumbled into the room was Clint. Pale and horribly bruised, one of his eyes nearly swollen shut. But alive. There were bleeding wounds near both his wrists, loud evidence of just how hard he fought to break free from restraints. He tried to grin but it didn't look quite right. "Found you."

Pepper's eyes widened. She tried to get up but couldn't. "What happened?" She winced and groaned when a contraction – far more vicious than the previous ones – traveled through her like a thunderbolt. "Are you okay?"

Clint shrugged. "Still standing. The last one doing that, by the way. They made the mistake of imagining that I was out of the game." He then frowned although it had to hurt. One of his eyes widened upon spotting the still remaining pool on the floor. "Oh f…!"

Pepper's scream, which was torn out of her before she could contain it, cut him short.

Yes, Pepper had known to expect that it'd hurt. A lot. But this, right here… was torture! Was the baby trying to tear her apart on the way out?

Pepper whimpered and lay down, both hands clutching at her abdominal area. She clawed, then screamed again at another contraction. "…. be kidding me! …"

Clint was beside her as fast as he could. He was limping heavily. "Okay… Okay. I've… seen this, before. You…"

Pepper growled. Loudly. It was enforced by a quite impressive glare. "Tell me… to calm down… and I'll tear your head off!"

Clint seemed to fight a smile. "Tried that with Laura. Not making the same mistake again." He then cleared his throat. His deathly pale cheeks nearly gained a hint of color. "I, eh… I'll have to take a look… down there."

Pepper shook her head although she knew that she was being unreasonable. Her glare intensified. "No." Wasn't this already humiliating enough?

Clint sighed, then concealed a wince and shivered. He recovered before she was able to process his reaction properly. "Look… It's just us, at least until the backup for our… friends arrive. So… Sorry, but you're sort of stuck with me."

Whatever answer Pepper wanted to give became lost when a brand new contraction tore through her. She screamed at the top of her lungs, clutching the bedsheets so hard that it hurt. Clint wasn't quite brave enough to take her hand but stuck by her loyally, waiting for the storm to pass with her. Eventually it did. She nodded faintly, refusing to open her eyes. She tried to remember the breathing technique she'd been taught. "Fine… Fine…", she hissed. "Take… a look."

Clint groaned. He was slow and hesitant upon getting started. "Tony's gonna kill me for this…"

Pepper hissed sharply, clutching at the sheets again. "Get… Get that thing… out of me… or _I will_ end you." She gritted her teeth, hard. "And stop… smirking…"

Luckily to his health Clint refrained from further commentary. At least for a while. As soon as he had her pants down – an experience they'd both gladly forget later – he unleashed a sound that suggested he might be sick soon. "So, uh… I'm estimating roughly, but… Looks like you're ready to push."

Marvelous. Because Pepper was more than ready to get the whole thing over with. She felt really, really uncomfortable pressure building up. There was no further questioning. She howled, as loudly as she could, and _pushed_ , with all she had.

"Good, good." Clint's voice was quieter than before, or maybe it was just her. "Now breathe, yeah? Then again."

Screw breathing! As soon as she'd gathered an ounce of strength Pepper pushed again. And again. And once more. The pressure remained. She groaned with frustration and began to cry. How much more was she expected to do?!

"Hey." Clint's voice, even if it sounded distant, somehow managed to offer a beacon of comfort. "I can see the head already. Just… Just a few more. Almost there, Pepper. Show the kid what you're made of."

Just a few more, huh? Yes, yes, she could do that… Right? She'd have to…

"I'll _kill_ Tony for this!" she howled, finally finding a suitable target for her rage. She gasped, pushing again. Then screamed some more. "He'll _never_ touch me again! I'll tear off…!"

"Okay, too much information", Clint interrupted her. He squeezed her ankle, succeeding in pulling her back to the present. "Once more. I see the shoulders."

 _That_ was _definitely_ the worst part. If Pepper had thought she might be torn apart before… This time she was _sure_ of it. She moaned loudly, like a wounded wild animal. Perhaps even whimpered.

Until the sounds she was making were joined by something else. Something far more quiet that seemed to fill the whole space around them. Her baby's first sounds. Which soon grew far louder as the little one tested its lungs and decided to roar the grand arrival to the whole world.

Clint chuckled breathily. "Yeah… That's a Stark kid, alright."

Pepper grinned, unaware of the tears streaming down her face. She knew that moving around might not be a smart idea but twisted herself nonetheless, enough to see her friend with the baby in his arms. He'd already wrapped a gray blanket around the little one. "The baby… Is everything okay?" She sounded hoarse from all the screaming she just did. She didn't care.

Clint nodded faintly. He cut the cord, then began to maneuver the two of them towards her. "Yeah. Ten toes, ten fingers. Healthy lungs." His eyes seemed a little misty when they met hers. "Congrats. You've got a baby girl."

Pepper broke into sobs, right there. Surrounded by who knows how many dead, dying or heavily unconscious enemies… In what had to be one of the most disgusting places in the world… She got to hold her daughter for the first time. She knew that it was a cliché but in this case it was true. Her daughter was definitely the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She looked briefly towards her friend although glancing away from the baby for even a second was nearly unthinkable. "Thank you", she choked out. For keeping them safe. For helping her. She had no idea how she'd ever repay this. She held her daughter close, the tiny sounds the baby was producing making her heart flutter. "Thank you." Because what else could she say that would've been more true?

Clint grinned, exhaustion loud and clear in his eyes. He slumped heavily against the bed. "Anytime."

Pepper had no idea how long passed, both of them too tired and sore to even consider moving. Then they heard approaching running steps and looked at each other with alarm. Pepper shielded the baby the best as she could. Clint used up what looked like a considerable amount of strength to push himself up and standing to shield both her and her daughter. They waited, tense and as ready as they could be.

"Pepper? Clint?" Tony's familiar voice in that hostile place was almost enough to make Pepper cry, yet again. "We… We followed the screaming. I'm coming in." The billionaire was obviously trying to brace himself for something absolutely horrible. Under different circumstances the look that took over his face might've seemed amusing. "Oh…!"

Pepper grinned. Finally, finally feeling safe. "Surprise?"

* * *

What came next was nothing short of a chaos. While Tony picked up Pepper as carefully as he could Steve was trusted with the task of carrying the baby. The soldier held the infant like someone might handle a bomb.

Natasha observed the recently expanded little family with a tiny smile she wasn't aware of. Then began to turn her gaze towards Clint. "I can't wait to hear this full story." She focused on her friend to discover that at some point he'd slumped down and was sitting in a rather ungraceful heap with his back against the bed. She frowned, something about the whole situation feeling very, very wrong. "Ready to get out of here?"

Clint swallowed hard. He refused to look towards her. "I, uh… I'd like to, but… 'can't."

Natasha frowned, cold speeding through her veins. "You can't move?" She was kneeling beside him in a flash. "Idiot…! How badly are you hurt?"

Clint shook his head, signaling that he had no idea. His eyelids were drooping heavily. When she touched him his skin felt cold and clammy. It didn't take her long to figure out why. Her stomach clenched at what she discovered.

Moving the hem of his shirt upwards she found white fabric that'd been wrapped firmly around his torso. It was filthy. And soaked in red.

"I… had to do… something…" He blinked sluggishly. Drifting. "… started shooting …"

Natasha nodded slowly. Her heart was beating madly as she watched how even more red appeared to the makeshift bandage. "Yeah, I'm sure they did." Faster than thought she grabbed a blade and cut the dirty piece of fabric open. If she wanted to help she needed to know what she was dealing with and it didn't look like Clint would be able to help much.

It was worse than she'd dreaded.

One… Two… Three… Four bullet holes. They were all bleeding, some more than others, and with just one look she could determine that she wouldn't have enough hands for them all. The panic that grabbed a hold of her… She couldn't remember the previous time she would've experienced such.

This couldn't be happening – not like this…!

But despite the threats – and, admittedly, pleas – she was muttering under her breath Clint began to grow limp. She took the fabric back into use because there wasn't anything better in sight and pressed hard, mercilessly. Enough so to rouse a dazed whimper from her friend. "Yeah, see? This is what happens when you get yourself shot." Her voice was sharp, nearly broke. She growled when her friend's eyes closed. "Eyes on me, Barton! This is no time for a nap."

Clint sighed. And seemed to regret it, if the grimace was anything to go by. The man's eyes opened a tiny crack. "'Pepper safe?"

Natasha stared. The scoffed. Only Clint… "She's safe", she confirmed, fighting the urge to snarl something nasty when fear and frustration swirled inside her like a hurricane. "So let's worry about your feathery ass next."

Clint chuckled. Or groaned. It was sort of hard to tell. "… everyone says that …"

"Trust me, I'd love to say a lot more", Natasha snapped. It wasn't quite as venomous as she would've liked. Her eyes narrowed at the blood starting to stain her hands. "There'll be _words_ when this is all over." She pressed harder against the wounds but it didn't seem to do much. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

Clint was far more stubborn than this. Stronger than this. Only that thought mantra helped her maintain her steel hard self-control.

"Tony went to the hospital with Pepper and the baby." Steve's voice sounded unnaturally loud with how adrenaline was performing tricks on her senses. "We should…" He trailed off, obviously finally face to face with the desolate sight.

Clint never got the chance to find out about Steve's arrival because just then, despite Natasha's best attempts, the archer lost the fight to stay awake.

Panic – because there was no other name for it – grabbed a suffocating hold of Natasha. "Open your eyes, Clint!" Even the use of his first name didn't pull him back to awareness. The blood kept flowing out. She would've patted his cheek, roughly, but didn't dare to let go of his wounds when her two hands already weren't enough. She emitted a choked breath, staring at the red staining her hands although it made her feel ill. She swore loudly in every single language she knew, Steve's presence ignored.

And apparently Steve chose to ignore her language for the time being. In a blink he was there, helping her, sharing the burden of keeping their friend alive. "The other ambulance is still waiting. But I don't think they'll risk coming in here." The soldier had paled considerably. "We have to get him outside. But I'm not sure it's a good idea to move him."

Natasha glared at the Captain. "Do you honestly think that there's _anything_ that could make this worse?" she snapped. Of course she knew that she chose the wrong target for her anger but there was no one else available.

Steve seemed to understand. Gently yet firmly he pried her out of the way, then began to pick up their friend. Since the Hawk wasn't going to do much walking anytime soon it was the most harmless way to move him.

Natasha frowned. With speedy, elegant steps she kept up with the soldier and continued to keep pressure on the wounds the best as she could. "Don't drop him."

Steve didn't quite succeed in appearing amused. Instead his expression was very, very serious as he nodded firmly. "I don't intend to."

They continued the seemingly endless journey swiftly and carefully, entirely too aware of the fact that with each step time they didn't really have was slipping away.

* * *

Forty-six hours.

That was how long passed from when Tony received Pepper's call for help to when they were finally ready to head for rescue. Too many hours. Far too much wasted time.

Time, during which Clint had fought successfully to keep Tony's family safe.

Tony saw the evidence on their way through the nightmarish place. At first Clint had fought his way free from handcuffs, from which the man had been chained to a chair. By then the archer had, without a doubt, been tortured and injured. Blood stained footsteps had shown clear signs of a limp. Those chilling footprints were as clear of a lead to where Clint and Pepper were as her screams of fury and agony. On his way the Hawk had left the enemy's entire nightshift, which consisted of fifteen men, dead or very, very incapacitated. Those, aside the eight more who'd been found from Pepper's apartment. Tony couldn't imagine how Clint did it, no matter how hard he tried. He wished his friend had left some of them for him to… handle.

The whole thing was still full of questions. But from what Tony understood thus far those idiots had thought that using Pepper to blackmail money from him was a good idea, especially considering her condition at the time. And like that wasn't bad enough they, apparently, happened to know a mob-boss whose brother Clint was hired to kill once upon a time, in a different life. As horrific as it would've been if the archer had been sold out, that was also a lucky strike. Because otherwise Clint would've been dead. Slaughtered without a care, like someone who didn't matter. The thought made Tony's whole body shiver from revulsion.

Clint kept his family safe and Tony didn't have the slightest clue if there was anything he could do to repay such debt.

While Pepper and their daughter slept Tony couldn't bring himself to even close his eyes. Not when all sorts of nasty 'what ifs' kept bombarding his head. He held the baby close and swallowed thickly, taking in the little one's scent. "You've got such a big family, kiddo", he murmured, his voice so full of affection that he would've usually laughed at it. "Big, and sometimes a bit scary. But they also protect their own, no matter what. We're super lucky to have them."

The baby sneezed, as though agreeing, then sighed and went back to sleep.

Tony had no idea how long they'd been in the hospital until Steve peered into the room after a nearly cautious knock. The billionaire greeted his friend with a radiant smile. "Hey! Finally!" He showed the soldier his baby, his chest filling with pride. "I want to introduce you to the little princess."

Steve smiled. If the Iron Man had been a little less dopey he might've noticed that it looked forced. "She's got your nose."

Tony scowled. "Hey! Don't insult her!" And then it occurred to him. His eyebrow arched. "Were you… joking?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe." The man appeared incredibly exhausted. And tense. "She's beautiful."

Tony sighed. Admittedly he was really tired himself. "Where's Clint? I've been waiting for him to stop by. I didn't even get the chance to thank him properly in the middle of all the hassle." That was when he sensed, all too clearly, that something was wrong. His eyebrows furrowed while he stared at his friend's face. "Steve?"

Steve looked back at him with a chilling amount of sadness and regret. The man's lips opened. And then the Captain's phone signaled a new text message.

* * *

The doctor who first treated Clint was sure that he was dealing with a DOA. The man's injuries… They were such no one should've been able to recover from. The medical professional prepared himself grimly for delivering the worst of news.

There were three cardiac arrests.

Six separate surgeries.

A severe infection which nearly turned out to be lethal while all else failed.

The patient obviously had different plans.

Eight weeks passed by. The man kept hanging on, the group he arrived with remaining basically glued to his side. At first, when the chance of goodbyes was more likely than anything else, it was heartbreaking. Then it became heartwarming.

The group kept hanging on for each other. Never once giving up, no matter what any medical professional told them. No matter how bleak things seemed.

And at eight and a half weeks the astonished doctor was able to announce that the patient would most likely make it.

* * *

Clint wasn't sure if the glimpses were reality or weird dreams.

There was pain, an unreasonable amount of it. Most of the time, however, it was just dark. And a little cold.

There were also touches. Usually those made him feel uncomfortable but these… They felt safe, soothing. Someone treating his wounds… A hand brushing a strand of hair from his face… A hand holding his…

And there were voices, too. At first they were vague. Clattering and buzzing he connected to a hospital – which definitely wasn't a pleasant realization. At one point there was arguing. Too loud, too aggressive. It ended when a very irritating beeping sound intensified and then someone was shouting. Gray won before he found out what it was all about.

Later – well, he assumed it was later – he was fairly certain that he heard Steve. Well, whatever little the soldier spoke. He couldn't really distinguish the words. Mostly he just sensed his friend's presence. It helped him stay focused even if he had barely any idea of what was going on.

Tony was far louder. Enough so to distract him when the pain threatened to get too much. Most of the time the words were nothing but blur but he listened to the man droning on and on, rooting himself to it.

There was, however, one sentence which came to him razor sharply. He couldn't quite identify the sound which accompanied it. "… protected my family and I'm not going to let you die without getting to thank you properly, got that?"

Clint felt pressure on his hand. He tried to respond to it the best as he could. He drifted off before finding out if he succeeded.

Natasha was the first one who actually got to see him awake. For no more than five seconds but still. His eyes opened a crack after a mighty war, blurry and unfocused. The second he spotted Natasha beside his bed he smiled. She smiled back, in a way most people probably imagined her incapable of accomplishing. He slept easily after that.

The next time Clint woke up Pepper was there. She seemed tired but unharmed. It helped him relax considerably.

She greeted him with a slightly watery smile. He hadn't realized that she was holding his hand until she squeezed it. "Hey."

He grinned back. Then frowned. "…baby…?"

Warmth filled Pepper's eyes. "She's perfectly fine, thanks to midwife Barton." She squeezed his hand again. "Now get some rest and get better. She's already anxious to meet her goddad."

Clint fell asleep before he got the chance to ask if she was serious.

* * *

It took another three days before Clint managed to stay awake for longer than thirty seconds at a time. That was when Tony and Pepper sneaked into his room. With the most precious visitor of them all.

"See?" Tony whispered to his daughter. "He's not just a legend. That's uncle Clint."

Clint grinned. He would've asked to hold her but had a feeling that he wouldn't have been able to handle that safely. "Hey", he rasped, hating the way he sounded. "'she behaving?"

Pepper smirked affectionately. She kissed her daughter's forehead. "About as well as can be expected of Tony Stark's offspring."

Clint laughed at that. How much it hurt be damned. "'better watch out for that one… she's a real trooper…"

Both parents nodded. "She is", Tony confirmed. "Just like her goddad."

Clint's eyebrow bounced up. The brief conversation had already rendered him exhausted but he was determined to stay awake for a little bit longer. "Seriously?"

Tony looked at him like he was insane. "Clint, you kept my family safe and nearly died doing so. I think it's the least we can do."

Clint shrugged. His eyelids were drooping. "'would've done the same for me." He sighed heavily and winced when it felt like his stomach was torn apart. "'you decided a name?"

"We have." Pepper looked at him with a smile, her eyes carrying a hint of moisture. "She'll be Claire."

"And she'd better not become as rambunctious as the archer she was named after", Tony joined in, and clearly meant it despite the light tone.

Clint grinned, his eyes slipping closed. Even without the ability to see the future he knew that those two were in for a wild ride. He drifted into a peaceful slumber with that thought, lulled by the little noises the slowly waking up baby was making.

It wouldn't be easy, for any of them. But they'd be alright. He'd make sure of it.

If that wasn't enough to keep him hanging on tight then what was?

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: Awww! Midwife Barton. No imagine THAT! (grins)

Soooo… Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! And requests are still VERY appreciated!

Okay, it's WAY too late so I HAVE TO cut short for now. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care, my feathery friends!

* * *

Guest: I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) Heartbreaking it was! But thank gosh with a happy ending.

I really hope that what's to come meets your expectations!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Mcdonalds21: (BEAMS) I REALLY hope that what's to come turns out worth the wait. And guess what? Just three more oneshots before your story! I really hope that I'll do the AWESOME idea justice.

Awww, thank you! (HUGS)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: Oh dear! (offers tissues) I'm THRILLED that it moved you so, and that you enjoyed the emotional ride! We'll see just what happens next.

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Imfine19: An update is FINALLY here! (beams) Hopefully it's worth the wait.

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	44. Between Hulk and a Hard Place

A/N: PHEW! I almost didn't manage an update before going to bed. BUT, here I am! (BEAMS) Hooray?

THANK YOU, so, so much, for your absolutely AMAZING reviews, listings, love and support! I'm baffled by how many of you have joined me on this mad collection. (HUGS) Clint Barton is far more loved than most people know! Even if we have a weird way of showing it…

Awkay, because the clock's ticking… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Between Hulk and a Hard Place

* * *

Clint woke up to the sensation of the whole world spinning around him. He frowned and struggled his eyes halfway open, even if it took a while before his line of vision cleared enough to actually distinguish anything. Things didn't make much sense even after that happened.

Gray. Dust. Shadows.

What _the hell_ happened?

He couldn't hear anything. An explosion, then? He'd faced annoying stuff like that before. Was he injured? He… wasn't in pain. Didn't feel much of anything at the moment. He tried to push himself up but couldn't quite manage it for some reason. He couldn't really move at all, come to think of it. It didn't succeed in bothering him as much as it should've.

They… were on a mission… weren't they…? Someone was with him. Who? _Bruce…!_ He tried to call out to his friend but wasn't sure if he was able to produce even a wheeze.

Clint struggled to get to a sitting position, only to discover that it just wasn't happening. The harder he kicked the floor the more his feet slipped. It also seemed that strength was slowly yet steadily leaving him. Breathing… didn't feel good.

Clint stilled willingly although just lying there uselessly was the last thing he wanted to do. He twitched from anxiety and irritation. Unable to fight off the worst case scenarios attacking his mind.

He could only hope that Bruce was alright. That they'd make it out of this mess. And that Big Guy wouldn't come out to play. Because somehow it felt like they were already in a big enough trouble.

Clint's mind began to slip into gray before that thought was finished.

* * *

In. Out. In. Out.

Bruce recognized the post-Green-buzz easily enough. What he _really_ wanted to know was how much damage he did this time. Did innocent people get injured? Or worse?

Trembling to the core of his being Bruce lifted his head and looked around, still dazed and breathless. What he discovered made him feel horribly cold. Struck out all little breath there'd been in his lungs.

The building around him… It was in shambles from the inside and only sheer miracle was keeping most of the wall structure standing. He would've recognized Big Guy's handiwork anywhere and the realization made him feel sick to his stomach.

The tiny city had been under a massive threat and they were trying to evacuate it. Did they get everyone out of the way? Did the team get out of the way?

Bruce was all too aware of the fact that he was trembling miserably while he pushed himself into motion. Somehow the destruction seemed even worse when he was in an upright position. What used to be an enemy base had reduced to not much more than a dangerously unsteady pile of devastation. That a single breath of wind would take down what little there was left of the building wasn't a ridiculous concern. Here and there bodies of enemy fighters could be seen and Bruce looked away as his stomach twisted and turned. At least there didn't seem to be any innocent casualties, which was a brush of much needed comfort.

Every single Avengers mission left behind destruction but that hardly made facing it more pleasant.

"Cap?" Bruce called out, his voice pathetically weak and scratchy. Of course he knew that he was taking a risk but with Big Green standing by, all too eager to take over, the danger wasn't exactly the first thing on his mind. Maintaining his self-control took so much effort that he was quickly growing exhausted. "Widow? Anyone?" His eyes stung hellishly and his heart was starting to race. If the team…

And then he saw something that made all other thoughts fade away. There, by a hole and evidence of several layers of debris having tumbled down, lay a much too familiar broken bow. The world tilted for a moment.

"Clint!" Bruce shouted, ignoring how sore his throat was. Ignoring the fact that he probably should've still been using a codename, just in case. He was rushing towards the hole as fast as he could from the destruction. A few times he nearly stumbled over his own feet and the debris but paid no mind to any of it. "CLINT!"

After a small eternity he was finally peering down. It took too long before he managed to figure out just what he was looking at. More rubble and dust… Blood, too much of it… Three more bodies… And then, at last, one Clint Barton.

Bruce's eyes widened. For a heartbeat his very breath was stolen from him. "Oh my god…!"

* * *

Clint was drifting in and out of consciousness. There were times when he could've sworn that he heard his own out of whack heartbeat or someone calling his name, but those were most likely tricks of his imagination. The only constant that remained was the need to sleep.

Faintly, somewhere in the back of his fading mind, he remembered that there was something he was supposed to be worried about but couldn't quite grasp it…

All of a sudden he wasn't alone anymore. Or maybe he was imagining things. When he felt someone beside him he tried to reach out towards a weapon, only to discover that he didn't really have the strength.

He had no idea when he closed his eyes but suddenly he forced them to open a crack, determined to see if there was a threat. Once the immediate blur passed by he managed to distinguish Bruce's horribly pale, dust covered face. The scientist's lips were moving but he couldn't hear a single word. It only succeeded in bothering him for a moment.

Clint frowned. He couldn't see any injuries but… "'you okay?" He had no idea if he actually managed anything even remotely comprehensible. He needed to know…

At first Bruce looked like the man didn't quite understand him. Then nodded slowly. 'Yeah. Yeah.' That was easy enough to read from his friend's lips. Clint didn't manage to follow the frantic looking flood of words that followed.

Bruce was okay, he could sleep now.

Bruce didn't seem to agree. A sharp nudge brought him back from the hue. Anxiety was loud and clear on his friend's face. Was there a flash of green…? 'STAY WITH ME!', the scientist mouthed.

Clint frowned. He wasn't going anywhere, was he? His eyes slipped closed while that thought swirled in his mind. Before that he had just enough time to slur "Not going…".

* * *

Bruce didn't know what all was wrong with his friend. The fall the archer took was fairly impressive, so spinal damage was very possible, as well as trauma directed at the man's neck. Head injury… Well, it was practically inevitable and he was fairly confident to diagnose such, considering how his friend seemed disoriented and kept slipping out of consciousness. None of those was the most alarming bit, though.

The most acute problem was the metal bar sticking from Clint. It had pierced such a spot that it might've damaged any organ below the heart. There was a pool of blood under the Hawk and Bruce knew with uncomfortable certainty that it was growing, slowly but inevitably.

With proper medical assistance Clint might've stood a stance, although the situation was extremely critical. But as it was… The archer was dying. And there was very little Bruce could do to stop it.

"Stay with me!" Bruce had no idea how many times he'd said that. Or how loudly. It didn't even matter if Clint heard him. Aside trying to keep pressure on the wound those desperate calls were the only thing he had to help his friend keep fighting.

Clint blinked sluggishly and a pair of hazy eyes peered blearily up at him. "… hate falling …", the archer mumbled barely comprehensibly.

Bruce chuckled. It sounded choked and watery. "Then stop doing so."

Clint's feeble smile faltered. The man's eyes threatened to close yet again. "… sorry …"

Bruce shook his head firmly. He hated the way his eyes stung and blurred. "Don't. Just… Just hang on." It sounded stupid to his own ears. But what else was he supposed to say?

Clint blinked sluggishly. But at least those eyes didn't close entirely. "Good plan." The archer's nose wrinkled and for a moment it seemed to be a gesture of pain. Maybe it was partially. "'op looking like I'm 'onna die."

"You're not gonna die", Bruce swore firmly. He wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to convince. Or if either of them actually believed him.

That was when he noticed a tiny device that'd by some miracle been saved from getting buried by rubble. Clint's ear comm. Bruce grabbed it like a drowning man hanging on to a life-buoy. "Anyone there?"

" _Bruce?_ " Steve sounded almost as relieved as he felt. " _Are you alright?_ "

Bruce licked his lips, trembling. No, he wasn't. One of the very few people he could call friends was dying in front of him and it was all his fault. "I am. I have Big Green to shield me, remember?" It sounded far more bitter than he'd intended. His gaze strayed towards Clint, who was barely awake. "But Clint… He's hurt."

Steve kept radio silence for a few endless seconds. Then spoke quietly. " _How bad?_ " The Captain's voice was tight from restrained emotions.

Bruce sighed heavily. It sounded more like a sob. "Bad." He swallowed, unable to chase away the horrific taste of worry and guilt sitting stubbornly in his mouth. "We… We need help, down here. Fast."

Steve's new silence spoke far more loudly than the words which followed. " _The rescue crew… They don't dare to come yet. The building may collapse at any moment. And… they also have another concern._ " Hulk's name didn't even have to be mentioned.

Of course Bruce understood, on a level of reason. The structure around them was dangerously unstable and while he'd certainly survive a complete collapse the rescue workers and Clint wouldn't be as lucky. Besides, Big Guy's potential presence definitely wasn't appealing. But still…

Bruce didn't even notice how close to losing control he was until a feeble yet stubborn hand wrapped around his wrist. Clint's eyes, no matter how hazy, were unrelenting. "Stay with me", the Hawk murmured. The barely audible words struck like a sledgehammer.

Bruce stared, then nodded faintly.

" _Bruce?_ " Steve's voice succeeded in catching him off guard. " _Are you there?_ "

Bruce nodded again. He kept his eyes on Clint's, determined to maintain his focus. "I'm here."

" _Good._ " Steve didn't even try to hide his relief. " _Nat's talking to Fury. Tony and Thor are doing what they can to find a secure route to you two. I'm under the impression that Clint can't be moved?_ " The Captain's voice was thick with worry and Bruce understood better than well. Steve had already lost far too many important people, being both a soldier and a man out of his time.

Bruce wished that he would've had it in him to offer comforting words. "Not a good idea", he agreed through his teeth. His cheeks felt uncomfortably moist and he would've wiped them if one of his hands hadn't been busy saving his friend and the other trapped by said friend. "Just… Just get help here. Please." It was a desperate plea, like that of a child.

" _We will. As fast as we can. Tell Clint we're coming._ "

Bruce didn't say anything to that. Instead he focused on his patient to discover that Clint had paled a couple of degrees since he last looked towards his friend. His heart sunk.

"'they comin'?" the archer mumbled.

"Yeah." Bruce did whatever little he could to help his friend when he didn't have much more than his hands. "They'll be here soon." They'd _have to be_.

Bizarre, more than a little alarming sounds began to erupt from Clint. At first the noises sounded like those of agony. Perhaps they were, partially. But a quick glance revealed that the Hawk was… chuckling, the best as he could. "… rescue crew's… gonna have a field day… sitting there, naked."

It wasn't until then Bruce became aware of his nudity. At first embarrassment brought a great deal of warmth to his face. Then, surprising himself, he joined Clint's weak chuckles.

And for about ten seconds Bruce managed to believe that everything would be fine.

* * *

Clint's hearing was coming back, slowly yet surely. Bruce's words and wrong-sounding chuckles reached him like whispers through several closed doors. Along with his ears Clint was also, unfortunately, beginning to regain his ability to sense pain. It gnawed at him hellishly, like someone had been attempting to peel off his skin. It pulsated everywhere, making it impossible to tell what, exactly, was wrong with him.

Clint could feel himself slipping and it worried him. The fear wasn't for himself – he'd always been all too familiar with the risks his job included. But he was horribly scared of what it'd do to Bruce. So he kept hanging on with tooth and nail, hoping that although his body was shutting down he'd be able to fight long enough.

* * *

Bruce's chest tightened painfully when he realized what was happening. "Hey, hey!" He tapped at his friend's cheek, smudging it with red. The archer frowned with displeasure. "No snoozing, got that?" He made sure to mouth the words as clearly as possible, determined to be understood.

Clint moaned, the heartbreaking sound making Bruce's stomach constrict further. "… rest my eyes …" The archer shifted before the scientist could stop it. A huge mistake.

Something went _wrong_. Clint gasped, the sound piercing the space's eerie quiet in a chilling manner, and in a flash the man's face paled further. If such was even possible. Whatever internal damage there was obviously just got worse.

Bruce shook his head, fighting furiously against the stinging sensation in his eyes. "No, you're not resting your eyes", he demanded firmly. He hoped that by some miracle his words got through to his friend. "You're not leaving me alone with Big Guy. Okay? I need you, to keep him at bay."

Clint nodded, the best as the man still could. Incredibly dazed eyes locked on him, hanging on tight. "…stay…" It was impossible to tell if that was a request or a promise.

Bruce nodded. He didn't notice the lone tear that escaped. "Stay." He swallowed thickly, all too aware of the lump in his throat. "Teamwork, remember?"

Clint smiled, off as it appeared. It was easy to see how exhausted the archer was becoming. The man attempted to move again, without a doubt to find a hint of comfort.

Bruce shifted instead. He had no idea what to do and he hated it. "You okay down there?" Of course Clint wasn't okay but Bruce needed to keep at least trying to make him talk.

Predictably Clint nodded. "Hmm. 'ust cold." They both knew that it wasn't a good thing, no matter how hard the Hawk tried to make it sound like nothing.

Bruce wished that he had a blanket at hand. Or something. Anything. "We'll get out of here soon. Then it'll be nice and warm. And hey, at least you're not naked." A pathetic shot at humor, especially with how his voice cracked.

Clint, however, seemed to appreciate it, if the tiny smirk was anything to go by.

Bruce continued his hopeless task. While one of his hands carried on the mostly futile battle to keep his friend from bleeding out the archer's hand maintained its grip on the other wrist. And even as Clint's eyes eventually closed the Hawk held on, feebly but stubbornly, for both of them.

* * *

Clint could hear, very faintly, some sort of drumming. It wasn't rhythmic and the volume kept changing. It might've been his heartbeat. He hoped, desperately, that it was help instead.

Because he didn't want to die. Not like this. Not when he knew that Bruce would never forgive himself.

While Clint couldn't and didn't dare to move the rest of himself his head twitched. Enough to allow him to see whatever little was left of the ceiling above him. There was moisture damage on it that looked just like a hawk.

It was the last thing Clint saw.

* * *

Clint slipped away so subtly that it took Bruce some time to notice it. When he did he nearly lost whatever little control he'd managed to obtain. "Hey!" There was no reaction whatsoever. "Clint!" Still nothing. A quick, nearly frantic inspection revealed that the archer's pulse was faltering. The man's breathing also didn't sound anything close to right.

Bruce shook his head vehemently, desperately. "No!" he hissed, or perhaps rather sobbed. "You're not… Got that?" It wasn't until then he noticed it. Despite the fact that the man was clearly heavily unconscious the archer's hold on his hand hadn't broken.

Bruce focused on the continued contact because it was the only thing rooting him to hope. He held back, wishing that wherever Clint was the Hawk felt it. Felt it and knew that letting go wasn't an option.

Bruce was so preoccupied by trying to keep his friend hanging on that he didn't hear the rescue arriving until it was nearly there. All of a sudden there was a lot of noise and he tensed up, prepared to face the building's entire remains collapsing. Instead one of the massive pieces of debris trapping them moved, revealing Iron Man's suited face.

For a couple of confused moments they stared at each other. It was no surprise that Tony spoke first. "What… is going on here?"

The stress… The worry… The guilt… They crashed on Bruce's chest like a wall of bricks. "Help", he managed, sounding choked even to his own ears.

The ensuing flurry of activity was incredible. Bruce had to steel his whole resolve to keep Big Green from bursting out when Steve and a few terrified looking paramedics followed Tony inside. They started working on Clint immediately, barking out words that echoed like gibberish inside the scientist's skull. Someone pried him away from the unconscious archer and Bruce was distantly aware of the fact that it was his voice shouting – or maybe rather whimpering – protests.

All of a sudden a blanket was wrapped around Bruce's shoulders, dangerously unexpectedly. "Cover your shame, please", Tony spoke just quickly enough to avoid a disaster. The billionaire had lifted the face-part of his mask and appeared incredibly pale. "For both our sakes."

Soon Tony was leading Bruce away. Logically the scientist understood why. Staying in such an unstable place with Hulk standing by wasn't a good idea and his presence was clearly making the paramedics nervous. Still… Walking away from something had never been harder.

It wasn't supposed to be easy, he figured with a heavy heart, when the entire horror story was his fault.

* * *

Steve was used to being in charge. Used to knowing exactly what to do and what the next move would be. Yet there, with his horribly lifeless looking friend lay on the ground, he had no other option but to trust every little bit of control into the hands of total strangers.

It took ages before they got the metal bar cut, so that they'd be able to get the archer out of there. And even longer before they dared to actually risk moving the man. The entire time Clint seemed to be growing weaker.

When Clint's heart faltered and stopped Steve was almost certain that his did as well.

* * *

While the rest of the team was inside the hospital, waiting for news, Bruce – who'd been provided with clothes en route to the said building – couldn't bring himself to enter. Natasha understood why much too well. The guilt she saw in his eyes… She lived with it every single second she was breathing, whether she was awake or asleep. She also knew that it could eat a person alive.

Clint… He was the first person who helped her believe that she was more than the monster she saw in the mirror. It was a debt she'd never be able to repay. Maybe the best way to honor that gift was to do the same for someone else.

It sounded like the kind of an infuriating thing Clint might've done.

It was pouring rain when she left the hospital. Bruce didn't seem to notice, even if he was drenched wet. She approached him quietly, careful to make enough noise to avoid surprising him. The man already shouldered too much guilt.

"Any news?"

It took a couple of seconds before Natasha realized that the quiet voice she heard belonged to Bruce. She sighed, standing beside him. "Last we heard, he was finally stable enough for the surgery."

Bruce frowned. He was clearly fighting the urge to look towards her. "'Finally'?"

Natasha lifted her gaze. Even if the rain meeting her eyes stung. Her chest hurt and her stomach was in knots. A very unpleasant combination. "Bruce, it's been eight hours since we got here." Eight hours. Following the one and a half the scientist somehow managed to keep Clint alive amongst the rubble. She shivered violently and folded her arms. "We should go inside. It's cold and miserable. You'll catch your death."

Bruce unleashed a bitter chuckle. "You… You have no idea what I've survived." The man shook his head. "I'm not going to die of pneumonia."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. She wiped them, noticing that some of the moisture was warm. "Well I am. And I'm not going back inside before you do."

"Tasha…", Bruce begged, sounding so desperate that it was heartbreaking.

" _None_ of what happened there was your fault", she echoed words Clint told her, once upon a time. Words he almost made her believe. She balled her fists so tightly that it hurt. "You weren't you."

"Did he get you to believe that?"

Natasha was too preoccupied to be impressed by Bruce's guess. She gritted her teeth. "No", she admitted. "And he knew it, too. That's why he told me to try again and make it count."

Bruce said nothing, making it impossible to tell what was going through his head.

In the end Natasha did something that shocked them both. She wrapped her arms around Bruce, folding him into a hug. Quite understandably he tensed up as a response. "What…?"

"Shut up", she growled. It was a sharp command, regardless of how annoyingly and uncharacteristically vulnerable she was feeling at the moment. 'Shut up', because she would've never, ever admitted to needing the comforting contact.

Eventually, very slowly and tentatively, Bruce returned her embrace. And so they stood in the rain, saying nothing. Fifteen minutes later the spot they occupied was empty.

Even Tony refrained from teasing them when they appeared to the waiting room, soaking wet and their eyes suspiciously red.

* * *

Natasha had fallen asleep, Bruce stared at some spot with vacant eyes, Thor had gone out for some air and Tony was pacing around who knows where by the time a one more person walked into the hospital's waiting room. Steve, who seemed ready to fall asleep standing up, greeted the arrival with a nod before they left the room to avoid disturbing the others. "A doctor just stopped by", the Captain revealed. The tension on the soldier's face spoke volumes. The man ran an unsteady hand through his hair, appearing every bit as young as he actually was. "Clint crashed twice during the surgery. The internal damage… It's bad." Steve swallowed laboriously, eyes fixed on the floor. "He's still fighting, though. So…"

Nick Fury sighed heavily, rubbing his face roughly with one hand. It'd been a long day. "He's a fighter. He'll make it." And the archer had better not prove him wrong, even out of spite…! Quickly and sharply the one eyed man forced his thoughts elsewhere. "Did Hulk really stay at bay the entire time?"

"Yeah." Steve seemed as surprised as he felt. They both looked towards the two Avengers in the room.

Fury arched an eyebrow, keeping his gaze on Bruce. _Interesting_ , he mused. Maybe there were things about Hulk they didn't know yet. Same with Bruce.

Eventually his cell phone announced a message. He gave it a look and swore under his breath, mindful to keep the words inaudible to Steve's sensitive ears. "I have to go. Keep me posted."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "On which one?"

Fury looked towards the end of the hallway, still spotting no sign of a doctor. Then let his gaze stray towards Bruce. "Both."

* * *

It took two days before things became less dramatic. And even after that it was a touch and go. Clint was obviously in no condition to be transferred anywhere so the team took a pretty much permanent residence at the hospital. Much to the staff's horror.

To Bruce time passed by almost unbearably slowly. Tony seemed to agree. And when Tony Stark got bored _and_ agitated simultaneously…

"Stop looking at the morphine pump like you're planning on tearing it to pieces."

Tony lifted his hands in a not exactly convincing sign of innocence. "Just a little healthy scientific curiosity." The billionaire's gaze strayed towards Clint's still unconscious face. For just a few fleeting seconds the man's usual cheery mask faltered. "I can't wait for him to wake up so I get to deliver him the news that he was saved by a naked Bruce Banner."

"He's a top-class assassin who knows every little bit of the Tower's air vents. And who has full access to all your supplies", Bruce pointed out. He didn't usually do positive thinking but this, focusing on future like a little kid might… It was oddly comforting. "Do you _really_ want to piss him off?"

"Since when have you said 'piss off'?"

"Since I met you."

"You're a real comedian, Dr. Banner." Tony rolled his eyes. "Do us both a favor and leave the jokes to me." The Iron Man stretched and almost managed to stifle a yawn. "I'll try to hunt us something eatable. The cafeteria here is a joke and we can't even rob Barton's food because he's not on solids yet."

Bruce checked the time as soon as Tony left. Fifteen minutes. That was the longest the billionaire had been able to bear watching their ailing friend. Bruce himself had barely left the room since the archer was first allowed visitors. No matter how hard it was to stay, especially at first when there were a lot more tubes, bags and machines.

This time, however, something was different. Bruce swallowed, wondering if he should beeline towards the door as well. "How long have you been awake?"

"Since the 'naked'. Unfortunately." A pair of barely open, bleary eyes peered unfocusedly at him. "'not a nightmare, then?"

Bruce had absolutely no idea what to feel. He shook his head slowly. "Sorry, no." Absurd, all of this.

Clint tried to shift but ended up groaning and wincing instead. Somehow the barely conscious man managed to glare at him when he approached the morphine pump. "Leave it." The Hawk tapped at his own head clumsily. "'s already fuzzy enough, up here."

Bruce frowned. Uncertainty made him fidget. "Being in constant discomfort won't do your recovery any good", he reasoned.

All of a sudden Clint's eyes were almost alarmingly sharp. Those of a real Hawkeye. "Or yours." The man, despite being barely conscious, managed to sound incredibly commanding. "Sleep, before you pass out."

Bruce didn't feel like resting or taking it easy. Not when he just almost… He gulped. "What happened…"

"… was a nasty accident. Bad luck." Clint yawned, then winced. "Sleep, or I won't." Words which weren't made very convincing when the archer dozed off soon after. Trusting him.

Bruce wasn't sure if he deserved such trust. Or if he'd ever manage to forgive himself for _this_ , or a great number of other things. But Clint seemed to think that he should. That he deserved a millionth chance. And if the Hawkeye saw something worth saving in him… Maybe it held a seed of truth.

"Bruce?"

"Hmmm?"

"'never wanna see your naked _bits_ again."

* * *

Tony returned with food about thirty minutes later and grinned radiantly, relief flooding through him in waves.

Clint wasn't comatose or unconscious anymore. The man's breathing was deep and even with light sleep. And finally, for the first time since the beginning of the disaster, Bruce was also asleep.

All of a sudden a hand was laid to his shoulder. Tony would've squeaked embarrassingly if it wasn't for the hand clasped over his mouth. A second later Natasha's familiar voice spoke. "Leave them", she whispered uncompromisingly. "They need rest. And we need food. You weren't planning on keeping all that Thai, were you?"

Tony felt incredibly light as they walked towards a nearby waiting room. He glanced towards his friend. "Now that's something you don't see every day."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I'm almost scared to ask. But what?"

"You're smiling."

As they entered the waiting room Thor and Steve were already there. The Asgardian appeared a little skeptical over the food at first but soon dug in as eagerly as the rest of them. And so they ate and bickered, keeping watch over their two sleeping, slowly recovering friends. The room's air was full of relief and promise of brighter days, even if it was once again pouring rain outside.

"Are you going to eat that?"

"Leave my noodles alone, Goldilocks."

"Who is this Goldilocks?"

* * *

 ** _End of oneshot._**

* * *

A/N: Awwww! And in case your worried… It seems that Clint will make a FULL recovery, as in no spinal damage or such.

Sooooo… Was that any good? At all? Do leave a note! And remember that requests are ALWAYS welcomed!

 **UP NEXT:**

A farm accident becomes life threatening – because with Clint everything does.

Then, old friends (spoiler – NOT friends) of Clint's appear and things get nasty.

And next, it's Thor's turn to try and keep Clint alive – because I've been neglecting our beloved Asgardian lately. (winces guiltily)

Then… You think missions are bad? Yeah. How about a car accident in the middle of it?

Awkay, I REALLY have to go. Until next time! I really hope that you'll all be there.

Take care, my feathery fiends!

* * *

Guest: I'd say! (chuckles) I'm SO HAPPY that you enjoyed it.

I LOVE those ideas! (gets all starry eyed) YUP, totally goes to my list!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: (BEEEEEEEEAMS) I'm thrilled to hear that! And that you found it worth the wait. GOSH! I really hope that you'll keep having a good time with this collection.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	45. A Hawk and a Bitter Betrayal

A/N: I was SUPPOSED TO post something else and got pretty far with it. But then… I heard something that made me see red and thus this chapter was born. This is an unusual message for me, but…

 **DON'T READ THE ENDING AUTHOR'S NOTE UNTIL AFTER THE CHAPTER, yeah? BUT PLEASE DO READ IT! There's… a special note.**

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for the INCREDIBLE amount of reviews, love and affection you've give this story! GOSH! And to think that some people still imagine Clint to be the forgotten, unloved Avenger. (BEAMS, and hugs)

 **A WORD OF WARNING…** This chapter was close to becoming M-rated. I left out some stuff because I wanted to keep it T. Still, a bumpy ride ahead. (winces)

Awkay, enough with the stalling. Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

POSSIBLE SONG RECOMMENDATION: 'Light That Never Comes' from Nickelback

* * *

A Hawk and a Bitter Betrayal

* * *

It isn't often a news studio gets the special kind of material which arrived on that rainy autumn day. When young reporters Erica Mann and Greg Hooper saw a flash drive waiting for them they exchanged glances. There was no note or explanation. Just a strange symbol neither remembered seeing before decorating the item.

Erica, always the daredevil, was the one to make the decision. Greg frowned while she inserted the device to her computer. "Are you sure that that's a good idea?"

Erica shrugged. "I'm curious. And maybe this is the big thing we've been praying for. It's been infuriatingly quiet since Loki and the New York fiasco."

Greg gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt. Trying not to point out – far from kindly – that a lot of people died on that horrible day. Instead he fixed his sharp, blue eyes on the computer screen, decidedly not looking at his colleague.

What they soon witnessed looked like a security camera's footage – and the fall of a superhero.

* * *

The Avengers snatching Loki's Sceptre and eventually luring away the twins was massive blow against HYDRA. They should've known to expect that the organization wouldn't let such an insult slide, crippled as it was. The whole idea of HYDRA was that in the place of a severed head two new ones appeared.

Clint saw this, as someone who went by the name Hawkeye was expected to. While a lot of people imagined that he retired the full truth was far more complex. He lay in wait, using all the resources and contacts he had to keep an eye on the situation. And when he caught the first signs of HYDRA sneaking closer to Wanda he acted.

The least he could do for Pietro – the least he could do to honor the kid's sacrifice – was to make sure that the last remaining Maximoff would be safe. No matter how much she hated the idea. Now that she knew what to fight for she wanted to do exactly that.

To say that HYDRA wasn't amused by him hiding her would've been a huge understatement.

Clint didn't know how long they'd had him. So far he'd been electrocuted, beaten and drowned. He knew to expect that they had the arsenal for far worse.

"Where… is… she?"

Clint lifted his chin defiantly, despite the trail of blood running from his nose. His eyes locked with his opponent's brown ones. "Save yourself some time…", he advised. "… and just finish me off right now. Because I'll never tell you."

The next, familiar voice brought shivers. "He means it. You can try as long as you wish but you won't get him to talk." _Steve…!_ Heavy, booted steps approached. "But I will."

The fast rising relief that dared to rise inside Clint's battered body turned into such cold that took his breath away. He turned his gaze, slowly, to see Captain America at the room's door. The man was wearing a HYDRA uniform.

* * *

The reporters stared at the footage in a state of shock and disbelief.

Captain America… The country's and possibly the world's greatest hero… Was working for the enemy?

"This… This isn't only big news", Erica managed. "This is going to chance the history."

Greg said nothing. As if there would've been appropriate words. They watched as the nightmarish, unimaginable scene kept unfolding.

* * *

Clint stared, with embarrassingly wide open disbelief, as Steve approached him. The man's expression… It was such he'd never seen before. And in those moments of ice cold shock it occurred to him that perhaps he never really knew Steve at all. "How long?" he rasped. Not even trying to hide the hurt.

"How long since I joined?" Steve shrugged. "Almost since the beginning."

"You fought them!" Clint snarled. If he hadn't been restrained by metal…! "Several times! You were supposed to be one of those who'd defeat them!"

"Haven't you figured it out by now?" It was impossible to read Steve's tone. "The most effective way to destroy something is from the inside." The Captain was already close, _too close_. "How do you imagine that HYDRA managed to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D so wholly?"

Clint felt sick to his stomach. He was exhausted from who knows how many days of torture and in pain. And ready to… "And they called you the symbol of hope and fighting spirit", he sneered. He'd been betrayed by people he'd made the mistake of trusting far too many times. Yet somehow this succeeded in stinging the worst.

Steve's eyes darkened as they peered into his. It took a couple of seconds before the man spoke. "People are good at seeing what they want to see."

Clint snorted. With all the bitterness in his broken heart. "Yeah, they are."

For a few more moments they stared at each other. Eventually it was Steve who broke the heavy, loaded silence. "Clint… I really need you to tell me where Wanda is."

"Or what?"

The shadows hanging in the room made Steve's expressionless face seem even more menacing. Enforced the verdict which eventually came. "Or you'll lose everything you care about."

The person who interrogated Clint before was still in the room. When the archer hissed out he was mindful to not let the man hear him. "Threaten my wife and kids…", he growled, with the fury of an enraged wild animal protecting their young. "… and I'll kill you." And he meant every word.

For a flash of a second – which might've been a trick of his imagination – he could've sworn that he saw hurt in Steve's eyes. "You have five minutes", the Captain informed him. "Answer the question and nobody has to get hurt." A careful ear detected that it sounded almost like begging.

"I already tried that, boss", the man who tormented him earlier pointed out. "Threatened to make someone's head go 'pop' if he wouldn't talk. Almost lost my ear for it." Which would be why no one from HYDRA would ever make the mistake of whispering taunts into his ear again.

Well, it was starting to look like he wouldn't be around to be taunted for long…

Clint's eyebrow arched. His face remained surprisingly impassive, considering the fact that his blood was boiling. "'Boss'?" One of the highest ranking agents, then…

Steve couldn't possibly notice that Clint had been busy during their highly unpleasant little talk. He'd been twisting his badly aching hands. And very soon he'd be ready to fight.

"I obtained this base and its agents when S.H.I.E.L.D fell."

"As a thank you for a job well done." It wasn't a guess or a question. Clint's heart was still hammering and his head was spinning hazardously. He couldn't afford to pass out yet… "We'll see how they reward you when it all goes up in flames."

The thing was, Clint didn't head for this particular mission alone. And no one had noticed the tiny, Stark created device he smuggled into the room. He spat it to the floor with some blood after a beating. Several pairs of ears were listening and caught his code words.

Soon a series of five explosions shook the building.

For the first time since the man's appearance there was a hint of emotion on Steve's face. Even if it was impossible to name what, exactly, they were. "What was that?"

"Friends", Clint hissed, with every ounce of venom he could muster. And yanked. Succeeding in freeing himself from the restraints.

Steve had no way of stopping him before he was already attacking the Captain with all he could muster. He took the man to the floor with such force that it was a miracle the soldier didn't pass out, following instantly with three stone hard punches, one of which without a doubt broke the man's nose. A tooth was chipped. No words were needed. Clint's fury did all talking for him quite effectively.

All the way until the gunshot.

Clint didn't see where the shot came from but knew for sure that Steve wasn't holding a gun. For a couple of heartbeats he felt nothing. Then the blinding, white hot agony came rolling in like a tsunami. He gasped, slumping towards Steve although it was the last thing he wanted. To his surprise the soldier lay him to the floor gently, speaking words he was in no condition of catching. Perhaps he was already out of it. Because he could've sworn that he saw panic in Steve's eyes.

Then the soldier was holding a gun. And aiming. "Hail Hydra." Clint's consciousness fled before he got the chance to see where the bullet landed.

* * *

That… was where the footage ended.

Erica and Greg remained quiet for a while, taking it all in. Then looked at each other. "This… is big, _the big thing_. We have to take this to boss", Erica whispered at last.

Greg, however, shook his head. There was a plea in the man's eyes. "We can't." He looked down, pain clearly visible on his face. "My granddad… He doesn't talk much anymore. But… He keeps telling me about Captain America. How he fought beside a great hero at war. Those memories, that hope… They're what keep him sane, when the nightmares and flashbacks get too much. And… I don't think he's the only one." Greg's gaze was sharp and uncompromising when the man looked at her. "Captain America… He's so much more than a person. That guy… He's _an idea_ , a symbol. We… We can't take that away from them, Erica. We can't destroy that myth."

"Even if it's all a lie?" Erica questioned sharply, almost disbelievingly.

Greg nodded. Because, really… What was he supposed to say?

Erica stared at him. Then sighed. "Fine. We won't go public with it. Even if that makes us idiots."

As soon as Greg walked away after a quiet 'thank you' Erica focused on the flash drive. It was still there, calling out to her like a siren. She thought about destroying it but only very briefly. Instead she took it and slid it to a desk's drawer.

Surely the world deserved to know the truth, even if it was a bitter one?

* * *

Steve never got the chance to shoot anyone. Because just then a sudden new force took down the HYDRA agent who shot Clint. Wanda's eyes were wide from shock and sharp with rage as she struggled to take in the situation.

She appeared in those exact five minutes Steve had promised Clint. Just as was the plan they made during a top secret phone call. Too bad nothing went the way they envisioned.

Steve, who was fighting desperately to keep Clint from bleeding out, looked at her with grief in his eyes. "I… Wanda, I'm so sorry…!"

"Leave", she snapped, far more sharply than she'd meant to. "Natasha and the others are on their way. Don't be here when they arrive, especially when you're wearing… _that_." The sight of the uniform made her stomach turn.

She took the Captain's place beside Clint, her trembling hands becoming red almost instantly. It took all her willpower to keep her emotions from taking over. All she could see was red.

"Look after him", Steve pleaded quietly.

Not looking at him, she heard and saw the same person who trained her, who fought beside her. And she nodded, some of her helpless rage dying out. "I will", she swore. Because giving up wasn't an option. For either one of them.

It felt like Steve wanted to say something more. She did, too. But in the end he left soundlessly, with an air of reluctance she could feel.

Wanda's mind was so busy that she was startled by the sensation of movement under her unsteady hands. Clint's eyes were half open and bleary. At first he frowned at the sight of her, then – realization dawning – began to shake his head. "No, no… You're not…"

"Shh…" She'd never been good at comforting people. But for the archer's sake she was determined to try. "There are no enemies left. Steve and I took care of them."

At the sound of the Captain's name Clint was trying to get up, despite being critically injured. "No…! Steve…"

Wanda shook her head. "Everything's not as it seems, okay?" She would've wanted to explain, the best as he could. To take away the betrayal residing in her friend's eyes. But now was hardly the time, when said friend was bleeding out in her arms. She blinked furiously when her eyes got blurry all of a sudden. "Just… Just hang in there, Clint. Stay with me."

But it seemed that such a decision was out of the archer's hands. Clint's gaze wasn't scared, only apologetic as he sought out her eyes once more. Then slipped away.

* * *

When the rest of the team found out that it was, apparently, Steve who led the group which took Clint a part of everything they'd believed in was shattered. Steve was the epitome of a hero, if there ever was one. The picture of high moral. The thought of him having fooled them all along… Of him being a part of their worst and most dangerous enemy…

Bruce and Thor were still missing so the group hadn't been able to notify them. Tony was pacing around the hospital's waiting room like a caged tiger, his hair a mess from how many times he'd ran his hands through it. Natasha sat absolutely still, her face unreadable and her posture unnaturally straight. She'd been fooled, in the absolutely worst way and by one of the people she would've never expected it off. It was impossible to tell just what went through her mind.

The betrayal… Having to listen to Clint's ordeal, unable to do a thing to stop it for much too long… The mental image of those dead HYDRA agents – Steve's agents, apparently… Of Clint laying there, looking so very lifeless… They'd all be haunted by those for a very, very long time. At the moment all they could do was hope that the treachery wouldn't steal one of their most precious people.

Tony shook his head once. Then again. "I… I just don't get it. Why would Rogers…?"

"Shut up, Tony", Natasha growled, her gaze enforcing the message.

Tony was too worked up to take a hint. His eyes stung and he rubbed them furiously with both hands. "I just… It doesn't make sense. He worked to stop those assholes!" No need to watch for his language anymore… "Why would he do this to us?" He sounded far too much like a lost little boy to his own ears. He hated it.

A knife flew past him, landing to a wall. Clearly he wasn't the only one displeased. Natasha's flaming eyes held a suspicious amount of moisture. "Shut… up."

Just then steps approached the room, instantly catching all their attention. But instead of the doctor they'd been hoping to see in walked a very pale Wanda, accompanied by Nick Fury. They'd never seen the kind of a look on the one eyed man's face they did then. The man closed the room's door before talking. "These have been… very unfortunate few days."

Tony snorted. "Yeah. You could say that."

Fury sighed heavily, appearing exactly as exhausted as they did. "I know that you all have far too much to think about and process already. But there's something very important you need to know about Steve."

* * *

Several times Clint could feel himself slipping. Not only from consciousness but life itself. But he held on, with all his stubbornness. Nightmares mixed with memories. Or maybe they were one and the same.

Steve shooting him. Steve in that horrific uniform. Steve killing his family.

It was that very dream which finally roused the Hawk. He gasped, no matter how much agony it caused him, and was instantly trying to leave the bed he was confined in. He barely noticed the loud, furious beeping of his heart monitor.

It told a lot about his physical condition that all it took to stop him was a firm hand. "Take it easy", Fury's familiar voice advised. The man sounded… worried. That was new. "It's been five days and they only just dared to let you try to wake up. The last thing you need right now is a yet another complication."

Clint blinked sluggishly. Feeling annoyingly tired already. There was a frown on his face when he looked towards the one eyed man. "Huh?"

Fury, who was sitting beside his bed, sighed heavily. "We… nearly lost you four times. You worried Natasha."

Clint winced. He remembered all those other times he'd scared her like this. The next few months wouldn't be pleasant… "… crap…"

Fury nodded. "Agreed." The man then tensed up. "But I doubt that she's the one you want to talk about."

Clint's jawline tightened. The sting of rage and betrayal that crossed him brought a bitter taste to his mouth. "Have you found him?"

"He's in the waiting room, actually. Waiting to speak to you. But I had a feeling that I should visit you first."

At first Clint stared. Then exploded. The beeping sound intensified. "You've gotta be kidding me…!" The man betrayed him, tried to kill him!

"I know that it's hard to believe right now. But Rogers isn't the bad guy here." And Fury clearly meant it. "HYDRA's been using infiltration from the early days. So has our side."

Clint took several moments to process those words. He swallowed, staring at a dark spot on the room's ceiling. "He's… on a mission?"

"Yes. Has been almost since he received the serum." Nick shifted, appearing a couple of decades older than he was all of a sudden. "It took a while before HYDRA was convinced. But when they were… They thought they hit the jackpot. America's greatest hero, the man _everyone_ trusted, working secretly for them? It was almost too good to be true."

"And it was", Clint murmured. It all made sense, now. What Steve was trying to tell him…

Fury sighed again. "I should've told you – all of you – sooner. But we couldn't afford to risk things, especially when the team was still at its early stages."

"I could've killed him!" This time Clint's anger wasn't directed at Steve. Or even the man in front of him. How could he not have seen? How could he have been so blind…? "If… If I didn't get shot… I would've…!" He trailed off.

"No, you wouldn't have", a new voice spoke. They both looked towards the room's doorway to see Steve. The man had several mighty, colorful bruises on his face. Some of them may not have been created by Clint. The soldier's expression was wary and apologetic. "You're a better man than that."

Clint's eyebrow bounced up. He didn't manage to relax. "I was protecting my family. How would you know what I'm capable of?"

"Because I know you." Steve was looking at him with very much open trust. Such Clint couldn't quite return just yet – not with the much too fresh memories and nightmares – but which would hopefully return, in time.

They looked at each other for a few moments. Processing, taking in. "I… can't stay long. HYDRA knows that you guys know and would get suspicious. I just…" Steve gulped thickly, looking away for a while. "I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry, about how it all turned out."

Clint took a deep breath. "So am I." For the lack of trust. For unknowingly damaging Steve's mission. For the whole mess.

A lot of words floated in the air, unvoiced but still loudly heard. Eventually Steve shifted with discomfort. "I… have to go." They both understood. The soldier tried to smile. "Get better soon. And take care of yourself."

Clint nodded. He wished that he would've been able to smile. "You too."

It wasn't a goodbye, although it felt a little like one, just the end of an era. It was inevitable that they'd meet each other again. Clint couldn't help wondering what'd happen when they did as the door closed behind Steve.

* * *

"So Hawkeye survived? And the Avengers know, now?"

There was a brief silence at Captain America's end of the call. " _Yes._ "

The woman clicked her tongue. Her green eyes flashed sharply with irritation. "Well. This is certainly a setback. But we'll handle it." She gritted her teeth. "I want you to go to Berlin. A contact is waiting for you there. I believe that it's for the best you lay low for a while."

" _Yes, ma'am._ "

"And Steve?" Her eyes narrowed. "No more setbacks." She hung up.

* * *

Steve stared at his phone for a second, feeling cold, drained and unreasonably heavy. Then breathed in deep and composed himself, like the soldier he was supposed to be. He knew that he had to go. But first…

Making sure that no one saw him he made his way through the hospital, finding the correct room easily. Careful to not make even the slightest sound he opened the door a crack and peered in. What he saw made his heart swell and break.

Wanda, who appeared tired and pale but also happy for the first time in a week, had finally succumbed to her fatigue and fallen asleep. Her head rested on top of Clint's stomach and even in sleep she held the archer's hand so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Natasha occupied the bed's other side and had obviously been guarding the door until she, too, fell asleep. Tony was the only one left awake, even if it seemed to be with the last of the billionaire's strength.

They won this round – they got Clint back, barely. Wanda was also safe. But they all knew that the war wasn't over yet. And so, even if leaving was the last thing Steve wanted to do, he closed the door. Separating himself from people he'd started to consider his family.

He'd come back one day, when this was all over. They'd all be there and then they'd sort out this whole mess. That ridiculously optimistic thought mantra was the only thing keeping him from screaming at the top of his voice from the agony ravishing his heart.

* * *

In the meantime the person Steve just spoke to went back to inspecting the security footage. The filming didn't end quite when the soldier most likely hoped it would. She saw him try to save Clint and Wanda appearing just before the screen went black. "The little rat played us", she growled. Sounding almost impressed.

"What do you want me to do with him?" a man stood at her right inquired.

"Nothing yet." She smiled in a way that would've chilled anyone. "We'll let him run around in circles for a while. And then, when he least expects it… We'll burn down his world." Her eyes flashed. "I need you to contact the news station. Ensure that they go public with the part of this footage we sent them. We'll let the world see who good Captain really is and make sure that he has no one but us to help him hide…"

* * *

 ** _Fin_**

* * *

A/N: SO… The as I promised during the start-note… **Here's an explanation.**

Apparently HYDRA-Steve is a thing, now. Some genius creating the comics has gotten the idea that Steve's been working for HYDRA all along. I kid you not! This possibility is alive and, I'm afraid, very strong. The whole idea is absolutely ridiculous and absurd to me. And possibly the most idiotic fictional twist EVER. I'm not usually this sharp-worded, unless it's about ice-hockey. (grins) But the whole idea makes me see red! If you agree…

#saynotohydracap – spread the word!

As for this story…! I feel sort of tempted to continue with this storyline somehow. But we'll see. For now, poor Clint, and poor, poor Steve! This had to have been torture on them both. (winces)

Old friends (spoiler – NOT friends) of Clint's appear and things get nasty.

A farm accident becomes life threatening – because with Clint everything does.

And next, it's Thor's turn to try and keep Clint alive – because I've been neglecting our beloved Asgardian lately. (winces guiltily)

Then… You think missions are bad? Yeah. How about a car accident in the middle of it?

I really hope that you enjoyed the ride – and sorry 'bout the rant…! Until next time. Hopefully I'll see ya all there!

Take care – and support #saynotohydracap!

* * *

Mcdonalds21: YAY! I'm super happy that you enjoyed it. And your, your prompt will see daylight VERY soon. (grins) I really hope that I'll be worth the faith you're giving me.

MASSIVE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest 96: (blushes, beams and bows) I'm OVERJOYED that you're so pleased with the past couple of chapters! I really adore Pepper, too, especially the positive impact she has on Tony. She's awesome! And I'm REALLY curious to see where they go with Black Panther!

LOL, don't worry one bit! I make so many typos myself that I totally understand. (grins) I did wonder for a second, then figured out what you meant.

HUGE thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: That's the BEST compliment EVER! I'm thrilled that you've been enjoying the ride. We'll see what's up next…

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: Awww, hearing that makes me REALLY happy! (BEAMS) Poor Bruce indeed! That must've been a HORRIBLE experience for him. (winces) Thank gosh all ended happily!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time – I really hope that that one delivers as well.

* * *

Nightshade: (BEAMS, and blushes) WELCOME ABOARD! I'm OVERJOYED that you've enjoyed the ride thus far so much. Hopefully you'll be as pleased with what's to come!

Your prompt's AMAZING! DEFINITELY goes to my list. I've gotta admit that I've also been toying with a though a bit like that. (grins)

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	46. Lucky (DEAF CLINT)

A/N: SURPRISE! This is turning out to be a two-updates-week. Yay…?

FIRST… THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your AMAZING reviews, listings, love and support! GOSH! There are so many of you. You can't even imagine how happy you're making me! (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, before I get cheesy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

 **TRIGGER WARNING for child abuse and cruelty towards animals.**

* * *

Lucky (DEAF CLINT)

* * *

/ _An orphanage – especially one specialized in traumatized children – isn't an easy place to work in. Over the twenty-five years she'd spent working at such Violet Ryland had faced a lot of heartbreaking tales. Few had touched him more than the one a scared, scrawny little boy._

 _When the Barton brothers first arrived the only information they really had was that their parents had died in a car accident. Which had been caused by their drunk-driving father. The brothers were also in the car and while the older one – Barney – lost consciousness on impact the smaller one – Clint – remained conscious the whole time, despite bleeding heavily. When rescue workers arrived the child was in a state of shock, trapped by metal and screaming desperately for his mom and brother although he had barely any voice left. Getting the child out was no easy task because he kept fighting all help with tooth and nail. In the end they had no other choice but to sedate Clint._

 _Barney sustained head trauma that took almost two months to heal, along with a broken arm. Clint was reported having suffered from heavy bruising, a concussion and a broken clavicle. What shocked the doctors were the clear traces of more or less healed broken bones. The further the hospital staff learned to know the child the clearer they saw that 'domestic abuse' was written all over the younger brother._

 _Clint didn't react normally in social situations. He withdrew from adults as much as from other children and the only person he seemed to trust at all was his brother. Quite often Violet caught the older brother whispering to the younger. Sometimes the look on Barney's face chilled her although she couldn't explain why. Clint wouldn't say a word. At first Violet imagined that it was the years of abuse which caused the muteness. That was until the orphanage's staff realized that the child was almost completely deaf._

 _Clint wasn't adjusting well and the other troubled children didn't make it any easier. The boy did his best to hide all traces – most likely out of misplaced embarrassment – but the hints were there. Suspicious bruises… Red eyes… It was all far too much on a six-year-old._

 _But clearly Clint was a survivor. He soldiered on, fought to recover. The child didn't manage to bond with humans but animals… Now those were different story. Pets were strictly against the orphanage's rules. However, when Violet and her coworkers discovered that Clint had adopted a puppy they couldn't stand even the thought of telling him to give it up. Especially when they saw the positive impact that little fur ball had on the boy._

 _And then came one absolutely horrible Halloween._

 _The orphanage was planning on having a costume party, with the staff bringing whatever options they'd been able to get their hands on. Clint was, predictably, the last one left staring at the selection. When the others left he approached slowly and picked one of the three options left. Captain America. Violet smiled, pleasantly surprised that he was planning on participating at all._

 _Come evening, however, the child was nowhere to be seen. Violent frowned and left the rest of the kids to the hands of her colleagues, then headed towards the missing boy's room. "Clint?" she called out, hoping that for once Clint had his hearing aids on. "The party's already started. What's…?" That was when she reached his room and all words froze into her mouth. Terror, grief and nausea formed a huge ball into her stomach and it took her all to hold back tears._

 _Clint, already dressed up sans the mask, sat on the floor, crying hysterically. Each sob held such heartbreak no child should've had to experience. In his tiny, trembling arms was his puppy, brown fur coat stained by blood._

 _The sight was already heart wrenching enough. But then Clint looked at her with utter despair, betrayal and sorrow in his eyes. "I… I don't understand", he cried. Marking the first time she or any other member of staff actually heard his voice. "I did… I did everything I was supposed to – I… I never told any adult, I swear! So why… Why would they…?" The sobs became so all-consuming that he trailed off for a long time, his dearly beloved pet held tightly against his chest. "Lucky was just a baby, Violet! Babies are supposed to be safe!"_

 _There was absolutely nothing Violet could've said to that. So she didn't utter a word. Instead she made her way to the child, mindful not to approach too quickly, and folded him to a tight, tender hug. Trying to ignore the dead animal between them. At first Clint stiffened. Then, so quickly that it startled her, he clung to her like she was his sole lifeline, crying hysterically. Fighting back tears of her own Violet felt sick at how cruel children could be._ /

* * *

The aftermath of Sokovia – followed by the departures of Thor and Bruce – wasn't easy on the remaining Avengers. Stress made them irritable and they started getting on each other's nerves. Eventually Fury decided that something had to be done.

While Steve insisted that someone _had to_ stay behind and look after the new recruits – and nominated himself – the others were sent to Barcelona for a vacation. Tony greeted the idea with joy. Natasha and Clint were slightly more skeptical, memories of their past… vacations all too fresh on their minds.

"Enough with the frowny faces!" Tony demanded. "It's a holiday! In Spain! Even you two wouldn't be able to mess that up!"

* * *

The first three days were surprisingly pleasant. Even though they decided to spend a few hours apart a couple of times, just to avoid starting to plot on murdering each other.

Clint… didn't exactly find relaxing easy. Nightmares of Pietro's death came to him every single night, joining several old ones. And he missed his family, terribly. It didn't succeed in improving his spirits that his barely healed gunshot wound was itching like mad. But in the end Tony's joy was infectious. By day five he found himself relaxing.

That ridiculously warm afternoon he and Natasha strolled behind while Tony zoomed through several technology hardware stores. Clint couldn't help but smirk while shaking his head. "He's worse than my kids when they're high on sugar."

Natasha shrugged. One corner of her lips seemed to be twitching. "He _is_ a big kid", she pointed out. "Any idea how we'll get him back to the hotel?"

Clint was just about to respond when he saw something that froze him to the spot. He knew immediately, by instinct and aided by unfortunate firsthand experience, what the building in front of him was. And then his eyes landed on the symbol by its door. A crimson triangle.

It could've been a coincidence… Well. Until he saw a much too familiar looking man rushing in.

"Clint?" Natasha was wearing her mission tone. "What is it?"

Clint's jawline tightened painfully. "I… need to check out something. I'll be back in a few, promise." Then, seeing the look on his friend's face, he tried humor. "Try to keep Stark from earning a punch in the meantime."

"Are you planning on earning yourself a punch?"

Clint found it best to not answer.

* * *

Tony was just returning to his friends when he saw Clint walking away. Instantly his stomach knotted, signaling that something unpleasant was going on. "Something wrong?"

"Yes." Natasha's tone revealed that she didn't like the turn of events any more than he did. "Definitely."

Tony frowned, looking at the building the archer was approaching. "What the heck is that place?" he demanded. Because he hated not knowing – most of the time, anyway.

Natasha's eyes darkened as they observed their friend's distancing back. She sighed. "A dog-fighting arena."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed even further. Something told him that things… would get eventful soon enough. "Why would Feathers go there?" Well, he sort of knew the answer…

Which Natasha confirmed. There was a dark look on her face. "To get into a trouble", she grumbled, now even trying to hide how displeased she was.

* * *

Clint made it into the building with fairly little trouble. He could've entered through a window without having to actually encounter anyone. But then he wouldn't have gotten the chance to knock out the huge, bald guy with a spider tattoo decorating his head who stood by the door. He sneered with pleasure when the far larger man fell, instantly out cold.

But it wasn't the time to celebrate yet because he had a job to do.

Soundlessly and quickly Clint slipped in, blending easily into the shadows. Well, chances were that an elephant would've been able to blend in. Most of the people present were drunk and everyone's focus was on the circle-shaped arena in the middle of the massive hall. The amount of noise was unbelievable. People shouting like rapid wild animals… Dogs barking, howling and yelping… The horrific smell in the air was well enough to turn Clint's stomach upside down.

There was movement in the corner of his eye and he tensed up, preparing himself. The first thing he saw was black, bloodstained fur. It didn't take further examination to confirm that the poor animal was dead – it would've never allowed itself to be dragged like that if it wasn't. His gaze rose after that grim, heartbreaking realization. Finding a pair of wide, disbelieving and scared grayish green ones. "Holy shit… Midget?" A clearly audible accent told that the other had spent a number of years abroad. "You… never came back to the orphanage, and they never explained anything. We thought that you were dead."

Clint shook his head slowly. His blood boiling and sizzling in his veins. "Sorry. But they just never caught me." His eyes narrowed, the threat in them load and clear. "I was a stupid kid, back then. I ran away. It's time to make up for that mistake."

The man before him was Mackey – he never found out his surname. One part of the so-called Scarlet Trio that tormented him. That attacked Lucky as well. Back then he was absolutely terrified of the pathetic excuse of a human being, even if he never let it show. But now…

The man's pale-brown hair was fleeing rapidly and those eyes were nothing short of haunted. The man's body seemed sickly thin. A trembling pair of arms was covered in scars from fights and dog-bites. There were also far too many track-marks to count. A pathetic junkie with no desire to make more out of himself. That was all one of Clint's worst nightmares had become.

Mackey swallowed thickly. Trembling from fear, cravings or most likely both. "You're gonna kill me, aren't you?"

Clint shook his head again. "Nah. That'd be letting you off the hook." He smirked in far from friendly manner. "Which doesn't mean that I wouldn't hurt you."

* * *

Tony wasn't very good at waiting. Which didn't come as a surprise to anyone who knew him. Eventually he groaned, starting to make his way towards the building. "That's it, I'm…" He was interrupted by the sight of a man crashing through a window.

Natasha shook her head. She was wearing sunglasses so it was impossible to tell if she was amused, irritated or both. "Trust me. Don't interrupt him right now."

* * *

If Mackey was there Clint knew that the other two wouldn't be far. Fire flaring through him, he continued his search like a hunting wild beast. Very soon his hawk's eyes spotted a second familiar face.

Eric had always been the trio's pretty boy. Almost black, wavy hair, dangerous dark eyes… The definition of 'tall, dark and handsome'. It helped that even in his early teens Eric had a silver tongue, always able to manipulate even trained and experienced professionals.

At the moment Eric was smooth talking a very beautiful young woman. Judging by the look in her eyes she was already fast on her way to falling under his spell. Well. What a glorious moment to step in.

" _Sorry, love_ ", he told the woman in fluent Spanish, making sure that his tone expressed clearly enough that she wasn't welcomed. " _But it looks like my boyfriend and I have… some talking to do._ "

On her beautiful face disbelief turned into far less attractive disgust. She hissed some well-chosen words to Eric. Then stormed off without looking back.

With her out of the way Clint was finally able to focus on Eric. The taller man was looking at him with an arched eyebrow. "How about that. Midget's all grown up."

Clint shrugged. His eyebrow rose as well. "I wish I could say the same about you", he quipped. "Animal cruelty, still?"

Eric groaned and rolled his eyes. "After all these years… You're _still_ going on about that stupid…?"

"You made my life living hell", Clint hissed, his eyes narrowed. "And do you know what's the worst part? You made me feel like I deserved it!"

Eric looked at him with an unimpressed expression. "So you're here for… What? A payback over us upsetting you?" The mockery in the other's tone wasn't subtle.

Clint shook his head. "I can see that you're still the same lost, insecure brat you were then. You haven't moved on or grown up at all. That's enough of a punishment for what you put me through." Without giving the slightest chance for a response he threw a swift, brutal punch right at the other's face. Breaking a nose, chipping a tooth and effectively knocking out his one-time menace. "That… was for Lucky."

* * *

Outside Tony and Natasha were getting impatient. And then, as they saw a couple of police cars rolling in, they became alarmed. They exchanged loudly speaking looks.

"Now can we crash the party?" Tony half-snapped.

* * *

Unaware of the special additions to his very own little mission Clint continued onwards. He had just enough time to sense that something was threatening him before he was dodging a ferocious punch. He responded with doing a sweep with his leg. His opponent jumped, then aimed at his stomach. Clint used the motion energy to his advantage and grabbed the leg, then yanked. The attacker went down with a highly irritated groan. A pair of ice-blue eyes glared up at him.

"Hello, Timmy", Clint greeted dryly. He glanced at the other's head. "I see that you finally shaved off the Mohawk."

"And you're still the same annoying little shit you were back then", Timmy barked back, bouncing up with the agility of a feline.

Clint grinned. He ducked, then attacked, managing to land a blow at the other's ribs. "Yeah, I am."

A storm of kicks, punches and spinning around followed. They both ended up with bruising. Both barely even noticed.

"What did you do to Mackey and Eric?"

"Just taught them a lesson." Clint's eyes flashed as he did some calculations. "Karma isn't a friend."

Clint kicked. Timmy responded with grabbing his leg the same way he did the older man's earlier. The archer had been expecting as much. The second he was flat on his back he kicked, as hard as he could. And managed to send Timmy flying, the man's eyes wide from surprise. The man disappeared from sight.

Clint got up as quick as possible and peered over the wooden railing. Timmy had stumbled to the exact middle of the fighting area. At the moment two dogs were growling furiously at him. They would've most likely torn the criminal to pieces if it wasn't for the men holding them back. Judging by the bleeding wounds they'd already gotten a taste. Timmy looked up at him, rage flaring in his eyes like wildfire. Clint smiled sweetly and waved. Saying goodbye to one of the darkest chapters of his past.

The relief that flooded through him didn't get to live long, however. Because just then the police came running in – and one of them spotted him. " _Freeze! Keep your hands…!_ "

Freeze? Yeah, right… Clint spun around, trying not to think about what might be up ahead and decidedly ignoring all the shouts and gunshots, then jumped through the window and started a fall. Which was halted momentarily by someone's drying laundry before he crash-landed to the mercilessly hard ground. He lay there for a couple of embarrassing seconds, gasping for the breath which had been knocked out of him.

"So…" Natasha didn't sound amused. "Done having fun?"

Clint smirked sheepishly, turning his head to face his two friends. He then fought his way up on his own, because he had his pride. "Yeah." Gunshots could still be heard. "I… may have made new friends. Let's go."

"You're such a people person", Tony teased with mirth.

Clint chuckled breathlessly. "What can I say? I have a way with people."

* * *

They rushed on for about ten minutes until they were convinced that no one seemed to be chasing them. Tony, not exactly used to such sprints, was panting. "What… the heck… was that all about?"

"Old friends", Clint responded curtly, obviously not wishing to clarify.

Tony snorted. "Yeah. I could tell from the way you tossed one of them through a window." It was around then the billionaire noticed how the archer was slowing down, looking pale and a little dazed. He frowned.

"Clint?" Natasha was frowning as well. Was that worry in her eyes? "What's wrong?"

Clint's lips opened but in the end the Hawk didn't utter a word. The man had been holding a hand against the area between his stomach and chest, which they didn't notice until it was moved. The limb was covered in red.

And then Clint's eyes rolled back, just seconds before the man collapsed.

* * *

Gunshot wounds – especially potentially fatal ones – are bound to earn… special attention. It took absolutely all of Nick Fury's skills to get Clint out of what might've been massive trouble. After that he could only wait and see whether the archer would live to hear that the archer owed him, big time.

And of course Clint would pull through. Fury absolutely refused to imagine any other alternative, despite the grim looks on Tony and Natasha's pale faces. "So… Let me get this straight." He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Barton got himself shot while trying to stop a dog-fighting ring?"

"Yes", Natasha replied, never having been a fan of dancing around facts.

" _Why_ was he fighting those people?"

"Because it's Barton." Tony cast a glare at Natasha. "And if you hadn't stopped me we might've been able to stop _this_ from happening!"

"And you're the one who led us to that part of the city", Natasha hissed back. Dangerously defensive. "We're even."

Tony didn't respond. Instead the leader of a massive international company got up and stormed off. Fury groaned. Sometimes he felt like he was herding a groups of toddlers.

"Clint didn't go there only because of the dogs." Natasha's voice snatched him back to reality. "I think he knew those men."

Fury wanted to ask more. Or to point out that they wouldn't know anything for sure until Clint woke up. That'd have to wait, though. Because just then they noticed a surgeon approaching them.

* * *

Two days rolled by, with Clint in a critical condition. Tony still hadn't returned. Fury was forced to leave. Which meant that Natasha was left alone when it was the pretty much only time when she wouldn't have wanted to be alone. Which she would've never, ever admitted to anyone.

Sitting there, staring at Clint who was still fighting for his life, was making her feel far more than she would've been able to handle. And she hated it. She would've wanted to hate him, too, for causing it, but…

She glared at him through narrowed eyes. They stung uncomfortably. "I know that you want to protect everyone and everything. It's who you are. But this…" She gulped. "… _this_ is unacceptable, do you hear me? Getting shot twice in…" She trailed off, unable to remember how long, exactly, it'd been. Days? Weeks? Months? "We're… We're not superheroes, remember? So… You can't keep pulling off stunts like this. If you leave me as the only normal member of this team I'll never forgive you."

Clint didn't respond. Didn't even hear her, of course, because he didn't have his hearing aids on. Somehow that knowledge wasn't enough to stop her.

She squeezed his hand without noticing it. "Idiot", she hissed. And meant it. And didn't.

She might've dozed off for a bit. Because all of a sudden she was startled to full awareness by the sensation of motion. She looked down instinctively and felt a wave of intense relief upon discovering Clint looking at her with bleary, pained eyes.

She pried her hand from Clint's hold after a one more squeeze. Then signed. ' _Morning, idiot. I'll go and ask someone to give you more pain meds._ '

Clint shook his head stubbornly. Of course he did. ' _I don't want any more. I'm already groggy enough. Did they close the ring?_ '

It took a couple of seconds before Natasha caught on. Which showed how exhausted she was. ' _They did. And those three guys you beat up were all arrested. You sent one of them to a hospital._ '

Clint frowned. Almost pouted. Yes, definitely high on pain meds. ' _Only one?_ '

' _Yes, and yourself._ ' She gave him a threatening look, unleashing all the rage him worrying her had caused. ' _The next time you pull a stunt like this I'm going to send you to a hospital a second time myself!_ '

' _I can't just look the other way when…!_ '

' _I know that you fucking can't! Ever!_ ' She was getting really, genuinely pissed off. ' _But that doesn't give you the right to charge head first into everything alone! You have people who care about you, now! You can't keep putting them through that!_ '

Clint stared at her. Processing and seeing, despite being heavily doped up. At least he had the decency to appear sheepish eventually. ' _Sorry. Sometimes I forget._ '

That actually broke Natasha's heart. She didn't let it show, instead signed. ' _Well stop forgetting. Idiot._ '

' _Stop insulting a guy who just got shot._ '

' _I won't when he deserves it._ '

Clint smiled. Just a little and through a visible amount of agony but still. ' _It felt good, though. And it would've been really cool, if the cops hadn't shown up for that raid when they did._ '

' _Don't make me punch you._ '

"Uh…" At that sound she turned her head to see Tony by the room's doorway. "Were you guys… just fighting, or what?"

Natasha almost smiled. Almost. "Not quite." They both looked towards Clint to discover that he'd fallen asleep once more.

"Oh." Disappointment was evident on Tony's face. "Believe it or not but I was sort of looking forward to getting to talk to him. Don't ask me why. He's way more bearable asleep." The billionaire was rambling, which was a sure sign of the scare Clint gave him.

"He'll be awake again soon. He never stays down for long." For the first time in days she found it easy to breathe. "Where have you been, anyway?"

Tony shrugged. "Just… Catching my breath. Thinking."

"You?"

Tony didn't quite stick out his tongue but obviously came close.

No apologies. No further explanations. They understood, anyway. She then felt a brush of genuine curiosity and perhaps a little dread at the look on the billionaire's face. "You look like you've got something planned out. Should I be worried?"

Tony grinned in a manner that usually promised bad news. "I've just got a little surprise for him. I'll save it for when he's able to stay awake for longer than two minutes."

* * *

Clint didn't know how long he slept. Upon waking up he discovered both pleasant and very unpleasant news. The best part was that he could actually hear, which meant that someone – probably Natasha – had brought in his aids. The pleasant news was that his heart monitor had been taken away. So the hospital staff didn't expect him to keel over at any moment anymore. The far less pleasant were the intensely muttered curse words.

Clint groaned. Trying to decide if he wanted to laugh or punch someone. "… n't Nurse Ratched tell you to let me sleep?"

"You've been sleeping for four freaking days", Tony scoffed. "I think that's enough for someone who usually has hard time staying in bed for four hours straight. Besides… Someone's eager to meet you, and… ouch… he's getting… damnit… impatient."

Well. That certainly sounded more interesting than sinking back to nightmares of bullies and dead animals. Clint defied the fact that his eyelids weighed and ton and pushed them halfway open. "What 've you done?" he mumbled.

Tony smirked sheepishly. "Don't tell the staff – especially Nurse Ratched – or she'll kill me." Why was the billionaire wearing a coat when they were in Spain? And was the coat… squirming? "I just… ran into someone who looked like he needed a home. And don't ask me why but he reminded me of you."

Clint was curious although he should've probably been scared. His eyes widened when Tony opened the coat and revealed what was hidden underneath. Because looking back at him was an absolutely adorable, snow white puppy, with a black mark that looked like an arrow decorating the tiny forehead. As soon as the puppy saw him the canine began to whine and struggle, obviously eager to say 'hi'. "I… I don't think pets are allowed here", he managed.

Tony scoffed. "Like you would've ever cared about rules." The Iron Man grinned radiantly when the puppy finally succeeded and catapulted itself to Clint's ready arms. "See? Match made in heaven."

Clint couldn't keep himself from smiling, although the hyper excited new pet wasn't exactly pleasing his injury. "Tony…" He wondered what to say, then settled for something simple yet true. "Thanks. And…" He sighed. "I'm sorry. For ruining the vacation."

Tony shrugged. "We're the Avengers, remember? A normal holiday would've bored us all to death. Just… Do us a favor and don't almost die the next time, yeah?"

"Deal." Clint chuckled when the canine exposed its belly, signaling in no uncertain terms what was expected of the new master. "The kids… They'll be thrilled. They've been begging for a pet."

"Not as thrilled as their dad", Tony teased gently. A few moments of pleasant silence passed by. "Now you'll have to decide on a name. Or I'll call him Shawarma."

The puppy emitted what could only be called a groan. So did Clint. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Clint tried to look annoyed while rolling his eyes but couldn't wipe the grin from his face. If the archer's eyes were a little moist neither noticed or pointed it out. Slowly and gently he pulled the puppy close. Instantly the dog was licking his face excitedly. "Hey, Lucky", the archer greeted softly. "Welcome to the family. I think you'll fit right in…"

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awww – puppies! (grins like a loon) So… Yeah. I sort of love puppies.

Soooooooooo… Was that any good? At all? PLEASE, do let me know! AND REMEMBER THAT REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED!

WHAT TO EXPECT NEXT?

A farm accident becomes life threatening – because with Clint everything does.

And next, it's Thor's turn to try and keep Clint alive – because I've been neglecting our beloved Asgardian lately. (winces guiltily)

Then… You think missions are bad? Yeah. How about a car accident in the middle of it?

And then Fury learns first hand just how accident-prone the Hawk is – and happens to be the only one around to help…

AND… 'CIVIL WAR' SPOILERS! What if Clint didn't make it through the prison escape unscratched…?

Until next time, ya all! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

 **SPECIAL NOTE!**

 **Chapter 50 is fast approaching! Which calls for something special! Feel free to give me your votes on what that special something should be. (grins)**

* * *

Guest 96: Insane it was! But I'm thrilled that you enjoyed the ride. (grins)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: (BEAMS) I'm OVERJOYED that you liked it so! Awww, there's no shame in a couple of tears. (smiles and hugs) I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as much!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Nightshade: What a ride, eh? GOSH, Steve turning into a villain would break my heart because it'd be a destruction of such a lovely character! Let's hope that it NEVER actually goes there.

I TOTALLY agree! Clint's deafness is, as I've understood, a rather essential part of his comic-counterpart. I would've LOVED to see it in the movies! Hmm, we'll see what I can do… (grins)

Monumental thank yous for the review! I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

* * *

Guest (1): Awww, that's sooooo good to hear! (BEAMS) You just made me incredibly happy.

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): (jumps with joy) I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it so much! I'm still really interested in continuing with that idea. So, we'll see! And OF COURSE Clint would be the one to get hurt – he always is… (smirks)

LOTS AND LOTS of thank yous for the review!

* * *

McDonalds21: It sure is! And I REALLY hope that I'll do it justice. (smiles)

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	47. Why Farms Are Dangerous for Hawks

A/N: DANG, it's late! But hey, I couldn't possibly sleep without posting this, so… (grins)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your AMAZING reviews, love, support and listings! You guys just keep baffling me! Who would've ever thought that a Hawkeye-collection would become this popular? I sure didn't! (BEAMS, and HUGS) Thank you!

Awkay, before I get silly-sentimental, let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **A BIT OF A TRIGGER WARNING** for those with fear of water / drowning.

* * *

Why Farms Are Dangerous for Hawks

* * *

There was a time in his childhood when Clint wasn't afraid of water. When he even loved swimming. It was a Tuesday, if he remembered correctly, when that changed.

His father was sober, for once, and decided to take him and Barney swimming. Clint couldn't remember exactly how it happened. One minute he was swimming without a care in the world. Then, as though through fog, he heard his dad shouting. Barney, too. Curious and paying no mind to the fact that he wasn't a skilled enough swimmer to let his attention slip Clint turned. His stomach dropped when he saw his father and brother arguing on the far away beach.

There wasn't supposed to be any fighting today, they promised…!

Clint was so preoccupied by the bitter disappointment that he didn't notice his strength draining until he was already slipping under. The child's eyes widened and he felt unreasonably cold as the weight of his tiny body began to get too much. "Dad!" he cried out the best as he could. The man didn't even look his way, didn't hear him. It was the last thing he saw before going under.

It was dark, underneath. And horribly cold, although the water felt pleasantly warm seconds earlier. His body… It was so horribly heavy. But despite his small size Clint was incredibly stubborn. He fought his way up, with all he had. Clung to life. Once he broke the surface he discovered that his father and brother hadn't noticed anything, hadn't stopped fighting for even a second.

Clint's eyes blurred when the child realized that he wouldn't be able to fight much longer. His heart hammered desperately. "Dad!" His mouth slipped under the surface for a few seconds. "Bar…!" He didn't get any further than that. The last thing he saw before the dark was his father turning slowly, slowly…

Clint woke up on a river bank. His father sat next to him, drenched wet and wide eyed. In an instant the child began to cry his heart out. For just that once the man didn't punish him for it. Clint never felt safe around water since.

Which became a problem when it was time for his kids to learn how to swim.

There was a huge pond quite close to the Farm. It was one of his biggest concerns after Cooper was born – well, one of the hundred most urgent worries, as Laura joked. Right there he almost told her about his childhood experience. Instead he grinned and kissed her, then their son. Burying his fears for those few stolen moments.

But children grew. And hard as he and Laura tried, they just couldn't have eyes everywhere. Lila had three of her friends visiting. All went smoothly until the moment their little girl burst into the house, tears running down her cheeks. "Mona went to the pond – she wouldn't listen! Help!"

Clint didn't think further. Didn't hesitate for even a second. In a flash he was running, determined to not let the ghosts of the past freeze him when a child needed his help.

The first thing he saw – along with the petite, black haired girl screaming and crying by the pond, scared out of her mind – was the other child he recognized as Mona. The redhead had ended much too far, carried by the treacherous water. The child was fighting furiously but any adult could see that she wouldn't be able to hang on for long.

Clint hit the water before allowing himself a chance to process what he was doing. The water was cold, and without a doubt the level of emotional strain made it feel even more so. The archer forced himself to move, kept his focus on the incredibly important goal at hand.

He wasn't about to let Mona down.

The child clung to him desperately as soon as she could. She was a tiny thing but the force of adrenaline is a curious matter. She almost succeeded in pulling both of them under. But eventually he managed to get them to safety with sheer stubbornness and calming words which he couldn't remember at all later. Clint found himself coughing and panting, his head spinning. Mona, apparently realizing properly the danger she'd been in, burst into loud cries and clung to him even more tightly than in the water.

It was impossible to tell which one was more responsible for making Clint tremble the way he did right there, the cold or all the unwanted memories flooding in. It took all his energy to keep his emotions in check. "It's okay", he managed in a raspy, unfamiliar voice. A bitter taste filled his mouth and he closed his eyes against it. "I've got you, kid. It's okay."

Clint lost track of time after that. All of a sudden Mona's parents were there. Clint heard, vaguely, how Laura explained what happened to them. And then the little girl was taken from him, leaving him feeling even colder than he did before. Leaving him feeling like he was drowning again.

Laura was right beside him so unexpectedly that he shuddered. "Clint?" Her gentle, tentative hand caressed his cheek. "Baby, what's wrong?"

It wasn't until then Clint realized that he was crying.

* * *

About an hour later Lila tiptoed towards her dad when he was done with a warm shower and had changed to a set of fresh, dry clothes. "Daddy?" She trusted her dad more than pretty much anyone in the world. But still, after what happened to Mona… "I… I tried to tell her that she shouldn't go into the water. That it's against the rules."

Her dad had a look on his face she couldn't quite understand, something that worried her. But still he gave her a small smile. "I know you did, sweetie. And everything's okay. Mona's okay. And her parents are going to make sure that she's learned her lesson."

Lila frowned. "Are you okay?" She bit her lip, a nervous habit that instantly made her feel like a baby. "You… You were in the water for a long time, too."

This time her dad's smile was a little wider. Still off but slightly more comforting. "Come here." She didn't have to be told twice. As soon as she was there he folded her to a tender hug and kissed her hair. "I'm fine, too." A couple of minutes of silence passed by. "Now how about a little power nap?"

* * *

Laura came home from checking up on Mona about six hours later. And instantly remembered why it wasn't a good idea to let Clint loose in the kitchen. Her husband was a natural talent when it came to a rather annoying amount of things. Cooking wasn't one of them.

Her kids were in the living room, both appearing more than a little worried. Laura thought that they were shaken from the pond experience until she saw that Cooper was holding a fire extinguisher. He shrugged. "Dad's trying to cook something", the boy explained. And sadly that was all the explanation needed.

Laura dashed into the kitchen. But it was like trying to babysit a toddler. Sometimes she just wasn't quick enough.

By the time she made it to the room Clint was already cradling a burned hand under a flow of cold water. Laura sighed heavily, worry and disbelief twisting in her stomach. "Are you alright?" She inspected the damaged gently, a frown on her face. The skin was angry red and without a doubt there'd be blisters. But the injury was nothing time and a little tender, loving care wouldn't fix.

"I'll live", Clint announced adorably firmly. He shifted with discomfort when she began to treat the burn, too proud to show any other sign of pain although it had to _hurt_. "At least I didn't destroy the stove this time."

Laura rolled her eyes. Then planted a tender kiss to his frowning forehead. "No, just your hand. Because for a former super-assassin, current superhero you lack an alarming amount of basic skills."

Clint grinned sheepishly. In the exact manner that first made her fall in love with him. "Good thing I found you."

Laura smiled back, wrapping her arms around him. "I'd say." She wanted to ask him if he was alright and why he reacted to Mona's accident the way he did. But now wasn't the time. Now she'd just hold on and withstand whatever storm was blowing with him.

* * *

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It was incredibly dark. And cold. Both the air and the fast rising water. It was getting unreasonably difficult to breathe and Clint gasped, sharply, painfully. His eyes stung while he tried to push himself up, up, out of the water and to safety.

But he kept sinking, no matter how hard he tried. The darkness grew thicker, swallowing him even more effectively than the water. Clint's fight left him along with his breath.

Clint woke up gasping and bolted to a sitting position, his unnaturally tight chest heaving in a desperate struggle to match his state of mind. For a few moments the whole room spun while he fought to break himself free from the nightmare's grasp. It took far longer than it should've and he shivered the entire time, feeling hot and cold at once.

Eventually Clint was composed enough to look towards Laura. A flash of relief crossed him when he discovered that she was still fast asleep. It was bad enough that these infuriating things disturbed his own rest.

After a couple of more minutes of breathing and shaking Clint decided that he needed air. So, careful not to disturb his wife's peaceful slumber, he climbed out of the bed and put on his training clothes, then headed outside. The air embracing him was pleasantly cool and fresh from recent rain. He inhaled deeply, even though it hurt, then pushed himself into motion.

He already knew that he wouldn't be able to outrun the ghosts of his past but he was definitely going to give it his best try.

* * *

Laura was far too used to waking up alone but not when Clint was home. Alarm bells went off in her head, even though a voice of reason in the back of her mind reminded her that sometimes he needed _a moment_ after certain kind of dreams. Sometimes she just… got a little overprotective. Surely she couldn't be blamed?

It took another two hours before Clint finally appeared. Sweating and badly out of breath. Covered in dirt, and limping slightly. "I'm fine", he announced immediately. "Just… overdid it, a bit."

Laura gave him a single look which explained, far better than any words could've, exactly how _un_ impressed she was by this latest stunt of her impossible husband. Clint's expression suggested that the message was very, very well received. Good.

Soon after Laura herded Clint to a shower. And joined him, because neither wanted to miss the opportunity. She frowned at the heat radiating from him. "You're hot." It could've been from the long run, but…

Clint grinned like a cat that just caught a canary. His hands roamed on her skin, making it tingle. "So are you."

They'd have to talk about what chased Clint to that stupidly long run. But not yet. They chose to make the most of the stolen moments they had.

Laura moaned into her husband's mouth. "If you slip on the soap now…" He silenced her with a demanding kiss.

* * *

Later they sat on their bed, Laura behind Clint who seemed to be suspiciously close to falling asleep. She hummed softly while toweling his hair. Then, when he felt relaxed enough, she spoke softly. "So…" She kissed his bare shoulder to lessen the impact of what was to come. "I know, too well, the kind of things you face during missions. And… What happened to Mona was terrible. But… I'm not sure if I've ever seen you that scared. You nearly had a panic attack." She kissed his skin again, noticing with dismay how tense he'd become. "I don't want to push you. But… I want to understand what's going on." It was a deal they made from the start. She knew that there were things about him that he just couldn't share with her – about his past, his work… However, she _needed to_ know the important stuff. The things that made the love of her life who he was. Good and bad.

Clint was quiet for so long that she thought he wouldn't answer. When the words came they weren't more than a husky whisper. "I've… drowned, before. I wouldn't want anyone else to face it. Especially a kid."

Laura wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. Gradually, hearing all the things she wasn't saying, he began to relax against her. Then sneezed.

"I heard that, mister." Laura's voice lacked steel. "You should know better than to run around for hours with a flu."

"'love you, too", he murmured, already almost asleep.

* * *

Laura insisted that Clint needed to rest and take it easy. Clint, on the other hand, couldn't sleep because of the constant nightmares. Which created a problem. After a bit of thinking he found a solution.

While Laura was asleep he kept himself busy. Quiet renovation work… Jogging and exercising… Of course he knew that he was being stupid but couldn't help himself. He wasn't interested in the alternative option, which was laying down and thinking too much.

In some infuriating way he felt like he was still that same little boy who almost drowned because his father didn't bother to pay attention.

Clint gritted his teeth as hard as he possibly could. He had a raging headache and he'd sneezed at least ten times in the past five minutes. The last thing he needed was _those_ memories.

He was a grown man now, for crying out loud!

With that thought Clint groaned at himself, then shook his head and continued fixing the treehouse. Only to discover about ten minutes later that there was nothing left to renovate. He wasn't sure how to feel about that realization.

And he never had to figure it out. Because almost as soon as he began to leave the treehouse he was falling, his usually steady hold failing him entirely. After a ridiculously long freefall he landed roughly on his back, getting all breath knocked out of him. For a remarkably long time stars danced in his line of vision.

Then it was Laura's face hovering in his line of vision, carrying a look of intense worry. Her lips kept moving for quite a while before he was finally able to hear. "… okay?"

Clint nodded feebly. Even if he wasn't sure if it was true. "'eah'." He blinked twice. It was harder than it should've been to open his eyes. "… I fall?"

Laura nodded slowly. By then she appeared slightly murderous. "Yeah. Because apparently you decided that it was a good idea to go tree climbing with a ridiculously high fever." She then sighed, worry overtaking annoyance for the time being. "Now let's get you inside. You're shivering."

"Sorry", Clint mumbled as they stumbled towards the farm, feeling strangely lightheaded.

"You'd better be." Laura's hold on him tightened. "The kids are gonna love the treehouse, though."

* * *

Clint's fever continued to spike up. On top of that he was no longer able to contain his violent coughing spells. And then there was the way he couldn't seem to stand up from his dizziness. Laura also didn't like the sound of his breathing. Her eyebrows furrowed. "You're wheezing", she informed her infuriatingly stubborn husband.

Clint groaned, sinking more heavily against the bed. He was fighting furiously to stay awake but his eyelids were drooping heavily. "… hurts …"

"What hurts?" Alarm bells went off in Laura's head. "Breathing? Since when?"

Clint shrugged. Clearly too out of it to be wary of her reaction. "Since yesterday. Maybe."

Laura groaned. Loudly. "When are you going to believe that you're supposed to tell me this stuff?" she snapped. To be honest she was madder at herself. She should've known…! "Okay. That's it. We're going to a hospital."

Clint moaned. Sounding exactly like a complaining child. "No…!"

"Yes!" Laura was already grabbing her phone. "Because you've managed to get yourself a pneumonia."

* * *

By the time the Bartons made it to the hospital Natasha was waiting for them. The redhead must've broken every single speed limit. Laura didn't have any idea how to thank the woman. As it was she gave Natasha a look of gratitude.

"Don't mention it." Natasha's eyes followed, just like her own, how hospital staff appeared and began to tend to Clint. "Let's just agree that he won't be getting away with this easily."

"He won't", Laura agreed, worry sharpening her tone.

That was when they noticed how the children were watching the scene unfolding with wide, scared eyes. Laura did her best to appear calmer than she felt. "Hey, it's okay. Daddy just needs a little medicine for a really bad cold. He'll be just fine."

Lila's fear didn't seem to go anywhere. The little girl was trembling. "Promise?"

Laura nodded, even if she had a sinking feeling that she just jinxed something.

"Okay, you rascals." Natasha's façade of calm was remarkably flawless. "Let's go and find ourselves a waiting room while your mommy and daddy sort things out. I'm pretty sure that they have movies somewhere."

"I'd rather hear about the mission in Rome", Cooper suggested, obviously doing his best to keep it together for Lila.

"Don't you dare tell them about Rome!" Clint wheezed.

"Save your breath, Birdie."

Clint pouted, staring at the disappearing redhead and kids. Sulking. "'spent too much time with Tony." The Hawk was clearly feeling horrible, because he didn't fight the oxygen whiskers forced on him.

Laura gave his brow a comforting kiss.

* * *

Quite predictably exams revealed that Clint indeed did have a pneumonia. A nasty one at that. But very much manageable with antibiotics.

Still, despite knowing that her husband was young and strong and would most likely recover in no time, Laura didn't manage to relax as she observed how a nurse hooked her husband on said antibiotics. She stiffened when he wiggled, eyebrows furrowed. "You okay?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah. It just stings a bit." He sounded a bit better with the aiding oxygen.

The nurse smiled. "That happens sometimes." The woman then looked at her, clearly seeing her exhaustion. "Why don't you go and get yourself a cup of coffee?"

Clint spoke before she could object. "Don't worry, I won't discharge myself. This time."

Despite herself Laura just had to smile. She kissed his nose. He responded with giving her cheek a peck. "I'll hold you to that", she swore. She then focused on the nurse. "This one's a runner."

The nurse grinned. "Don't worry. We'll keep an eye on him."

* * *

Laura wasn't gone for longer than forty-five minutes. She got herself coffee and made sure that her kids were as happy as they could be under the circumstances. Lila asleep, snuggled close to Natasha. There were traces of already dried tears on the girl's cheeks but whatever Natasha had said apparently calmed the little girl to a point where she wore a tiny smile in her sleep. Cooper, on the other hand, was wide awake, listening to some undoubtedly exciting tale Natasha was telling him quietly. It was most likely a story about one of the missions the redhead had taken with Clint – those never failed to get Cooper excited. Laura couldn't bring herself to mind. She knew that the agent left out the… unnecessarily harsh parts so as long as her son was happy so was Laura.

When Laura re-entered the ward Clint occupied there was a complete chaos. Hospital staff was rushing into the room where she'd left her husband, all of them wearing somber expressions and a couple of them barking out orders. The coffee slipped from Laura's grasp while cold that didn't belong to the real world traveled through her, making her tremble to the core of her being.

She moved to burst into the room as well, the instinctive need to protect her husband becoming the only thing that made sense. She was stopped by a very pale, young nurse. The same one who just told her to take a break with a smile. "I know that you'd want to be there, I understand. But you need to let them do their job."

Laura definitely wasn't satisfied with that. "What's going on with my husband?" she snarled. And she was most certainly capable of sounding absolutely terrifying when she wanted to.

It was impossible to read the look on the other woman's face. What was that? Guilt? Sorrow? Pity? "I'm… I'm terribly sorry. But your husband… He suffered a very severe allergic reaction to the antibiotic." Clearly sensing that a more throughout clarification was required the woman went on, appearing so very apologetic that it was infuriating. "The doctor missed an allergy upon going through your husband's medical files." The explanation went on and on, but on deaf ears.

Laura felt like someone had sucked all air from her lungs. Her knees went so weak that it was a miracle she managed to stand. This just couldn't be happening…!

The nurse then made the mistake of laying a hand on the shocked woman's shoulder. Immediate tension was a clear enough hint that the physical contact was unwelcomed. "Mrs. Barton… I'm truly sorry that…"

Laura's jawline tightened painfully. Her eyes stung in a way that threatened to drive her mad. "If you're sorry…", she hissed. Because if she'd given herself the permission to start shouting… "… then go to my husband and help save him!" Her eyes narrowed at the sight of lips opening. "NOW!" She didn't want apologies or any more empty words. She wanted her husband! Her husband, who was supposed to be _safe_!

The nurse seemed to figure out as much because the woman left, her steps slow and heavy. Under different circumstances Laura might've felt guilty. As it was all she could feel was the cold from before. Numbing her. Followed by a sharp and violent, completely unexpected wave of nausea.

It marked the second time – the first one took place when she was still in the middle of her nursing studies – Laura threw up to a hospital's hallway.

* * *

Clint was only partially aware of what was going on.

There were voices, too fuzzy to be identified even if they were familiar. Pressure. Hands. Lights. Far too much of everything.

" _Mr. Barton?_ "

Clint frowned. Mr. Barton? Was his dad there…?

" _Clint, can you hear me?_ "

The weight on his chest… The inability to breathe… It felt far too much like drowning. Was he, again – still? Even if he couldn't feel the water? What was happening to him? Where were Laura and the kids? Or… Was he on a mission, before…?

"… _crashing_ …!"

"… _get_ … _now_ …!"

Clint drifted away entirely before managing to finish any of his thoughts or get any answers.

* * *

When a timid looking nurse approached Natasha she knew to expect bad news. Her chest tightened and she actually felt how her eyes sharpened at the unwanted surge of emotions. "Did Clint get worse?" She was all too aware of the recent medical fiasco, which made her tone acid.

She was glad that both kids were asleep when the news came, especially since she just got them convinced that their dad would be perfectly fine and was receiving the best of care…

The nurse shifted with discomfort but didn't run off. Admirable. "Are you family?"

"Yeah." Surprising, really, how naturally that came out. She wasted no time on mulling over that, though. "So did Clint get worse?" She was growing very, very impatient and wondered how long even the kids' presence would keep her from…

"Actually, it's… It's his wife."

Before heading off Natasha made the nurse promise that the woman would watch over the still soundly sleeping kids. She enforced her message with non-too-subtly hinted threats which were far from empty. She didn't leave until she was convinced that the nurse would rather take a bullet than let any harm come to the kids.

Fortunately there was no one else in the public toilet by the time Natasha entered. She searched for a few moments before seeing a locked door. Her nose wrinkled at the stench hanging thickly in the air. "What did you do to decide on punishing yourself like this?"

It took quite long before Laura answered. " _Well… I let my husband get away with pneumonia until it came to this._ "

Natasha scoffed, leaning against the locked door. "The guy would be able to hide anything short of a missing limb. Come up with a better excuse."

" _I blew up on a woman who'd done nothing wrong._ "

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Seriously? You're bothering to list _that_ when I'm around? You didn't even shoot her or anything."

" _I… sort of threw up. In the middle of a hallway._ "

Natasha shivered from disgust. Too much information… "This is a hospital, Laura. I doubt you'd be the first. Or last." She sighed heavily, the stressful hours passed crashing down on her. "So… That's all? That's why you decided to lock yourself up there?" She frowned. "What are you doing there, anyway?"

It took a few seconds. But finally she heard Laura moving. And then the door opened. Laura was pale and some tears were still running down her cheeks. It wasn't until the woman revealed the item she'd been holding Natasha realized that the tears weren't solely because of Clint.

It was a positive pregnancy test.

* * *

The wait was excruciatingly long. Eventually the kids woke up and Laura was forced to break the news on their dad's far-worse-than-expected condition.

Lila blanched. Cooper was clearly startled as well but hid it with his dad's determination. "What happened?" The boy sounded heartbreakingly much older than he should've.

Laura sighed heavily and ran a hand down her face. Feeling every single minute she'd spent awake. "He… didn't react well to a medicine given to him, sweetie."

"We should go and see him", Lila decided. Quiet but determined. "He's sick. We could help him feel better."

Laura gave her daughter a sad smile and kissed the child's hair. "I'm sorry, pumpkin. But he's sleeping right now. And that's what he needs the most. The doctors and nurses will let us know when he's awake and we can go say 'hi'."

Lila nodded, clearly understanding although she didn't like it. The child snuggled close, seeking comfort. "I wanna see him soon, mommy."

Laura sighed. Agreeing from the bottom of her aching heart. "So do I."

"But… He'll be okay, right?" It was painful to see Cooper that scared.

Natasha saved her from having to answer. "Okay, you two rugrats… It's morning and I don't think I'm the only one hungry. Let's go and hunt down something that isn't from the cafeteria."

Before the trio left Lila handed something to Laura. It was the little girl's favorite teddy bear. There was an incredibly serious look on the child's face. "Tell the nurses to give Huggy to daddy. So he won't have nightmares. He always keeps my dreams safe. Daddy…" The girl looked around, obviously very uncomfortable with her surroundings. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "He needs Huggy more than I do, when he's here."

Cooper didn't seem pleased to leave, either. There was a frown on the boy's face. "You'll call us if he wakes up, right?"

"Of course I will." Laura did her best to smile. "Now enough with the stalling, you two! And bring me blueberry pancakes."

If Cooper's widening eyes were any indication he remembered something and caught the hint. But he said nothing. Clearly deciding that this was a special secret for a special day.

Left alone, Laura sighed and pressed a hand against her stomach. Fighting back tears as her other arm held Huggy as close and tightly as humanly possible. "Freaking pregnancy hormones…"

* * *

It seemed to take ages before a nurse finally appeared to announce that Clint was stable enough for visitors. Due to the man's condition, however, it was advisable that the children didn't see him yet. It might've been too much of a shock. Laura understood. The kids didn't. They didn't start screaming and ranting but their tears – Cooper's quiet and silent, Lila's far louder – shattered their mom's heart.

Seeing Clint, however, Laura was more certain than ever that she did the right thing. Because even she had to pause before entering, and her eyes were suspiciously misty when she stared at her husband. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she would've seen him as quiet and still.

Eventually, gathering herself the best as she could, Laura approached and slid to the seat next to his bed. She sighed heavily, her stomach twisting and turning. She held his hand as tightly as she dared to. "So… Here's the thing. You were a complete, utter moron. And then…" She swallowed thickly. This time her feeling sick didn't have anything to do with the new, budding life inside her. "Then your usual luck struck."

Laura fought to get herself under control and, to her own surprise, succeeded, even if only barely. That was when she remembered her precious cargo. Gently, almost like handling one of their kids, she tucked Huggy under one of her husband's arms. "Lila sent Huggy to guard your dreams." She chuckled. It sounded a little hysterical. "That… That's gotta be the ugliest teddy bear I've ever seen. But… He's Lila's most valuable possession." She wiped her eyes, unsurprised when her hand came back moist. "So… You'd better find your way back to us soon, you hear? Because… Because you've got a full team, fighting for you. A team of four."

It might've been a trick of her imagination. But she could've sworn that for just a couple of moment's Clint's heartrate sped up. She shook her head, deciding that pregnancy was softening her brain. Then, unable to hold herself back any longer, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. It was disappointing to discover that he still had fever, although he wasn't burning up anymore.

"Come back to us", she whispered to his ear. And didn't care if her voice broke. "Because we need you, Hawk. Baby-Natasha, too."

* * *

When Clint began to wake up the first thing he became aware of was soft snoring. Familiar snoring. He frowned, unable to link the sound to the reek of a hospital.

What… happened? It was all so fuzzy… He remembered being sick. And then…

"Clint?" The unfamiliar voice startled him. "Can you hear me?"

Furiously determined, Clint fought his eyes open. Slowly the blur settled to reveal a young nurse. Relief was clearly evident on her face. Deciding that she wasn't a threat he moved his head and felt a warm flutter inside at what he found.

Laura was sleeping soundly on a chair, her head resting right next to his chest and his hand in her determined, unrelenting hold. She was the one snoring, just like he suspected. Cooper had actually climbed to the bed and slept as well beside him, a frown on his face. Both of them looked like they hadn't slept properly in ages.

"Lila… Wasn't that your daughter's name? She wanted to come, too, but…"

Clint heart clenched. He knew how much hospitals scared his daughter. He sighed, discovering that it hurt. "'she cry?" His voice was _pathetic_.

The nurse hesitated. "She… almost had a panic attack. But she's fine, now. The last time I saw her she was eating ice-cream with your sister. She seemed to be in the opinion that everything's going to be okay as long as Huggy's looking after you." They both glanced fondly towards the teddy bear resting between Clint and Cooper. "Tough kid."

Clint felt his features soften. "Tough family." There he had the brain to wonder what the nurse meant by 'sister'. _Natasha_ , he realized belatedly. She was going to _kill_ him for this. The thought made him grin, then wince.

"Are you okay?" the nurse asked immediately, clearly taking his expression the wrong way.

"Yeah." Clint couldn't help but smile. Even through the searing sensation in his eyes. It ended up looking goofy. "I've got all I need."

Whatever love and affection he may have been without, once upon a time…

"Maybe you should wake them up." The nurse was smiling as well. "I'm sure that they'd love to see you awake."

Clint shook his head. "They need rest." He stroked his wife's hair gently, with all the affection in his heart. "Besides... When she wakes up she's going to yell at me."

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Heh… I just absolutely love the Barton-family. (BEAMS) Thank gosh Clint made it through this scare! And BABY-NATE'S ON THE WAY!

Soooo… Any good? At all? PLEASE, do let me know! AND REMEMBER that I'm always eager to receive prompts.

 **SO… NOW WHAT? WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT?**

'CIVIL WAR' SPOILERS! NEXT ONE POPULAR DEMAND… What if Clint didn't make it through the prison escape unscratched…?

And next, it's Thor's turn to try and keep Clint alive – because I've been neglecting our beloved Asgardian lately. (winces guiltily)

Then… You think missions are bad? Yeah. How about a car accident in the middle of it?

And then Fury learns first hand just how accident-prone the Hawk is – and happens to be the only one around to help…

Plus… Why is Natasha trying to harm Clint?!

 **AS FOR THE CHAPTER 50 SPECIAL…!** I've received LOTS of suggestions. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THOSE! (HUGS) Now, how about this? Clint sees a therapist before he's allowed back to field-duty and talks about all his near-death experiences. PLUS/OR the team thinks through some of the most memorable ones… **STILL FEEL FREE TO POST SUGGESTIONS!**

It's getting REALLY late so I have to get going. Until next time, fellow Hawk-fans! I hope I'll see you all there.

Take care, of yourselves and all Clint Bartons out there!

* * *

Alethea13: Poor Lucky I, right? (sniffles) But thank gosh Lucky II is now… well, lucky enough to get a brighter future. (BEAMS) (offers tissues)

I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE Hawkeye in 'Civil War', too! (gets all starry eyed at the memories) So awesome and badass!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: I'm REALLY happy that you think so! I can't help imagining that Clint was exactly like that as a kid. (BEAMS)

(offers tissues) I've gotta admit that I'm sort of proud these tales succeed in moving you.

I can't believe that this one's almost at 50 chapters, either! (gasps) I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Nightshade: Quite the emotional roller coaster, eh? Thank gosh with a happy ending! I just LOVE the relationship Clint has with the Avengers and his team. (BEAMS)

GOSH…! You can't even imagine how much your kind words mean to me. (hugs)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest96: Poor, poor Clint! And poor Lucky I! (sniffles) Thank gosh Tony found Lucky II and the poor lil' thing now gets a brighter future.

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it so – even the really sad flashback! (BEAMS) I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride to come.

LOTS of thank yous for the review!


	48. Drama After Civil War, part 1 of 2

A/N: Phew! I really thought that I wouldn't manage an update before I go to bed. But here I am! (grins) Yay…?

THANK YOU, a million times, for your ABSOLUTELY AMAZING reviews, listings, comments and requests! Together we can ensure that the whole world eventually leans that Hawkeye isn't an unloved, useless Avenger. (This is a matter of the heart for me, heh.)

Awkay, before I get all preachy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **Btw, I really hope that you don't mind me dividing this in two chapters. I just couldn't blend everything I wanted to fit in into just one chapter.**

 **'CIVIL WAR' SPOILERS!**

* * *

Drama After Civil War, part 1 of 2

* * *

Clint would've never, ever thought that he'd have to break out of a prison. Not when all he wanted to do was the right thing. Not when he _knew_ – from the bottom of his heart and soul – that he wasn't one of the bad guys. He was furious. And he felt betrayed by fate itself. By people he'd considered friends. He knew that he was being… ridiculous, really.

Tony operated without knowing all the facts, doing what the billionaire thought was right. When the Iron Man told him that he hadn't meant for Clint and the others to be imprisoned… The Hawk believed him, deep down, even though his perception was blurred by a horrific load of hurt.

And Steve… The Captain thought that he was doing the right thing, too. Did what he had to in order to protect the one who mattered the most. _Regardless of what'd happen to anyone else, huh?_ Steve abandoned them, knowing full well what'd happen to them. And although Clint knew, in his heart of hearts, what his friend's intentions were he wasn't sure if he'd ever fully forgive that betrayal.

Predictably the fact that Clint had far too much time to think didn't help with the hurt. He blamed himself as well. Spent far too many hours second guessing every single one of his decisions. But he couldn't bring himself to regret, even when he wondered if he'd spend the rest of his days in that miserable cell. He was an adult and stood by his choices. He just wished that the cost hadn't been quite so high.

Time passed. Slowly. Painfully. Until one day Steve stood in front of his cell, announcing that it was time to go.

Clint stared. Disbelief and mistrust swirling in the pit of his stomach. "So… you came for us, huh?"

Guilt was loud and clear in Steve's eyes. "I'm sorry that it took me this long." It was obvious that the soldier meant it. The man then seemed to remember that time was an issue. "Now let's go. We were only able to buy us so long."

Clint's eyebrow bounced up as he began to move. Stiff and sore but determined. "Who's 'we'?" He then shook his head. "Never mind. Later."

Sam and Scott were apparently already out. The former was supporting Wanda, who appeared pale and unsteady on her feet. Clint frowned, the feeling that rose reminding him of the time when Lila broke her arm. "Are you okay, kid?"

Wanda nodded and seemed to mean it. Even if she was visibly shaken and pissed off. "I just want to get out of here."

Well, Clint had no objections to that. So they were on their way, trying to believe that there'd be enough time. They rushed on until they encountered the first guard and everything froze. Time resumed when the guard went down, unconscious, revealing Natasha. She shrugged at their surprised expression. "What? This a jailbreak. I wasn't going to miss this."

Clint smiled. Feeling warm for the first time in ages. Finally something that felt normal.

Which, of course, was when things headed south. With Tony's voice. "Okay, guys. Just..." The billionaire finally revealed himself, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. "No one shoot me, okay?"

Steve's eyes narrowed. The man took an instinctive protective step towards the people he just helped break free. "What are you doing here?"

Tony's eyes held a flicker of disappointment and hurt when they spotted Natasha, seeing that she was with them, now. The gaze held acid and lava as it bore into the Captain's. The hostile tension could've been cut by a knife. "Ross wanted to march his troupes in. I told him I'd talk to you guys first." The man checked the device around his wrist. "You've got three minutes, if you're lucky."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. The soldier's posture didn't relax. "Why would you help us?"

Tony glared at the man. "It makes sense that you wouldn't figure it out. Where's your best buddy now, anyway? Shouldn't he be here to…?"

Steve reacted instantly, moving aggressively towards the billionaire. Natasha was faster, placing herself boldly in front of the soldier. Clint, on the other hand, shifted faster than thought and grabbed Tony's throat almost fiercely enough to lift the man into the air. His eyes narrowed with helpless fury and despair against the other's widening ones. "All I want… is to get home. To my family. To get us out", he hissed. He gritted his teeth. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want to go home. So stop this." If his voice broke somewhere in the middle of the rant he didn't care.

Tony nodded, the best as the man could, anyway. And that, of course, was when things headed downhill again. Because from behind unsuspecting Tony's back Ross' troupes began to sneak in, over a minute ahead of the agreed schedule. Guns were already drawn. They'd get him through the billionaire if they had to and no one else had noticed the arrivals yet.

Clint reacted without a doubt, like he always did in such situations. The hand that was just pressed against Tony's throat pushed the man down instead. He curled himself the best as he could so that he was shielding the billionaire.

Didn't they just fight side by side, goddamnit!

The bullet hit Clint in the middle of that thought.

* * *

It took Tony a considerable amount of seconds to figure out what Clint was doing when the man pushed him down. Their previous encounter… hadn't been exactly friendly. So he tensed up and braced himself for anything.

From the corner of his eye he saw security personnel rushing in. Wanda was ready. Her hands moved, shielding them as they began to move. All of them, except for Tony. He shivered when Clint moved away, nudged by Natasha. They were all leaving him behind.

Until, in the very last second, Clint peered over his shoulder. Where did the pain in the man's eyes come from? "'coming or not?" the archer half groaned, half snapped.

Tony's breathing didn't feel right. His gaze flickered for a second. The moment he saw the blood his heart fell all the way to his stomach. He was most likely the only one who'd even noticed that the archer was injured. Injured because of him – since Tony was slowly starting to comprehend what just happened.

And despite everything he _had to_ know that the idiot would be okay – he just hoped that the others wouldn't kill him before that.

To say that Scott, Sam and Steve didn't look happy when he nodded would've been an understatement. Under different circumstances Tony might've been amused by the air of heavy awkwardness hanging around and between them.

Things would never be the same again, would they?

Well, for now everyone was preoccupied by the grand escape at hand and tolerated his presence. Even if the barrier between them was nearly palpable. It gave Tony a nasty reminder of his childhood. The wealth of his family and the reputation of his father definitely didn't boost his popularity, not really. Only, this time half of the blame lay on his shoulders.

One big, majestic mess they'd created…

Of course they had a ride waiting. Steve had done the planning on the man wasn't an idiot. Tony wasn't sure if he or T'Challa tensed up further when they saw each other.

"He wanted to come." Steve's tone held a jagged edge. "I'm taking full responsibility."

Tony's temper flared at those words. He was _not_ the bad guy here…! "You are, huh?" He snorted. "That's rich. Coming from someone who hasn't noticed that…!"

"Enough!" Clint's voice would've silenced an army. And apparently the command drained whatever little strength the archer had. The man blinked sluggishly, beginning to sway. "Enough", the Hawk repeated, far more softly. Then collapsed before anyone had the chance to realize what was happening.

Tony was fairly sure that his heart actually stopped beating for a couple of seconds.

Natasha – who'd been the closest and who had the best self-control – reacted first. In a flash she was kneeling beside Clint, checking his injury. Her sagging shoulders and the panic only those who knew her recognized in her eyes gave away that it was _bad_. "He needs medical attention, right now." Her voice was unnaturally tight.

A heavy, miserable silence filled the aircraft. Because they all recognized the hopelessness of the situation. "We could take him to Wakanda", Steve murmured. "But…"

"… he wouldn't survive the flight." Wanda was pale and something on her face suggested that she was barely holding it together. But her voice was remarkably strong and even. "And he's a fugitive, we all are." Her eyes sought through the group, desperately seeking at least a faint trace of hope. "So what do we do?" And at that moment Tony saw that she blamed herself about this whole mess as much as he blamed himself.

"There's a place." Natasha's jawline tightened while she observed her friend's grayish pale, unconscious face. "But… There's no guarantee what kind of a reception we'll receive."

* * *

Natasha meant it when she said that she didn't know what kind of a greeting they'd get. Mostly she was wondering what kind of a greeting _she_ would get. Because the previous time she set foot to the place they headed for she was a friend, an ally. Was she a friend, still?

They decided that Steve would be the one carrying Clint, who'd failed to regain consciousness. It was the safest and smoothest option. There was evident tension on both the Captain and Tony as they realized where they were headed.

Things weren't about to become more pleasant, then…

Laura was waiting for them outside the Farm. Her eyes were suspiciously red but she wasn't crying anymore. There was a look of steel hard determination on her face, such they recognized all too well. "Explanations and introductions later", the woman ordered, most likely more sharply than she'd intended. Heartbreak flashed in her gaze when it met her husband. She had to clear her throat before she managed to go on. "Take him to the bedroom, right now. Nat, I know that you have some basic first aid skills. Anyone else with medical knowledge?" Steve nodded instantly, his expression strained. To their surprise Wanda nodded as well. Laura took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting to keep herself under control so hard that she was trembling. "Good. Come with me. The rest of you… Make sure that the kids won't enter the bedroom." It was clear without any words why.

"I have a lot medical supplies in the jet", T'Challa spoke out.

Laura nodded. Something like relief flashed in her eyes for a moment. "Bring in whatever you can. We need to hurry."

Natasha followed the small group rushing towards the house. Her heart was pounding furiously, even if the look on her face still revealed fairly little. She wondered, with a horrific weight settling into the pit of her stomach, what'd happen to their group – to the people she'd, somewhere in a secret place in the back of her mind, began to consider family – if Clint would…

All of a sudden something cool and clammy took a hold of her hand. She was startled until she realized that it was Laura's unsteady fingers grabbing hers. Desperately seeking comfort, despite everything that'd happened. Natasha squeezed back without a hint of hesitation.

Thinking about the group of shaken, confused and angry people gathered at the Farm – because it was marginally more bearable than focusing on the heavily bleeding, unconscious form of her best friend – Natasha mused bitterly that at least in this battle they were all on the same side.

* * *

Cooper and Lila had been upstairs, one reading a book and the other drawing, when they heard the commotion. They looked at each other, wondering if the noise was good news or bad, then headed downstairs to investigate. On their way there Cooper's eyes fell on a familiar bow, which had been abandoned to the floor. "Dad? Are you…" Both children froze at the sight greeting them. "… home?"

There were three people he'd never met before and instinctively he moved to stand in front of his sister, determined to shield her. He then looked towards Wanda just before the young woman slipped into the bedroom. She was pale and looked so sad that it made him feel cold all over. Tony, who stood frozen to the spot a few steps from the room's door, didn't seem to be faring much better.

"Uncle Tony?" Cooper frowned, looking towards the rapidly closing bedroom door. "Did something happen to dad?"

In a flash Natasha was there, closing the door just quickly enough to keep the siblings from seeing what was going on inside. The unusually open worry on her face made his unease grow tenfold. The previous time she looked like that his dad spent two months in a hospital. Lila was too young to remember that time but he, unfortunately, wasn't.

"Your dad… got hurt." Natasha's tone was almost able to disguise how she was truly feeling. "And he needs help." She took a breath. "I'll tell you more as soon as I can, okay?"

Cooper nodded slowly. And chewed his lower lip, a nervous habit he was supposed to have grown out of already. His hands were shaking. "You'll take care of him, right?" Of course he knew that they would. But…

"Hey, kid." Tony tried to smile. It didn't look right. "Your dad's in good hands, okay? He's home now. And…" Whatever the man was supposed to say became interrupted when Lila rushed into his arms and broke down to sobs.

Cooper didn't notice the flash in Natasha's eyes, or how slowly she retreated to the bedroom. Nor did he notice the tension lingering in the room while Tony held his sister. All that fit into his head was that his dad had been injured and that things didn't seem too good. Numb and cold from shock he headed upstairs, oblivious to the worried looks aimed his way. If someone noticed that he took his dad's bow with him no one asked him to bring it back.

He had no idea how long passed until Lila joined him. She wasn't crying anymore but she was trembling miserably and out of reflex he wrapped one comforting arm around her. And so they sat waiting without saying word. He cradling the bow, Lila a hawk-shaped plushie their dad gave her once.

* * *

 _Well this is awkward…_ It might've even been amusing if the circumstances were different. If possible the start of Tony's second visit to the Farm was even more awkward than the first.

They were all fugitives. Clint was fighting for his life just a couple of walls away. There were very few times when Tony had felt as worried and, no matter how childish and stupid it was, he would've loved to have at least one friend there beside him. Someone to tell him that this wasn't all his fault. That things would change for the better eventually. Because the craving for something stronger than water… It threatened to drive him insane and it grew stronger every time the mental image of Clint collapsing played again.

How could him thinking that he was doing the right thing lead to _this_?

Tony didn't bother telling anyone that he was going out. He had a nasty feeling that they would've been happier if he just left, anyway. He rushed to the front porch, struggling with the all too familiar hints of an oncoming panic attack. He froze one step out of the house upon discovering that he wasn't alone. Wanda already stood there, her eyes full of unshed tears and her face horribly pale. She was squeezing the porch's railing so hard that he could see her whitened knuckles through the blood caking her hands.

Tony hesitated uncharacteristically. Because even in the middle of this nightmare he'd never given himself the chance to pause and hesitate. Maybe he should've. "How is he?"

It wasn't exactly hard to spot the way Wanda stiffened. Her facial features tightened so much that it had to hurt. She wouldn't look at him. "It's… bad. And… Laura isn't sure how much she can help here." She wiped her eyes angrily, then focused on breathing for a few seconds. "He… He was only planning on getting me out of the Tower. And now…" She trailed off.

Tony gulped laboriously, unable to look at her anymore. The heavy feeling crash-landing on his chest felt like an elephant. "Not your fault, kid", he murmured. Because anything louder and stronger might've made him lose control altogether.

Wanda snorted. "Just like this wasn't your fault? Or Steve's? We all messed up." The sound that erupted might've been mistaken for a bitter chuckle, if it wasn't so strangled and moist. "He… He wasn't even supposed to be involved!"

Tony felt a sharp slash of ache that nearly took his breath away. He looked down, wondering why his line of vision was blurry. "He'll pull through", he swore, trying to convince her as much as himself. "That guy… He's way too stubborn to die in an idiotic way like this."

Tony wasn't entirely sure what happened. But all of a sudden Wanda's arms were wrapped around him, and although he couldn't see her face he knew that she was crying. And he became aware of the tears running down his own cheeks.

This wasn't her suddenly forgiving him basically locking her into the Tower. When this horror story would be over she'd remember those hurt feelings and it was just possible that all hell would break loose. And he had to admit that, although he understood her reasons, it stung to have her fighting against him. But right now there was something a lot more important to focus on. For the first time in ages they had a common ground to stand on.

* * *

Lila had already fallen asleep, or faked well, by the time Natasha slipped into the room. The instant she arrived he looked at her with sharp eyes, demanding answers. "Well?"

Natasha sighed. She appeared exhausted while taking a seat beside them. "We'll just have to wait, kid."

Cooper definitely didn't like that answer. But he nodded because there was fairly little else he could do.

The thoughtful silence continued until Natasha nodded towards the bow. "So… How are the archery lessons going?"

Cooper wrinkled his nose. "Slowly." Well, that was a mild way of putting… "What about your cooking lessons?"

"Slowly", was returned instantly.

Cooper almost smiled at that. Almost. "Dad's a good teacher. We're just lousy students." He shivered, sadness filling his stomach and making him feel sick. "He…" He cleared his throat. "He really needs to get better, to help us."

Natasha sighed heavily. The fact that her eyes looked dark had nothing to do with the room's shadows. "I hope so, too", she confessed quietly.

Soon after that Natasha started to hum a soft, beautiful melody Cooper couldn't remember hearing before. It didn't take long before he dozed off, drained from the day's emotional overload. He dreamt of his dad disappearing into a fog, with him watching unable to utter a sound.

* * *

Steve finally dared to approach the sick room two hours later. Predictably Laura was there, sitting on the bed, her hand holding Clint's determinedly and her nearly desperate eyes locked on his face. Like she feared that he might slip away if she looked the other way for even a second.

Steve had felt guilty numerous times in his life but this…

Eventually he knocked softly on the doorframe. He approached slowly, feeling like he didn't have the right to enter anymore. "How is he?"

Laura shook her head, not looking at him. Was it because she couldn't bear to look away from Clint or because she couldn't face him? "He's still fighting. But… His fever's spiking up." She swallowed thickly and wiped her eyes with one hand. "He… He needs a hospital and we can't risk taking him to one. Even with T'Challas's supplies I… I have no idea…" She trailed off, tightening her hold on her husband's hand.

Steve's stomach went to knots and his eyes stung hellishly. Slowly, cautiously, he lay a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Laura, I'm…"

Before he had the slightest chance to see it coming Laura slapped him. Hard. Her tear filled eyes were ablaze. "I… I was worried, when I first saw you guys. But Clint… He trusted you to have his back. He believed in you, so strongly. Enough to be eventually convinced that you didn't need him anymore. And he doesn't usually trust anyone." A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks. "He considers you guys his second family, you know. All of you. I could tell when I first met your team. And it already scared me then because I know what he's willing to do for his family."

The slash of guilt… Steve wasn't sure if he'd experienced anything quite similar before. Clint… had been prepared to give his life for them. How much had he been willing to sacrifice for Bucky – how much had he allowed to happen?

Who and what was he becoming, now that he was a fugitive without his shield?

Staring at the most brutal result of where the whole mess left them, Steve swallowed hard. The bitter taste in his mouth remained. "I wish we were worthy of that trust", he sighed, defeat wrapping around his chest until it _hurt_.

Laura smiled sadly, running a hand through her husband's sweaty hair. Despite his condition the archer leaned his head to the touch. "You guys still are, to him. And he sees more than the rest of us, remember?" She barely made it through that sentence before breaking into a huge yawn.

Steve took a breath. "You should get some sleep", he reasoned. "It's been a rough day. I'll keep watch." It was almost unthinkable, what he was asking of her. To even imagine her trusting the wellbeing of her husband into any of their hands…

And Laura didn't appear sure. She searched his eyes with a torn gaze, clearly wondering. "You're gonna have to tell me immediately if anything changes." They both knew how dangerous the hours to come would be.

Steve nodded immediately. "Of course I will." He wasn't about to let this family down twice on the same day.

Steve watched, unable to look away although he knew that he was intruding on a very private moment, how Laura settled down. Then, with a gentle kiss to her husband's forehead, she snuggled as close to him as humanly possible. Holding on as tightly as she could with his injury. And as though he'd somehow felt her there Clint's face relaxed. If Steve hadn't known better he would've imagined that the archer was just taking a nap.

Unfortunately Steve knew better.

With a still heavy heart and gloomy thoughts Steve shifted on his chair, trying to get comfortable. Which, apparently, wasn't happening. And braced himself for a long night.

It took about two and a half hours before all hell broke loose.

* * *

Lila knew that she should've been sleeping for real. But the house was full of people, some of whom she'd never met before, and she was always uncertain around strangers. More importantly, however, her dad was there and she wasn't allowed to see him. The adults explaining that he'd been hurt and needed some sleep did little to reassure the child.

She just wanted to see her daddy. Just a peek. Surely that wasn't such a bad thing? She'd be careful not to wake him up.

With that the little girl's mind was made up. She made sure that Natasha and Cooper were sound asleep. Then, with stealth inherited from her daddy, she slid out of her bed and tiptoed from the room.

What was supposed to be a quick checkup turned out to be the most horrific experience so far in her young life.

While upstairs had been peaceful downstairs appeared to be in a state of chaos. Adults were rushing around, their words not really managing to register to the child. Everyone looked terrifyingly scared.

It had to be horribly bad, Lila realized with her heart plummeting to her stomach, if they were all that scared.

Lila made the mistake of peering into the room when the adults were too preoccupied to notice. Even if despite her young age she knew that it'd be a mistake. And it was.

The first thing she saw was red. It was covering the bedsheets and the hands of the adults working furiously on her far too still daddy. She didn't have to see him properly to know that things were _bad_. The tears in her mommy's eyes told so loudly enough.

Lila tried to stay. Tried to be strong, like she was supposed to be. She really did. But in the end she was just a little girl who couldn't stand the thought of losing her daddy, especially when her last words to him kept echoing in her ears.

She'd shouted at him for not taking them water skiing, after all. In truth she'd been hurt by him leaving, again, when he wasn't supposed to ever go anymore. She said things that she wanted desperately to take back, things that she didn't even mean. And she never even hugged him goodbye, like she always did before. Now she might never get the chance to hug him again.

Tears rolled freely down the child's face. Her lips opened thrice but no sound came. And in the end she did the only thing she could. She ran, unable to stand the sight before her any longer. None of the adults present noticed how she left the house.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh gosh, what a nightmare, for everyone involved…! (winces) Let's just hope that this has an as-happy-as-possible-ending.

Sooo… Any good, at all? Eager to read the second part? PLEASE do let me know! Hearing from you ABSOLUTELY makes my day. AND DO KEEP THE REQUESTS COMING!

It's reeeeeeeally late so I've gotta go. Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Nightshade: I'm OVERJOYED that you enjoyed the chapter and especially the Hawkeye-family so much! I absolutely adore them, so it's a joy to hear that you think I've done them justice.

LOL! Poor Clint. Trust him to find danger even from the kitchen…

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest 96: I'm so, so, so happy that you enjoyed it! I absolutely adore that family. And it makes my heart sing that you like my version of Laura! (BEAMS) She definitely doesn't have an easy life. But whenever Clint's home he definitely makes it all worth it. (smiles)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: (BEAMS, and bows) That chapter may just be one of my favorites, too. So it's a MASSIVE joy to hear that you enjoyed it! We'll see just what happens to the poor Hawk next…

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	49. Drama After Civil War, part 2 of 2

A/N: Phew! I nearly fell asleep in front of my laptop before completing this. But here I am! (grins)

MY GOSH! Thank you, A MILLION times, for your absolutely amazing reviews, love and support! I can't believe how many of you are still sticking around, after all this time. It makes my heart sing! (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! We'll see if this is any happier than a recent update of mine…

* * *

Drama After Civil War, part 2 of 2

* * *

Once he overcame the intense feeling of choking Clint wasn't sure if he was awake, dreaming, hallucinating or actually dead. Everything was fuzzy and swam uncomfortably in his line of vision as he struggled his eyes halfway open. When he began to recognize the Farm's bedroom his heartrate sped up considerably, disbelief and desperate hope coursing through his veins. Then, shifting his head ever so slightly, he was able to distinguish Laura, who was pulling medication to a syringe with a grim look on her tense face. He tried to reach out for her – to get her attention and comfort her as much as to see if she was real – but she was just out of his reach.

Was he… actually home? Was this real? It felt almost too good to be true, especially after the hell he'd just been through. Suspiciously good. Which was why he did his best to assess his condition.

It was ridiculously difficult to stay awake, to cling to whatever little consciousness he had. There was a horrific taste in his mouth – such that felt familiar even though he couldn't quite grasp why – and no amount of swallowing took it away. What happened to him? The last thing he remembered was…

 _Tony!_

No exhaustion and pain could've held him back. His craned his neck, strained to let his gaze wander. He saw Wanda, who was working with Laura, her back to him and so tense that it had to hurt. Then he saw Steve, who was talking to – or perhaps shouting at – someone with narrowed eyes, both fists balled. Despite his current unwell state his instincts took over and his gaze followed the soldier's, finding Tony from the room's doorway. The billionaire was pale and visibly horribly tired. And shouting back at Steve. But alive and unharmed. The realization wrapped around Clint like a warm blanket. Until he saw something that made him feel cold all over.

Lila's distancing back as the little girl rushed out of the house.

It was blatantly obvious that the child was distraught. Too much so, and far too young, to think clearly. He couldn't let her run off on her own like this…!

Forgetting all else in favor of protecting his child, Clint attempted to move. To shout, to stop Lila. Much too late, after budging enough to lay on his side, he realized that it was a big mistake.

The white, hot pain that surged through him struck all breath from his lungs. All sanity from his head. He attempted to scream – to call out to his daughter, to holler from sheer agony – but all that came out was a barely audible whimper. There was a flurry of activity around him but he paid no attention to it. Everything was spinning, flickering and fading away, and all he saw was his little girl disappearing. His eyes became blurry and he didn't have the time to figure out why.

Everything became red, then white, and then there was nothing.

* * *

Lila ran all the way to the woods surrounding the Farm until she stopped. Her eyes flew wide and she froze, trembling so hard that she could barely stand. Her gaze darted frantically between the darkness she'd been speeding towards and the lights of home.

She was scared. Of the dark. Of possibly losing her daddy. Nonetheless…

She'd been taught to face her fears and problems, not to run away from them.

But Lila wasn't ready to go back, not yet. Not when all she could see whenever she closed her eyes was her daddy's blood. So, still trembling miserably, she sat to the forest floor, brought her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them.

It was frustrating, to not be able to be brave enough to go back and to be too brave to run away.

Lila didn't know how long she sat there, only that eventually she started to feel really cold. All of a sudden she heard approaching steps and tensed up, her moist, stinging eyes widening. Whoever it was coming wasn't one of the people at the Farm.

Prepared for pretty much anything Lila turned her head. The dark figure approaching paused a few steps away. "Now what are you doing out here at this hour?"

* * *

Inside the Farm's walls Laura felt like she was in a horror movie.

She fell asleep. Just for a bit. Only to wake up to Steve's panicked shout and her husband's soft moans of discomfort. And then Clint was throwing up blood.

She'd done her best to fix the damage, old and new, but she was no surgeon and they didn't have an operation theater at their disposal. To save his life she would've had to cut him open. And as many times as she'd seen it done…

She breathed in, out, then again. _Oh dear god…!_ After all the times it'd come so very close, was this how…?

"What's going on?" Steve asked, clearly distraught from what just happened. He sounded every bit as young as he technically was. The soldier was standing, ready for a fight. Painfully obviously terrified but refusing to give up. (Right there Laura knew exactly why his husband liked the Captain so much, why the man who usually agreed to be led by pretty much no one had trusted his life into the soldier's hands. They were made of the same wood.) "What does he need?"

Laura sighed and closed her eyes. It was overwhelming, to handle Steve's hurt on top of her own. "A hospital", she admitted quietly but honestly. Her hand tightened around her husband's clammy one. "He's… He's bleeding internally and his fever is raging. And… Do you hear his breathing? His lungs…" She tried to make herself continue but couldn't. She pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated and crushed. "I… I've done everything I could." And the bitter reality was that it just wasn't enough.

Steve clearly wasn't willing to admit defeat, couldn't even consider the option. He stared at Clint's unconscious form, no matter how much it obviously hurt. Then gritted his teeth. "Then we'll take him to a hospital."

"To be imprisoned again? Steve, you guys are fugitives", Laura growled. She knew that she was being harsh but her husband was basically dying to her to hands. "You… You didn't see the bruises he has. And… You know him." She gulped laboriously. "A life in captivity… It would kill him, if the wound didn't. And they'd make sure that you wouldn't get him out again." It took pretty much all her self-control and willpower to keep herself from getting a panic attack. And then, without a warning, the tears were falling.

Since meeting Clint she'd faced a lot but this… This was too much. This was killing her.

All of a sudden there were arms wrapped around her. She was startled, not recognizing the embrace, until it registered to her that it was Tony. He was trembling, but there was no reek of alcohol. She clung back without a thought, sensing the remorse and helpless rage radiating from the billionaire.

There'd be shouting later but now wasn't the time for that.

It wasn't a good hug. It was too tight and awkward, and they both needed the comfort too much. But it was the best they could manage so it was enough.

"Mommy?"

The conscious trio's heads turned towards the shaky, scared little voice. Lila was there, staring at them with wide, terrified eyes and clearly avoiding looking towards her dad. She was held securely in the arms of Nick Fury.

Laura tried to stop crying, she really did. But the harder she tried the more tears slipped out. "I… I thought you wouldn't come", she managed. Wondering if she was imagining all this.

Fury shrugged, the best as he could with the child in his awkward hold. "Of course I did." It wasn't very difficult to determine how the man felt about the whole fiasco, and how sorry he was for taking so long. "It took longer than I expected to gather a discreet medical team that is forgetful with names and faces." Before they could ask a thing a small army of doctors and nurses burst into the room. Fury went on upon noticing how she, Steve and Tony moved instinctively closer to a still unconscious Clint, instinctively protective. "Don't worry, they're trustworthy."

Laura knew, on a level of reason, that Fury would never bring in people who might harm Clint. But after... the recent events trust was a little challenging. Even if she had no other choice. She'd done what she could for her husband. Now it was time to leave his life to the hands of strangers.

Lila clung to her almost painfully tightly and refused to look towards her daddy as soon as the child was in her arms. Laura sighed heavily, fighting back tears of her own as her daughter cried. "It's really late, sweetie", she pointed out softly. "I…" She cleared her throat. "I'll take you to your room, so you can get some sleep." The child had just run off on her own and she knew that the matter would have to be discussed. But now wasn't the time.

It wasn't much of a surprise that Lila shook her head firmly, desperately. "Not yet, mommy", the girl pleaded, so quietly that no one else in the room heard. "I wanna stay with daddy."

Laura's eyes flickered to where the medical team would soon cut the archer open. Her stomach moved uncomfortably and her heart leapt to her throat. "Daddy needs some help right now and we'd be in the way. How about an ice-cream party instead?"

Tony beat Lila to responding. The grin on the man's face didn't fool any of the adults, and most likely wasn't supposed to. "You're full of great ideas."

* * *

Natasha wasn't supposed to fall asleep. But several days without sleep do strange things to even the strongest of people. And somehow she ended up waking up with two of her three charges missing, and the final remaining one fast asleep on her chest and stomach, curled up like a cat. She nearly panicked until she heard the distant voices of Lila and Cooper from downstairs.

Judging by the sounds there'd been no development in Clint's condition. To either direction. Not ideal but at least far better than the nightmares she'd just had, due to which her pulse was still elevated.

Which left her with just one problem.

Natasha swallowed thickly, staring at Nate who was starting to look so much like Clint that it was incredible. That nose was definitely Laura's. But the chin and hair… She fought back a ridiculous urge to poke at the one-year-old to see those eyes of familiar blue. She shivered. "So you fall asleep anywhere, too. You're definitely taking after your dad", she murmured. Careful to keep her tone low. So perhaps she'd learned some things about children and looking after them with Clint's herd. But the thought of Nate waking up and bursting into wails was almost as terrifying as some of the enemies she'd fought. She'd never, ever been any good at consoling crying babies, which Clint and Laura seemed to find endlessly amusing.

Nate wiggled a little and emitted a sleepy mew, making her tense up and her eyes widen uncharacteristically. She didn't manage to relax fully even after the child settled. The Widow gulped hard, staring at the kid's familiar curls. "I'm… sorry, that I couldn't protect your daddy." She didn't sound anything like herself. Thankfully there were no adults listening, otherwise the whole experience would've been even more humiliating and mortifying. "But that guy… Unlike me he's way too good at that being a hero stuff." She gave the child a dry look, but the hint of softness in her eyes spoke the truth. "You're gonna turn up just like him, aren't you? Just to piss me and your mom off." And to give them a few more near heart attacks.

Nate yawned in his sleep. And then, shocking Natasha to a point where she forgot to breathe for a couple of seconds, grabbed her finger and held on tight. The smile that appeared to his face was, without a shadow of a doubt, pure Clint Barton.

Maybe Natasha was still overtired. Yes, she definitely was. Because she felt like crying, right there, just a little bit. And she _hated_ the feeling.

"And here I thought that you hated kids."

Fury's sudden voice made Natasha tense up for a few seconds. Although she would've never admitted as much one of her hands grabbed a protective hold of the still slumbering boy. "I don't _hate_ them." She wrinkled her nose, as she often did when she was… uncertain. "I just have no…" She remembered suddenly that the kid in her hold was currently testing his first words. Clint would kill her if one of them would be the infamous 'f'-bomb. "… _flaming_ idea what to do with them."

Fury shrugged. Did the man… seem touched? No, absolutely no way. "You seem to be doing just fine."

Natasha rolled her eyes. Her back was really starting to hate her current position. "This isn't _doing just fine_. I'm being held captive", she snapped, the best as she could without being too loud. It didn't sound as harsh as she'd been aiming for. Deciding to forget about the miniature-human snuggled on her for a moment, she analyzed the man's face and frowned. "Any news?"

Fury shook his head. He looked very, very tired. "They're still working on him. But… At least he kept hanging on until their arrival. It gives him a shot."

Natasha nodded, looking away from him. "He'll pull through", she decided. "He wouldn't leave us responsible for helping Laura with these pests." The insult was so affectionate that it was sickening.

They both stiffened when Nate whimpered once, almost waking up. Natasha felt like whining as well when her body let her know exactly how displeased it was by having been kept still for so long. "Would take him for a bit?" She wasn't ashamed to sound a little desperate. "I really need to stretch."

"He seems happy where he is." Was that fear in Fury's eye? _Coward!_ "Let's not change that."

Natasha muttered darkly under her breath in Russian. And so they remained. Keeping watch, on occasion glancing at the contentedly sleeping child like he was a bomb about to go off.

* * *

While pretty much everyone else gathered into the kitchen Steve retreated to the porch, a sick feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. He didn't feel like he belonged to the company of the others, after…

He sighed, squeezing the railing so hard that it hurt.

He'd never had a lot of people around him. Far fewer who would've really, genuinely cared about him. Bucky… Bucky was the first one to pull him out of that loneliness. After thinking him dead, after the ice and waking up to a brand new world, Steve fully expected to be lonely again, for the rest of however long he might live. Instead he ended up having a small army of people by his side.

And now? After sacrificing pretty much _everything_ for Bucky? He was lonelier than ever in his life. But this time it was worse than ever before, and not only because he'd gotten a taste of what having a family around him was like. For the first time in his life he had no purpose. He hadn't only lost the people who cared about him, he lost himself as well.

"Should've known that you'd take the pity-party outside." The hurt and barely controlled anger in Tony's voice slashed deep, made his blood boil dangerously in a response. There was a long, loaded pause. "You're not exactly my favorite person in the world right now. But Cooper's asking for you."

"Go back inside, Stark", Steve ordered through his teeth. Like he still had the right to order these people around. "I don't like ice cream."

"Now you're just trying to make me punch you again."

Steve's eyes narrowed. Anger rising because it was safer than hurt, safer than the sea of guilt he threatened to drown into. "Go… inside. Final warning."

Tony's punch wasn't a surprise but it came so unexpectedly that it stunned Steve stock still for a very long time. Physical pain took time to register. As did the fact that a tooth had definitely been chipped.

They glared at each other, breathing hard. Both feeling the impending explosion in the air between them. Eventually Steve grabbed Tony's shirt, so hard that he was able to lift the billionaire to the air. His balled fist was drawn back, itching to be released.

Until a single shout stilled everything. "Stop it!" There was a look of fury and intense disappointment on Cooper's face. When he didn't let go the boy shouted again. It sounded far too much like the 'Enough!' Clint emitted before collapsing that it was chilling. "Stop it! No hitting in this house, that's dad's rule!"

Well, that definitely made both men feel like they'd been smacked. Steve let go of Tony as though the billionaire burned. They were both still breathing hard, dazed from the recent confrontation.

Tony was the first one to find his voice. "I… I'm sorry, kid." No explanations. No excuses.

Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping. Feeling every bit as old as someone from his original decade. "I'm sorry, too." What could he say to justify himself? Nothing.

Cooper nodded, still a little tense and wary. "There's… I came to ask if you guys want ice cream. But you have to stop the fighting. Mom and Lila… They shouldn't have to see that."

Those words coming from someone so very young was heartbreaking. Reminded them, yet again and vividly, that this was the son of Clint Barton. "I promise", they swore almost in unison.

Finally satisfied, Cooper nodded and let them in. Almost everyone else of the waiting group was gathered to the kitchen. They'd been chatting quietly until the men arrived. As soon as they were discovered, however, the room became full of tension and awkward silence. Everyone was staring at them, eyes full of alert and questioning.

Eventually Laura broke the silence. She looked pale and exhausted but tried to smile anyhow. "Well, finally. So… Chocolate, mocha or vanilla?"

* * *

It took almost until the following morning before the medical team emerged from the bedroom. According to them Clint would've definitely needed a hospital environment and on top of treating the gunshot wound they had him on an aggressive dosage of antibiotics to help him avoid sepsis. The bleeding – internal and external – had been stopped. But the risk of complications was still extremely high and his fever hadn't been defeated. The blood loss also took its toll, even if he was now receiving transfusions.

The doctor in main charge didn't seem quite sure how the archer was still alive. But somehow, miraculously, Clint was still hanging on tooth and nail. The next few days would show just how stubborn and resilient he was.

Laura barely left her husband's side during the intense waiting period which followed. At some point Scott and Sam took off with Fury. T'Challa stayed, and from news clips Natasha delivered spent a considerable amount of time talking with Steve.

Well, whenever Steve wasn't keeping Laura company. It was a bizarre mixture of friendship, loyalty and guilt. Touching and painful to watch all at once. Laura didn't need her husband's sight to be able to tell that the Captain was thinking about leaving, perhaps even dreaming of it. But not before he'd be sure that Clint would be alright. He wouldn't make that mistake a second time.

They didn't discuss the future, though. Or the past. Just one look at Steve revealed that he was already paying a high enough price for that one. Instead they drank a lot of bad coffee and read books no average man would've admitted to having touched.

Tony entered when he could be sure that Steve wasn't in. They talked about Pepper, mainly because Clint seemed to be too sore of a topic. Except for that one time when, in the ridiculous hours of an endless night, the billionaire's self-control slipped. "He got shot because of me."

Laura took a deep breath. She knew what Tony needed from her and wasn't sure if she'd be able to give it to him. "Yeah, I've heard."

Tony shook his head with a lost frown. For the first time since entering he looked at Clint. "I just… I don't get it. One moment he had me on a stranglehold and the next…" The Iron Man trailed off.

Laura gave him a sad little smile. "That's Clint for you. He always protects his family, no matter what." She would've hated him for it if it didn't make her love him so much.

Tony sighed heavily. His eyes seemed suspiciously moist. "Even when they screw up, huh?"

"Especially when they screw up."

Tony met her gaze, appearing more serious than she'd ever seen him. "Look… If there's anything…"

She interrupted him with a shake of a head. "You're still here. And you're sober, although even I can feel how much you want a drink. That's enough." It was a start, even though things were still in shambles.

It wouldn't be enough for Tony until Clint would be awake and on the way to recovery.

Oddly, it was Natasha Laura worried about the most. (Because she _needed_ to focus on someone other than Clint on occasion or she would've gone insane.) In the aftermath of the disaster Natasha had gone quiet. Regressed towards the person Laura was once first introduced to. Like she wasn't sure if she still belonged. And it hurt, because after their… rocky start Natasha had become an invaluable friend and Laura was in a desperate need of a friend, a shoulder to lean on to for a bit. Someone who didn't need her to be so impossibly strong all the time.

It took a couple of days before Laura figured out what was wrong. (Or thought she did, because with Natasha it was impossible to tell.) She would've smacked the Widow for such foolish thinking if she hadn't known – from an unfortunate experience that had alcohol involved – that it was a bad idea. "He'll always have your back. Through thick and thin, remember?" That was what Clint promised the former assassin, after first pulling her out of the dark and recruiting her. ('There'll always be at least one person who won't turn on you.')

Natasha's jawline tightened. "I know." For a while it looked like the redhead wouldn't continue. "I just hate it when he's this still. It's unnatural." Although the woman's eyes were on Clint it looked like they were seeing someone else, for just a moment. The pain in them was palpable although tears weren't shed. And it occurred to Laura that while she'd imagined that she knew the Widow, she'd only just scratched the surface.

It was impossible to tell which one's pain Laura was responding to when she folded Natasha to a firm, almost desperate hug. The redhead stiffened as a response. "Laura…"

"Shut up and hug me back before I burst into tears and embarrass us both."

And then there was Wanda. A girl who'd been forced to grow up far too quickly and bitterly, and who immediately expressed that she took full responsibility over what happened. Who needed a hug although she would've never asked for one. Who snuck in to sleep in the bedroom after nightmares when she imagined that no one noticed. Who'd obviously missed Clint's constant presence during his retirement and was scared to death that he'd become another dear person she'd have to lose.

One such night Laura listened – still only halfway awake – how Wanda's almost inaudible steps entered the room. Then halted as the young woman noticed the blanket left for her. Laura cracked one eye open to face a pair of wide ones. "You don't need to sneak around like a thief", Laura pointed out. "You're family."

Wanda blinked twice, clearly still getting used to that thought. Then approached, taking the chair beside the bed. "Natasha said that he doesn't have fever anymore."

Laura smiled, running a hand through her husband's hair. It was sticking to all directions. "He's… getting there. But it's going to take a while."

Wanda observed the open displays of affection. One part curious, one part melancholic. "My father and mother… I remember them looking at each other like that. I've… always wondered, how it'd feel to have something like that."

"It's not easy", Laura admitted softly. Because it was anything but, had been from the start and it got increasingly more complicated with the children. "But it's worth it."

"When did you know it would be?"

It was such a long time ago that Laura actually had to focus. When the memories flooded in they brought a warm flutter into the pit of her stomach. She pressed a tender hand against it. "When he suffered through my parents' five sick dogs with me, despite having just come home from a mission. Somehow he was able to make even that feel romantic." She wiped her cheeks. "And then my parents walked in on us… Well." She could feel a blush on her cheeks. "It was the first time he met them. They… didn't fall in love with him. But I started to, with how well he handled them."

"Really?" The quiet, hoarse voice startled them both. "Wasn't that… what, the eight date? Didn't know… that it took me that long… to charm you." Clint's eyes were barely open and incredibly bleary. But he was awake, and had a tiny, goofy smile on his lips despite the agony he had to be in. "I knew… from the first time I made you smile."

Laura chuckled. So what if there were tears in her eyes, and that she wanted to punch him and kiss him all at once? "Clint Francis Barton, that was nauseatingly clichéd", she accused.

He shrugged. The best as he could, anyway. "You knew… that you were in… for a bad romantic comedy… since I had a bullet in my arse when we first met."

Laura pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose because it was a compromise of all the things she wanted to do.

Clint's dopey, decidedly drugged smile grew a fraction. Then, slowly, his gaze moved towards Wanda. Relief was visible all over his face. "Hey, kid", he rasped. "No offense… but you look worse than I feel."

For a second, two, three, Wanda stared. Clearly dumbstruck. Then burst into a teary laughter.

* * *

Clint was still very much in the middle of recovery. For a quite long time he could only stay awake for short periods of time. It seemed that the others had made a deal to ensure that he was never alone. It was… weird. And after a long, hard consideration he was leaning towards considering it weird in a good way.

Laura and Wanda were frequent visitors. They tended to his wound, checked his temperature and kept feeding him whenever they weren't telling him to rest. While he adored them both having his life divided to sporadic periods of sleeping and eating was starting to get on his nerves.

It took a while before Natasha made an appearance. One that he actually registered, at least. They looked at each other, analyzing and contemplating. "Are we still friends?" she asked at last. And it occurred to him that it was the most important question she'd ever asked him, right after the very first 'why?' a lifetime ago.

"Always", he promised. And meant it from the bottom of his heart. He never wanted her to doubt it again. His eyes then narrowed. "Now lay down and get some sleep before you fall from that chair… Or fall asleep there. The pain in your back and neck… would make you cranky for days."

Natasha rolled her eyes and muttered something in Russian that sounded like an insult. But then, at last, she did lay down beside him, careful not to jostle his injury. "… Edinburgh all over again …"

Clint's eyes were already drooping closed. Stupid pain meds…! "I was thinking of Warsaw", he managed.

And so they fell asleep. Neither had restless dreams. It was more than enough comfort that in the middle of all the chaos and damage that'd been done recently, there were still a few things that were alright in their insane world.

Tony… didn't appear at a good moment. Clint had always hated pain medication and the impact it had on him. Which meant that he fiddled with the dosage as quickly as he could. Too soon, too fast. But at least his head was clearer. And he made the mistake of attempting to get to the toilet alone.

Tony was alarmed – as 'panicked' was a word the billionaire would've never confessed to experiencing – when he found the bed empty. A string of curse words that would've made Fury blush followed when the man saw him on the floor. "What the hell are you doing?"

Clint groaned and winced when even the slightest movement made him feel like he'd been torn to pieces. "Being… an idiot." It took some time before he felt like he could breathe again.

"Yeah, well…" Tony seemed far more tense than moments earlier while helping him sit. "There's been a lot of that around lately."

Clint shrugged. He was still in a horrible amount of ache but the billionaire's presence made it a tiny bit easier to bear. "What friends are for, you know? They endure… each other's stupidity." Yes, he was still angry. And felt more than a little betrayed. And he knew that he'd let it show from time to time in the future, sometimes loudly. But he'd also had a lot of time to think and he knew, for a fact, that eventually he'd get over it.

Clint wondered if he'd said something terribly amusing when without a warning his friend began to shudder. It occurred to him in a few seconds that the fits weren't those of laughter, but sobs. Such that'd obviously been held back for too long. He offered no ridicule or commentary. They sat there in near silence, each waiting for the other's storm to pass. "Laura's gonna kill me for this", Clint mused somberly at last.

"I'll keep your secret as long as you keep mine", Tony offered.

Steve was the last to come and see Clint. The moment the archer saw the look on his friend's exhausted, strained face he knew what was going on. He pursed his lips before voicing his deduction. "You're leaving."

Steve swallowed loudly. Looking horribly young, lost and apologetic. "I… I have to. Because… Right now I have no idea who I am and where I belong. I need to figure it out, before I can start to fix this mess." They both knew that there was almost an impossible amount of damage to be repaired. "T'Challa offered to take me to Wakanda. Maybe I'll start from there."

Clint nodded. He understood. And as much as he would've liked to talk – or perhaps shout – things through right now he was in no condition for it. Steve didn't seem to be, either. "When you come back… we'll sort this", the archer decided.

Steve nodded back. "Then we'll sort this." It was a promise, for both of them.

Steve gave Clint's shoulder a one more squeeze, which was a million words rolled into one. He'd almost made it to the room's door before the Hawk found his voice. "I'm sorry… About Bucky. But… He'll be able to come back, one day."

Steve froze. Then stared at him with a visible amount of surprise. "How…?"

Clint smiled sadly. "Hawkeye, remember?" He sighed, feeling the pull of sleep. "Take care of yourself."

"You too." Steve's gaze was torn, that of someone who didn't want to go although it was the only thing he could do. "Get better. The others… They need you."

Clint felt his eyes soften. "I'll be okay." And he would be, even if it might take time. Even if it wouldn't be easy. He gave his friend a small wave. "See you."

Steve waved back. And then left. Steve Rogers, no longer Captain America, heading for the hardest war he'd ever faced.

* * *

Steve left at dawn. He aimed for being spotted by no one after his goodbye to Clint. He stilled at the sound of Tony's voice. "Running away, huh?" It was accusative, but mostly just horribly tired.

He peered over his shoulder to a man he once called a friend. And hopefully would again. "I'm leaving them to safe hands."

Tony nodded. The billionaire's arms were folded and the man was clearly on guard. But something in those eyes changed, softened.

It was a truce, even if a frail one.

Steve was already so far away that he barely heard Tony's words. "Hey, Cap! Stay safe."

Steve almost felt like smiling. Almost. "You too. And keep the others safe, too." Because they'd need all the help they could get.

"You know I will."

It was with those words Steve left. It was hard to say which one trusted more. Steve, when leaving his family to Tony's hands. Or Tony for letting him go with hopes that he'd return one day.

* * *

The sight Laura encountered one morning a little over a week later was utterly endearing. Such she ended up filming with her phone. When she woke up to find Clint gone from the bed she panicked, until she heard Lila's cheering from the living room. Curious, she went to investigate. Only to stumble on one of the most moving sights she'd ever encountered.

Clint… was actually walking. For one of the first times since waking up. Nate, who'd been placed to a secure blanket, kept a curious eye on his daddy before deciding to follow his example. The father and son actually took a few wobbling steps together, until the child stumbled down with a cry of frustration and the adult had to lean to a wall for support with a groan of irritation. Clint's face, however, lit up when Lila cheered, her eyes shining with joy over seeing her daddy on his own two feet. Cooper was observing the whole display with eyes and a look he'd definitely inherited from his dad, keeping watch.

Eventually Clint sat down. Or slumped down. He scooped Nate to his arms, succeeding in ending the toddler's whimpers of frustration. Soon Lila was in his arms as well, clinging to him as tightly as she dared to. Cooper stood aside for a while until he gave in to his dad's beckoning hand. And then they were a mess of arms, soft giggles, legs and even a few muffled sobs.

Still watching, Laura wiped away her tears, a bright smile on her face. It'd come so very close, too close. But the Barton family pulled through this one, too. She wasn't sure if she'd ever felt as lucky.

A little later she was helping Clint to bed and announced in no uncertain terms how utterly unacceptable it was to over-strain himself this way.

Clint grinned, reminding her of a sheepish child. "I know. I just… I feel so useless, like this. I want to get up and moving."

Laura debated for a moment, choosing her words. "I want you to get to your feet, too. Because someone needs to keep bringing me banana ice-cream."

Clint frowned, looking at her. Seeking answers. His eyes then widened to a comical size. Did he forget to breathe?

"That's right, Feathers", Laura confirmed softly. She found it sweet how he caressed her for the time being flat stomach, even though it was much too early to feel anything. "You went and did it again. You'd better get yourself ready for chick number four."

It was a good joke until they found out that it'd be twins this time.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awwwww! Such a cute ending to a HORRIBLY sad beginning. Consider this a happier alternative to 'A One More Battle'…

BUT… Was it any good? At all? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know! And remember that I still LOVE receiving requests!

 **NEXT UP, THE GREAT 50-CHAPTERS SPECIAL!** I really hope that it'll succeed in being the good kind of special something.

Awkay, I reeeeeeeeeally have to go and get some sleep now. I really hope that you'll all join in again next time!

Take care – of yourselves and all Clint Bartons out there!

* * *

Anonymous: The feels, eh? Poor Clint! I'm the first to admit that the cliffie was diabolical. (winces) Let's hope, for all their sakes, that there'll be a happy ending!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (1): I'm overjoyed that you enjoyed – and really hope that what's to come won't disappoint! I absolutely adore the kids, so I just HAD TO include them when I could. (grins) GOSH, you can't even imagine how happy your kind words make me!

 **To you, and anyone else interested reading this… The Hydra-Cap (shudders at the name) storyline will continue when August comes! There'll be an either independent short-story or a three parter in this collection. I'll keep you posted. But know that it's coming!**

That prompt is SUUUUUUUUUPER juicy! TOTALLY gonna happen.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Nightshade: Let's hope so! The poor girl. (winces) Poor Clint, too! But maybe, somehow, something good comes out of this all.

The team's definitely damage – but hopefully not beyond repair.

Enormous thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (2): I know, right? The poor thing! Poor everyone! Gosh, it means the world to me that you think I succeeded with the characters! I love them all so it's important to me that I do them justice.

That's exactly why he's my favorite, too – I just can't help but love him for his sheer spirit!

Oh… my dear gosh…! I fell madly in love with that prompt of yours! YES, a thousand times over, it's gonna happen!

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	50. 50 CHAPTERS SPECIAL EDITION

A/N: It took me WAY longer than I expected to type this. But here I am! Hooray?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings and love! Just take a look at the numbers up above. You guys are AMAZING! (HUGS)

Awkay, because it's getting LATE… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

I've made a few people cry recently, so here's something a touch lighter! (grins)

* * *

50 CHAPTERS SPECIAL EDITION – SO MANY NEAR DEATHS…!

* * *

Sitting around waiting for a word on Clint was an experience the whole Avengers team was sadly familiar with. Tension lingered over the group as they sat and paced, checking the time far more frequently than would've been reasonable. Minutes dragged by.

Eventually Tony, who'd been walking around in patterns that made the rest of them feel nauseous, stopped and sighed heavily. "Well… At least that idiot isn't dying this time." He winced at his own words. "Too soon?"

"Too soon", the others affirmed.

All of them focused on the door at the other end of the hallway. 'Harris, S, MD'. Clint walked through that door… how long ago, again? It felt like hours but when they all checked almost simultaneously they discovered that it'd been only eighteen minutes.

"Okay, admit it." Tony was a little too tense to match the joking tone he was aiming for. "At least one of you is wondering if the doc's attacking him in there."

Natasha's eyes darkened. It was easy to tell how close she was to barging into the office. "That's not funny after it's happened before."

Well, that sure got everyone's attention. The four men present stared at her with disbelieving eyes. "What?"

* * *

The silence was so deafening that the sounds of traffic from outside echoed in the room. Eventually psychiatrist Sarah Harris sighed, her shoulders slumping a little, and ran a hand through her long, dark brown hair. She was uncomfortably certain that her irritation showed in her hazel eyes. She'd had more patients than she could count who'd been sent by Fury but this was the first time she wanted to strangle the one eyed man. Pulling teeth without pain relief would've been easier than getting the man in front of her to talk – it was like she was the enemy. Somehow the pleasant smile on his face succeeded in irking her further, and she had a feeling that he knew it. "So, agent Barton…"

"Clint", the agent corrected her. He nodded towards the thick file on the desk at their right. "Considering the stuff in there, which you probably want to talk about, I'd say that we can skip to first name basis."

Sarah blinked once. Twice. "And when did you take a look at it?"

Clint shrugged. He folded his arms, leaning back. "While you popped out to let Fury know that I actually showed up this time."

Sarah's eyebrow bounced up. Him having guessed that wasn't the surprising bit, especially since he'd stood up on her four times. "I wasn't outside for more than a minute."

"I'm a fast reader."

Interesting. And also the first time he offered her an opening. She took a sip of water to hide a satisfied smirk. "It's quite a read."

A step too far, apparently. There was a slight change in Clint's eyes and all walls slammed closed. "It's my life. And all in the past. I see no reason to dwell on it now." He shrugged. "I'm still alive and sane. If you were looking for a sob-story I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Sarah swore inside her head. Loudly and colorfully. "You really imagine that you'll make me give up with enough snark and bite, don't you?"

Clint shrugged. The aftermath of whatever she just triggered flickered in his eyes. "Most people stop bothering to try at some point", he stated nearly tonelessly.

That… was actually quite sad. Sarah nodded towards the room's door. "There's quite a group waiting for you, out there. It doesn't look like they've stopped trying." She glanced towards the file. "Do they know even a tenth of that stuff?"

* * *

"It was supposed to be an evaluation. Just like this one." Natasha folded her arms and stared out the window, her expression made of stone. "The therapist drugged him and interrogated him."

Steve shifted with discomfort. "Did you…?" He trailed off.

"No. Clint beat me to it, despite having gotten stabbed twice." Did she just shiver? "It was the first close call of his I witnessed, just weeks after we met." She crossed her arms just a little tighter. "I've seen that guy almost die too many times."

"So have I", Steve murmured. The mental images of Clint drowning and bleeding to death… They'd stick. There were far too many of those permanent slideshows already.

"We have come far too close to losing him." Thor's eyes darkened at the memories. "That once, when I took him to Asgard… For a long time it was uncertain if even the healing methods there would be enough." The tall man's features tightened. "I was certain that I was watching him die. As a result of my own… miscalculation."

When Bruce finally spoke his voice was barely audible. "You're not the only one who's harmed him." The twitching of his hands told how dangerously close to losing control he was. "I… I almost killed him, remember? Or, well… Big Guy did. And… When he finally woke up…" The scientist gulped convulsively. "I… I thought that he'd never walk again."

Natasha's hand grabbed Bruce's just seconds before it would've been late. He grabbed back, desperately, and she didn't complain although it must've hurt. Slowly yet surely the dangerous tension eased.

"Well… I actually had to kill him." Tony appeared uncharacteristically serious. Traces of that long ago passed day's fear were clearly evident in his eyes. He refused to look at the rest of them. "The guy came to the Tower with a bomb in his head. I had to stop his heart to deactivate it." He wiped his eyes angrily although no moisture was visible. "Do you have any idea how long it took to get that stubborn idiot's heart going again?"

"We do", the others denied somberly because sadly, they did.

Tony shook his head. A hysterical laugh bubbled through his lips. "This is definitely messed up…!" He then shook his head again, thinking better of it. "Or no, that guy is messed up."

"He is." Natasha's features softened considerably. Like some invisible weight had been lifted. "But he's our mess."

The rest of them agreed wholeheartedly.

Tony's attention was soon fixed on the therapist's door again. "It's been too quiet for too long", he decided. There was genuine worry in his eyes. "They've killed each other."

* * *

Clint was getting very, very irritated. "My team knows enough", he answered as politely as was humanly possible. How was he supposed to tell Thor that he'd never be the same because of the Asgardian's brother? Or reveal to Natasha just what kind of a price he paid to turn her from a target to a friend? Those were the kind of secrets that were best kept buried deep inside, for him to handle on his own. He'd always grown used to handling things on his own. Which was why becoming a member of the team didn't come naturally.

And of course the therapist just had to pick up on a scent. Like a freaking bloodhound. "They're more than just your team. They're your friends, too. You do know that they wouldn't judge or think less of you, don't you?" Her eyes studied him. "But then again, trust is complicated thing."

Clint's jawline tightened. He counted to ten before speaking out. "Does any of this have an actual point?" Because at the moment he felt like she was just trying to piss him off.

"You just went through a trauma." She was making notes. Maybe it was a shopping list. The desire to take a peek made his skin itch. She seemed to catch him scratching his arm absentmindedly. "I'm trying to make sure that you have a proper support system to help you recover from it."

Clint felt like spitting out something very unpleasant. Fine, then… "I appreciate the concern." He took a breath. "But I've been nearly blown up… five times now, I think. I've drowned and been battered in pretty much every way imaginable." Sometimes he could still feel those hands on him. "I've been stabbed and shot at… a lot." He couldn't remember the exact amount of times. Natasha might, although a couple of occasions happened before they met. "And I'm still here. So I'd appreciate not being looked at like I'm some delicate flower."

"Oh, I know that you're no delicate flower." Whatever the therapist saw on his face seemed to please her. "You're here only two months after having been captured and tortured for two weeks, verbally biting me like a rabid dog. I've got two options. Either you're the unluckiest and toughest fighter I've ever met. Or you're someone who takes unnecessary risks and is a danger to the entire team."

Clint's eyebrow arched. He was curious rather than annoyed or insulted. Surprising. "Which one do you think it is?"

"I'll tell you when I've decided."

* * *

Forty-five minutes. Forty-five endlessly long minutes. The waiting team was getting both irritated and worried.

"This is impressive", Natasha admitted. "No therapist has succeeded in keeping him inside for this long." And it clearly worried her.

Thor shrugged. Appearing thoughtful. "Maybe she proved to be a worthy opponent", the Asgardian suspected.

Everyone stared. Eventually Tony broke into a massive grin. "How about that, Goldilocks! You're developing a sense of humor!"

Thor frowned. It was impossible to tell if he was serious or not. "What are you talking about? I was not joking."

* * *

They didn't say much after that. There was no way Sarah could force this guy into opening up in this one session. Her occupation had his defenses high up and he wouldn't trust her without good, solid proof. She was alright with it. She saw the fire burning in his eyes and knew that this Hawkeye was more of a Phoenix Bird. A fighter and a survivor rather than someone who was an active threat to the safety of himself and others. She'd also seen the group waiting for him, those people who'd without a doubt barge right in if they had any reason to suspect that she was causing Clint harm.

He'd be fine, eventually, just like he'd been a million times before.

Her gaze flickered downwards to see the fingers of his one hand drumming the table. Her eyebrow arched with amusement. "This downtime has been driving you insane, hasn't it?"

Clint groaned. "I haven't smoked in over ten years. Sometimes the craving still hits whenever I have nothing to do."

"Congratulations." Seeing his confusion, she clarified. "For quitting." She nodded towards the chess board between them. "And for winning."

Clint appeared genuinely surprised by his own checkmate. "How about that. It's… been a while."

"Who's the last person you played with?" She shrugged at the decidedly not impressed look aimed her way. "I'm a therapist, Clint. I'm expected to at least try."

They both looked towards her phone when it signaled the end of their… chat. "So?" The expression on Clint's face reminded her of her five-year-old at a toy store. "Am I cleared for field duty?"

Sarah sighed. "I have no other choice. You pose no threat and the fact that you're a trouble magnet isn't enough to have you benched. Just…" She ran a hand through her hair. "Try not to almost die at least for a week, okay?"

Clint grinned like she'd told a joke.

* * *

At exactly one hour Clint emerged from the office. Before the others had the chance to read how he was feeling he blinked with surprise at the sight of them. "You… do know that you wouldn't have all needed to wait for me, right?"

A series of shrugs answered him. "We are a team, are we not?" Thor pointed out. And obviously meant it.

"It wasn't like any of us had any big plans", Bruce continued.

Tony snorted. "Speak for yourself! I missed out on a date with Pepper." The billionaire gave the Hawk a cheeky grin. "But someone needed to make sure that you don't fall down the stairs or something."

"Actually, that's happened once", Steve mused out loud.

Natasha snorted. "Make it twice." She moved subtly so close to Clint that he felt her warmth, both of them needing the silent reassurance.

"See?" Tony gestured animatedly with his hand. "You need a hawk-sitter! What if we had let you catch a taxi, like you first insisted? It would've probably ran you over!"

"Actually…", Natasha started, lifting a finger.

Clint groaned, interrupting her, and rolled his eyes. One corner of his lips was twitching. "Stop making it sound like I'm some sort of a damsel in distress!"

"You are." Tony seemed deadly serious. "Although admittedly, you kick way more ass than an average classic Disney princess. You tie with Mulan."

Clint muttered something very nasty sounding under his breath, in several languages. "One of these days, Stark… You'll find an arrow from where you least expect it."

"You've already shot him in the ass once", Natasha interjected.

Clint smirked. Seeming disgustingly pleased with himself. "I did, didn't I?"

Tony glared at the archer. "Yeah, you did. And it _hurt_ , so thanks a lot."

"Oh, shut up. It was to shoot you or to let you get killed. And it was one of the tiny arrows." He pursed his lips, thinking. "You know… It's not like it's always me who needs rescuing. I've saved your sorry asses enough times to notice. Does Reykjavik ring a bell, Tasha? Or Torino for Bruce? I'm pretty sure that Thor hasn't forgotten about London. And Tin Can, don't even get me started with you…!"

* * *

The gang's departure was monitored through the window by two pairs of eyes.

Sarah shook her head. "This… defies all logic. That guy has almost died at least fifty times. How he's still alive, let alone able to perform field work…" She trailed off.

Nick Fury shrugged beside her. "He's just that stubborn." The man's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure that he's ready to return?"

"He's coping." She didn't understand how. Maybe he was just so used to picking himself back together and carrying on. "And something tells me that he'll be watched closely for a while. Just…" She observed her patient's distancing back. "Try to keep that guy alive for a bit longer, if you can."

Fury scoffed, folding his arms. "What do you imagine I've been trying to do since I first met him? It's a fulltime job."

Sarah hid a smile with a glass of water. Wondering if the man himself was aware of his paternal instincts. "One near death at a time, Nicholas", she advised him. "Just take it one near death at a time." She put away the water, watching with a sideways glance how he began to take his leave. "So… Are you going to book an appointment for yourself as well? If there's anyone who needs a little therapy, it's a dead man walking."

"When hell freezes over", Fury announced, the door closing behind him.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: LOL! Now imagine Fury in therapy…! If you thought Clint was bad…

See? I can do nice on occasion. (grins)

Sooo… Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do leave a line or two to the box down below! And GOSH, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING AROUND FOR ALL THIS TIME! It's been a mad ride, guy. And A LOT of fun! (HUGS)

 **AND THE RIDE CONTINUES!**

In the chapters to come all members of the team get their turns in noticing just how accident prone our beloved archer is. Being captured… Natasha attacking Clint… Another freaking car accident… And so, so much more!

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

 **ps: To anyone who wants to see more of the twins mentioned in the previous two-parter… They'll DEFINITELY appear in my 'Farm Tales' collection. And maybe in this one, too.**

* * *

Deb: I'm really, REALLY happy that you think so! (BEAMS) It was a pleasure to type, too, because I NEEDED a fix-it.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: It sure was sad at a couple of parts! But thankfully the team gained some much needed hope. I really needed to type a fix-it, so here we were!

And the 'hydra-Cap' tale will DEFINITELY continue. I really need to continue fighting against the concept! We'll see just what comes of it.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Nightshade: Thank gosh for the happy ending, eh?

Heh, I just couldn't resist a Nate and Nat scene. LOL, babies are Nat and Fury's Cryptonite!

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: I'm really happy and flattered that the story managed to move you so! (BEAMS) Mmmm, banana ice-cream…

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	51. Hawkeye, part 1 of 2 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: Completing this chapter took RIDICULOUSLY long. I have no idea why. BUT, now it's finally here! (BEAMS) Yay?

Before getting to it, though… A MILLION thank yous for all your reviews, listings and support! This is officially the longest fic I've EVER posted. It would've never lived this long without you! So thank you! (HUGS)

Awkay, because I know what you came here for… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TRIGGER WARNING** for torture! This chapter is teasing the limits of T-rating. Let the simple title be a warning enough…

* * *

Hawkeye, part 1 of 2 (FEAT Wanda)

* * *

Thaddeus Ross wasn't a fan of the Avengers and he made no secret of it. He didn't trust them nor the destructive power they held. He had his suspicions to begin with and they'd grown stronger since he'd seen all the chaos and death the team left behind.

Bruce Banner and Thor – the two members of the team Ross was always the most troubled by – had already left. He'd seen enough official files to know how mentally unstable Thor, a supposed god from a different realm, was. And Bruce… Bruce was a tragic, horribly dangerous accident. Hulk was responsible for more deaths than he cared to count in the disaster that was New York alone. And now they were both missing. While Ross most definitely didn't trust them by his side he also hated to think how much damage they might cause off radar.

With those two gone the team consisted of people who should've never, ever been trusted with the kind of faith and responsibility they were. Two pardoned criminals, one of them a former Soviet spy. A billionaire who – based on some… interesting YouTube -videos someone had advised Ross to watch – liked the taste of alcohol far too much, and whose highly dangerous inventions used to land into the wrong hands more often than not. A former HYDRA-tool who had chillingly great powers even she didn't seem to understand properly. And then, as a leader of all those mentally unstable individuals, a war time relic.

True, they got results. But also brought havoc beyond human imagination. New York. Sokovia. It was only a matter of time before the consequences would get out of control. During the team's latest mission a lot of things had gone spectacularly wrong. Or, well, wrong enough to have him invited again.

"So, Captain Rogers…" Ross frowned. "Or is it 'Captain', anymore?"

"'Captain' will do", the man sitting at his desk's other side confirmed in a tight voice. Clearly holding himself back. The soldier, who had some bruises on his face, appeared utterly exhausted.

Ross nodded and gave the weary man a few moments. "I'm not expecting a full report yet, considering the… circumstances." Another pause followed as he caught the flash of intense guilt and ache in the younger man's eyes. "But people are asking questions. And I, personally, am trying to understand what, exactly, went wrong."

Steve swallowed thickly. Staring at a wall to avoid looking at him. "We operated on improper intel. We didn't know how many civilians there'd be on the area. Or how well prepared for us the hostiles would be." The man gritted his teeth, tightly and loudly. For a moment his eyes shimmered suspiciously, but didn't exactly tear up. "It was an ambush waiting to happen."

"I see." Ross leaned forward, sharp eyes on the other man. "So you had to retreat."

Steve nodded stiffly. There was a strange, distant look in the soldier's eyes. "We'd agreed on a location to which we'd retreat, should things go wrong. We agree on one." The deep breath which followed shuddered. "Cl… Barton never came."

* * *

/ _Clint knew that the mission was over when Steve gave the call. He left his perch, which happened to be the rooftop of an apartment building, about to head to the others. Until he ran into the kid._

 _The little girl couldn't be older than seven. She was sitting on the floor, staring at him with wide, terrified blue eyes. Her hands and clothes were covered in blood. Right before her lay the body of an enemy fighter. It didn't take a lot of reasoning to gather that she was the little girl's mother. With the former black mask removed Clint could see that it was a young woman, probably in her mid-twenties. An arrow had slammed at her chest, piercing her heart. She'd died within seconds._

 _Clint swallowed thickly. Feeling cold and sick. He understood all too well._

 _There are two sides to every battle. In that scared little girl's eyes he was the enemy who just took her mom away. And that wasn't even all. Not all enemies of the Avengers bathed in money – chances were that this complex of three apartment buildings was their home as well. In the child's eyes he was an invader. One of the bad guys._

 _Clint had absolutely no idea how to approach the situation. He couldn't just walk away. And he definitely couldn't comfort the child._

 _In the end that decision wasn't in his hands at all. Because the girl began to scream, jumbled words flying out in a language he didn't understand. Tears streamed down her cheeks while she hollered out her rage and agony. She should've been far too young to even understand such emotions but the heritage of a war isn't up to age._

 _Then something hit Clint from behind, and the world fell into a void of darkness._ /

* * *

Wanda had faced enough unpleasant people in her life to recognize such. Far too many. Thaddeus Ross _wasn't_ a pleasant person.

"So, Miss Maximoff…" Ross flipped through some documents, without a doubt purposefully slowly. "I take it your first mission wasn't exactly… enjoyable."

Wanda balled her fists, so tightly that it hurt. Fought a mighty battle to keep herself from losing control. "No", she confirmed with forced detachment. "It wasn't."

Ross made notes before focusing on her again, his piercing eyes like those of a soon attacking wild beast. "It's been claimed that the intel for the mission was incomplete. Do you confirm or deny this?"

"I agree." The memory still made Wanda's stomach turn. It was far too much like Sokovia… "We weren't able to operate properly." And it cost them dearly.

"Which means that I'll… have to have a talk with some people." Ross scratched his hair, clearly irritated. "So… The team was inexcusably badly prepared for the mission. And then…" He inhaled deeply. "Well, we both know what happened to agent Barton. Aside that, you lost the three valuable criminals you managed to obtain."

A wildfire of nausea, rage, guilt and sorrow went through Wanda. She was almost certain that he could see it. "We had no other choice. If we didn't give them up we…" Her jaw tightened. "We would've never gotten Clint back."

"Who gave that order?"

"You're not listening to me." Wanda's tone revealed far too much. It didn't matter anymore. She wiped her eyes roughly. "You… You didn't see…! Didn't have to watch…!" She trailed off.

"Who gave the order to exchange prisoners, Wanda?"

"They were torturing him!" she snarled. How was it possible that he didn't understand? She felt a couple of tears on her cheeks and wiped them away. "We _had to_ try something, anything!"

"Who… made… the… call?"

Wanda's tears dried as her eyes hardened. Ice formed a ball that fit perfectly to the pit of her stomach, right alongside the turmoil of emotions she didn't know how to handle. Fine, then. "Tony Stark did. And we all agreed."

* * *

/ _When Clint's consciousness began to creep back in the first thing he became aware of was the fabric wrapped around his eyes. Not entirely unexpected, but always irritating. Being unable to see meant that he wasn't able to gather enough information to plot an escape._

 _Not letting panic overtake him Clint inhaled, deeply and quietly. The space around him reeked of moisture and something else he didn't feel comfortable with processing. There was also a distinctly familiar sound. The answer to what it was whirled in his buzzing, aching head but he couldn't quite catch it._

 _So he had a concussion? Yes, definitely. Wonderful._

 _He listened, ears sharp and prepared for anything. The old building creaked and whimpered under nature's mercy. He was willing to bet money that there were rats or mice lurking around. But other than that and the sound he caught earlier… Nothing. It was like he'd been abandoned there._

 _That thought sent such a shockwave of panic through him that he shivered visibly, trying to will it away._

 _To his shame he had no idea that someone was watching him until he felt a warm breath against his face. Clint remained frozen, worked with his all to offer no reaction. But apparently the person with him sensed something, anyway._

 _A hand caressed his face. Slowly and tenderly, almost apologetically. Due to his concussion it succeeded in distracting Clint. Enough to keep him from wondering what it was trying to keep his mind from focusing on. Until a sharp pain struck his shoulder like fire. He gasped, by some miracle managing to fight back the urge to scream._

 _It was one of his own arrows, Clint realized in a dazed haze of shock. He'd never noticed the second person, either. They were going to kill him. And they were going to do it slowly and painfully._

 _A second arrow slammed at his other shoulder, as though confirming that thought._

 _Clint knew that the arrows were only just the beginning. He braced himself against the torment, hating the fact that he couldn't see, that he was so utterly defenseless. He didn't do defenseless, period._

 _The hand stroked him again. First his hair, then his face. Finally it patted his cheek, the gesture oddly lot like someone trying to comfort a child. And then it yanked off the first arrow violently._

 _Clint shuddered, feeling like he'd just been shot. The pain that coursed through him was enough to leave him breathless. He nearly blacked out._

 _And then the second arrow was removed._

 _Clint couldn't hold it back any longer. The agony… It was too much. So he screamed, at the top of his voice._

 _Instead of the gentle hand he faced an iron hard fist, this time. And for the first time one of his captor's broke the silence. "Not… a… sound", a man's voice hissed at him in a broken English._

 _With that Clint was left alone. The touch and the breath on his face disappeared. Barely audible steps distanced until they disappeared. They left him there, bleeding heavily. And if he didn't feel too weak for it he would've screamed._ /

* * *

Tony couldn't remember the last time he would've wanted a drink quite as badly. The craving was so strong that he experienced it physically. He was trembling pitiably and sweating profusely. He also had a feeling that the pounding in his skull wasn't caused solely by several days of lost sleep.

"… Stark …"

"Look, Ross." Tony gritted his teeth so hard that they made a chilling sound. He wiped his eyes. "Usually I love these little games. But right now I'm not in the mood."

"I'm not in the mood, either." Honest enough. "But I have a lot of people breathing down my neck, demanding to know how your little team managed to mess things up so completely. So I have no other choice but to breathe down your neck in return."

"Have you ever watched anyone get tortured to death?" Tony allowed the thick and tense silence which followed to provide an answer. "Then cut that condescending bullcrap and shut up."

Ross was quiet for a while. Processing. "'Watched anyone get tortured to death'?" the man repeated his words. Slowly, tasting them. "What, exactly, did you mean by that?"

Tony allowed the stiff silence to answer for him. He didn't want to relive the horrors of those days. Especially with this man in the same room.

"Tony." Ross' tone succeeded in catching his attention, even if it wasn't enough to make him look. "I'm not the enemy here. I'm not one of the bad guys. I'm just trying to understand why you did what you did because that's my job."

"BECAUSE I COULDN'T WATCH THEM TORTURE MY FRIEND TO DEATH!" Tony saw red, connecting it to the man although he knew, logically, that it was misdirected. Alright, then. Let him hear. "Because those assholes opened up a video feed as soon as Clint was conscious, and we… We watched, through… everything." His eyes stung hellishly and watered as a response. He didn't care. "We watched, trying to come up with something, anything, until… until we couldn't."

* * *

/ _At some point they came to give Clint's wounds a look. He was dimly aware of as much, although his head was getting dangerously foggy. An infection and fever, then. Just his luck._

 _The work was always silent and they never once removed his blindfold. Several times Clint tried to fight them, when they were forced to loosen his restraints to treat him properly. Instantly hellish electric currents went through him, making him bite his lip until it bled to hold back a groan. It took a while before he came aware of the shock collar around his neck._

 _Seeing his defiance his captors became harder as well. Almost every other disturbance to the maddening solitude and silence was a world of pain. Brutal beatings without a word ever uttered – pure desire to harm, without any intent of obtaining information… Letting him starve – not that he would've trusted anything they offered him…_

 _At some point, when he was at his very worst, something that felt like a bottle of water was held against his lips. He knew that he should've held himself back. That there was absolutely no sense in trusting. But the fever was raging and he couldn't remember that last time he would've had anything to drink. So, free of his active will, his lips began to part. Just then the bottle was pulled away, leaving his parched lips fumbling for thin air. The disappointment, the refusal to give him something that he needed to survive, hurt physically. For the second time since his capture he cracked. Emitted a barely audible, heartbreaking tiny mew, his body pleading while his mind still refused to._

 _This time he was punished as well. It came out of nowhere. A small piece of metal, pressed to the skin of his forehead. The sensation was absolutely maddening, left him unable to process what was going on for a fairly long time._

 _He'd just been burn marked._

 _"You killed my wife. And threatened my daughter." It was the same voice which spoke to him the previous time. Now the hiss was even more malicious. "When you go home… Dead, and nothing but pieces of rotting flesh… I want everyone to see what you've done on your face, until you're nothing but bones and a bitter memory. And I want everyone to see how you die in shame."_ /

* * *

Ross knew to expect that Natasha wouldn't be an easy target for his… questioning. She didn't disappoint. Over the span of three days she missed out three appointments. That was when Ross decided to track her down personally.

He found her just as she was leaving the Avengers Tower. Her facial expression barely changed but her eyes told clearly that she was far from happy to see him. "This isn't a good time", she announced immediately, her voice holding a forced polite note.

Ross sighed heavily. "Something tells me that it's never going to be a good time." He frowned at how pale and exhausted she seemed. True, he didn't trust her, nor was he her biggest fan. But she was a fellow human being. And he knew how important Clint Barton was to her, as well as how few 'important people' she had. Her emotional instability came with risks. "Are you alright?"

He didn't expect the flash he saw in her eyes. Didn't expect to face – even if only for a microsecond – someone who was without a doubt Natasha, not Black Widow. An invisible weight landed to her shoulders, making them slump. "In case you actually care to know, no, I'm not. Because…" She gulped and fought visibly to not look away. To not appear weak. "Because the hospital called. They think it's time."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Now THAT sounded ominous…! (shudders) What, exactly, is going on with Clint? And who else hates Ross? (lifts both hands) (I'm just not going to ask how you feel about me right now…)

A funny fact? While I was typing this the radio played a song called 'I don't want to die tonight'. It's like Clint (or the universe) is trying to tell me something… (chuckles)

PLEASE, do leave a note to the box down below before you go! Good…? HORRIBLE…? Just… meh? I'd REALLY love to hear from you (even if I sort of dread it, too)!

Until next time, guys! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: I'm ABSOLUTELY OVERJOYED that you've enjoyed the collection thus far AND that break-chapter so much! I really hope that you'll keep having a great ride as the near deaths keep piling up. (BEAMS)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

neshia: Read your mind, then? YOSH! (grins from ear to ear) I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it so much!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: LOL, I figured that the poor guy and the team deserved a break. (grins) GOSH, I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the 50(0) coming up as much! (HUGS)

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (2): I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE that song! (grins)

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Nightshade: You just made me insanely happy, you know? (HUGS) I really hope that you'll be every bit as pleased with what's to come.

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	52. Hawkeye, part 2 of 2 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: It's silly how long this chapter took to gain proper shape. (giggles) BUT, here I am! And just in time because soon I'll be traveling for a bit.

MY GOSH… THANK YOU, for all your AMAZING reviews, love and support! This is officially the longest running creation I've ever introduced to the world. It means the WORLD to me that you're taking this journey with me! AND, it warms my heart that Clint has so many people who love him. (BEAMS)

Awkay, because the cliffie I left you on was horrid… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **SMALL BITS OF TONYXPEPER AND CLINTXLAURA.**

 **MINI-HAWKS AND VISION CAN BE SPOTTED BRIEFLY.**

* * *

Hawkeye, part 2 of 2 (FEAT Wanda)

* * *

/ _The combination of raging fever, injuries and blood loss did curious things to Clint. When he was snatched out of his cell for the first time in… he didn't even know how long he felt no fear although he knew what was happening. He tried to fight. They beat him to a point where he couldn't do so anymore. After several blows to the head what happened was blurry, as though he'd been watching some sort of a movie._

 _They tightened the cuffs around his wrists until metal dug into skin, making it bleed. Then he was dragged into a tiny, circle shaped room that blinded him with its bright lights after days upon days in a dark. He blinked furiously and squinted, too stubborn to admit to himself that he didn't want to see. Clint couldn't understand the language they barked at each other before he was forced on his knees. He didn't need to understand. The long, sharp blade their leader held spoke quite loudly enough._

 _Clint took it all in with dazed detachment. He didn't want to die, of course he didn't, but at least now it would be_ over _. The calm lasted until he saw a video camera on a stand and a blinking red light._

 _Dying like this was one thing – having to it happen with others having to see it…_

 _"Your… friends are watching", the leader confirmed his dark assumptions, in an entirely too familiar broken English. "We demanded them to give our brothers and sisters back. They refused. It's only fair that as a response we take away their brother." The man began to approach him. "Do you have anything you'd wish to say to them, as your final words?"_

 _Clint swallowed thickly, his eyes on the camera. He wasn't afraid but he was a grown man and able to admit to himself just how much the whole situation_ sucked _. His eyes stung and blurred but he barely noticed. "I, ah… I'm sorry, that I messed up. Because… This one's on me, not you guys, got it? It's okay." Of course it wasn't okay, but would be, eventually, for them._

 _Clint knew that they were coming because his captors hadn't realized that there was a tracking chip, right under the skin of his left arm. The team had to think of a proper plan first but the archer knew, with every fiber of his being, that they'd come for him. Too bad it was too late._

 _Clint took a deep breath. If these were his final inhales he'd be damned if he didn't savor them. "It's okay", he repeated. As much to himself as to the friends witnessing the video feed. "So stop watching now. Don't…"_

 _"Enough!" the leader decided at that, his tone far sharper than before. The Hawk barely had the time to see the black fabric before it was pulled over his head. "You had your final words, as I promised. And now it ends."_

 _Clint's heart was hammering furiously as he felt the air twirl nearby his neck, warning of the blade approaching. Then cold, unforgiving and unyielding metal was placed against his skin. The beat of his heart nearly deafened him while the sharp edge dug hungrily through skin, drawing blood._ /

* * *

As a team-leader Steve felt that the outcome of each mission was on his shoulders. Especially when things headed south. Whenever that happened he asked himself numerous questions, tortured himself with what could've been done differently and 'what ifs'. Even when the answer was clearly 'nothing'. It wasn't sane or healthy but he couldn't help himself.

During the time he spent sitting in the hospital room, listening to the bleeps of a heart monitor, Steve had far too much time to ask himself entirely too many questions.

He knew, on a level of reason, that it would've been stupid and senseless to barge in to save Clint without a proper plan – that it would've risked the lives of the archer and the rest of them. They needed to know what they were doing and they only had one shot at getting it right. But knowing all that did little good with the memories tormenting him.

He was the first one to enter the room. Just seconds too late. Just in time to see the cut forming across Clint's throat. And despite everything he'd seen at war and after ice that was one of the most horrific things he'd ever had to watch.

He glanced towards Clint, half subconsciously assuring himself that his friend was still there. After the time elapsed the bruises were fast on their way to healing, which made the archer look a little more like himself. The illusion of normalcy was, however, quickly destroyed by the breathing tube, hospital equipment and the Hawk's unnatural stillness. The lack of mobility was almost worse than the white bandage still covering the man's neck.

The primary prognosis was a grim one. The massive infection, trauma and especially the horrific final wound… They said that it was unlikely Clint would make it through the couple of days which followed. When the archer kept struggling on hope began to rise, even if the man had to be kept knocked out by drugs to give him the chance to recover. Then they began to lower the dosage of medication to give Clint the chance to try and wake up. At first they were cautiously optimistic despite the lack of reaction. But as days continued to drag on the medical professionals were forced to tell them that the more time passed, the less likely it was that the archer would wake up as the same man they knew. The doctors weren't happy with Clint's breathing, which wasn't helped by the still lingering infection. They also said something about brain activity but at that point Steve couldn't bring himself to listen or comprehend.

Too much stress. Too many scares and close calls. Today's call from the hospital, announcing that Clint's heartbeat was faltering and they should _hurry_ , was the worst.

But once again Clint's stubbornness was underestimated. Ten solid hours after the call the archer was still alive. No better but also no worse than before. The heartbeat the machinery reported dutifully was frail and kept stumbling on occasion but it was _there_. So was Hawkeye.

Steve stared at his friend, his own heart hammering desperately as though to compensate the frailty of the other's. His shoulders sagged from immeasurable guilt and his eyes stung but no tears rolled. He felt too hollow to cry. Instead he swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, a million things wanting to burst out. In the end he only had breath for one. "Don't." It was a plea, no matter how much he meant for it to be an order. The Captain swallowed, finding his throat painfully dry. "Please, don't." _Not now, not like this._

Clint's heart monitor bleeped sharply, announcing that as far as the Hawkeye was concerned the battle wasn't over yet.

* * *

/ _Clint felt like he was choking. A steady stream of warm, sticky substance was running down his neck and he wanted desperately to use his hands to stop it. To fight for his life. But he was cuffed very firmly and no matter how hard he struggled he couldn't get his hands free. All too soon he was in no condition to fight, anyway._

 _A chaos erupted in the room but he heard none of it. He blinked sluggishly, still kept in the dark by the fabric. And eventually he slumped to the floor, absolutely everything flickering and fading away quickly._

 _He was dying but at least he was too out of it to be scared._

 _Just as he was about to drift away entirely someone yanked off the fabric, exposing his eyes to light they weren't ready to face. He tried to groan but all that came out was a sickening, wet gurgle. Everything spun and swayed, almost completely out of focus._

 _A hard, unsteady hand slammed the hateful piece of fabric against his neck and held it there so fiercely that it made breathing even more of a challenge. Desperate to keep him alive. Curious even in his final moments, Clint allowed his barely seeing gaze to linger. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or hallucinating as he found Tony._

 _The Iron Man's face was revealed from the suit, exposing the sheer terror in the man's eyes. "… right, Feathers. Stay with me, got it? Look at me and stay with me, so I can yell at you later."_

 _Tony kept rambling on, despair and fear driving him forward with a nearly manic force. Clint wanted to calm down his friend, to tell him that it'd be okay. But his body was in no condition for such a feat._

 _The last thing he saw before the dark claimed him yet again was the constantly growing fear and despair in Tony's eyes as the billionaire kept calling out to him._ /

* * *

Tony was no medical man but he knew, roughly, how much blood there was in a human being. The information of how much blood could be lost without it being fatal was also buried somewhere in his mind, just out of his reach. Maybe it was for the best. The temptation to result to old, bad habits was already too strong and he struggled to breathe properly whenever Clint's heart monitor reported a stutter.

Tony didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, reading out loud entertainment news in a nearly desperate attempt to keep his mind occupied and to maybe irritate Clint into waking up. But even he had his limits. Upon facing a yet another clip about the Kardashians he finally admitted defeat and put away the phone with a groan. He even made the mistake of closing his eyes, far too many days of barely any sleep crashing down on him.

Immediately the sight of Clint dying with that chilling, hazy look in his eyes assaulted Tony.

He opened his eyes again as fast as he could, looked at his friend and stared at the man's chest, focusing on the fact that it was still rising and falling. Nothing less would've been enough to help calm him after everything they'd been forced to watch… After all the blood…

Tony snapped back to the present at a horrific, wheezing sound. It took ridiculously long before he realized that it came from him. With startle he also discovered that he was no longer the room's only visitor. A young nurse with long, blonde hair and brown eyes was looking at him with clearly visible worry. Somehow she knew that touching him would've only made things worse. Instead she called out to him, trying to get his attention. "Mr. Stark? Tony? I need you to take deep, calm breaths." Pleased to see that he was finally fully back with her she nodded encouragingly. "Good, that's much better. Do you want to tell me what just happened?"

Tony shook his head firmly. No, he absolutely didn't want to talk about what happened. He almost lost one of his best friends – still might. He panicked. He wasn't interested in sharing any of it with a stranger, especially when he didn't quite trust himself to be able to handle it without losing control again. So he shook his head firmly and focused on Clint instead. "How's he doing?" he managed.

The nurse hesitated for a while before answering. "I don't want to cause any false hopes or make promises. But… Right now his vitals are more stable than they've been even once since he was admitted." She shrugged. "We'll see. But for now, let's just take one step at a time."

Tony nodded sullenly. It wasn't exactly the answer he wanted to – perhaps even needed to – hear. But it was obviously the best he'd get so he'd have to make do.

One step at a time.

He was deep in thought until the nurse cleared her throat. "Sorry, but… I'm going to treat his wounds and give him a wash. That… may not be very comfortable for you to watch."

If he was anyone else but Tony Stark, he would've imagined that he blushed. "Say no more." He gave Clint's shoulder a squeeze he hoped to be comforting rather than painfully awkward. "See you soon." He gave himself the permission to pretend that he didn't hear how his voice broke.

After leaning against the wall and fighting to breathe properly for five solid minutes Tony decided that he had to step outside for a bit, for the sake of whatever little sanity he had left. On his way there he took his phone to an unsteady hand and dialed numbers after some uncharacteristic hesitation. He cleared his throat just a blink before the one he called picked up. "So, ah…" He licked his lips, succumbing to a nervous tick from childhood. "I get that things have been a bit… well, off recently. But…" He took a deep breath, only then realizing how badly his eyes stung. "Clint… He's been… And I…" He trailed off, realizing that he wasn't making any sense. He wiped his cheeks, only a little surprised to find hints of moisture. He opened his mouth twice. Thankfully he didn't have to finish.

" _I know._ " He was surprised when Pepper's voice came from behind him, rather than from the other end of the call. " _I wasn't exactly happy that Nat was the one who called me and told about all this. But I'm glad I came._ "

Tony turned around slowly. He blinked thrice before he actually believed that Pepper was standing there. "What about Tokyo?" Sadly, he could've started out much worse.

Pepper seemed to understand. There was genuine sympathy in her eyes as she put away her phone. "Screw Tokyo."

Under different circumstances Tony might've made a joke out of her talking like that. As it was all he could focus on was her arms suddenly wrapped around him. There, with just the two of them, he allowed himself to be held and to crack, just a little bit.

An hour later Pepper held one of his hands while the other emptied the flask of sickeningly strong alcohol he'd been carrying around to a toilet.

* * *

/ _Clint wasn't sure if he expected to wake up again. He wasn't entirely sure what jostled him back to awareness. But it hurt. Quite soon he became aware of the fact that he had hard time breathing because someone was strangling him._

 _He'd just been tortured for who knows how long. He was beaten and injured. But he was also a fighter, and whoever it was attacking him was about to discover as much._

 _Clint trashed, with all he had, trying to wiggle away from the unwanted touch even though his attempts only brought further discomfort. Giving up wasn't an option. The fight wasn't over yet._

 _"Clint!" He knew that voice. Didn't he? "Clint, stop! You'll hurt yourself. Stop!" That order was pure Black Widow. While a lot of people would've shivered it offered him comfort._

 _Clint tried to talk but found out quickly that it just wasn't happening. Panic threatened to grab a hold of him until he anchored himself on the feel of Natasha's touch. This was safe. He was injured but he was safe._

 _He was safe._

 _Lulled by a sense of security he didn't know to be false Clint slipped away once more. Oblivious to his friend's desperate attempts to keep him alive. Unaware of his blood on her hands._ /

* * *

Natasha couldn't remember the previous time she would've felt as tired as she did on that seemingly endless night. She wanted to sleep – knowing that the staff or the machinery would wake her up if something happened to Clint – but she was too anxious and tense to even close her eyes. It infuriated her.

Ridiculous, all of it.

The machinery emitted a suspicious sound and she was alerted instantly, her eyes scanning through the monitors. Clint's pulse was picking up. Was that a good sign? It was getting hard to believe in the positive after everything that'd happened recently.

Natasha gritted her teeth. Her eyes narrowed. "You've given us too many scares lately. It has to stop, do you understand? I…" She cleared her throat, her infuriatingly stinging eyes narrowing even further. A single drop of moisture spilled through. "I'm not giving Laura a single more of _those_ phone calls. I'm not letting you make her fear that she's lost you again."

Something was clearly happening. And whatever it was, it escalated at the mention of Laura's name. Clint's pulse kept speeding up. His blood pressure joined in soon enough.

Natasha's expression remained admirably even despite the fact that her heart was racing. This was her best friend. This was someone to whom she owed so very much… "Clint?"

Natasha really, honestly didn't know what to do. And she _hated_ it because if there was anything she'd learned in her life it was that when you didn't know what to do you were dead. Or worse – you became _nothing_ , or a hindrance.

In the end Natasha didn't have to actually choose what to do. Because just then a nurse entered the room. As soon as the younger woman had taken a look at the monitors there was a thunderstorm of activity. Medical professionals were bursting into the room, shouting out words that she couldn't understand. And then Natasha was ushered out, gently yet firmly.

Natasha stood there, all alone in the middle of a by then practically deserted hallway. A middle aged nurse passed by and gave her a pitying look. She didn't even notice.

She felt as lost as the little girl who stood in the Red Room for the first time, her heart hammering as a future of painful uncertainty spread before her.

This time, however, there was one stark difference. She wasn't alone. "Nat?" Steve and Tony were walking towards her, both carrying takeaway coffee. Which one spoke? Both appeared tense and alarmed. "What's going on?"

Natasha shook her head. In a perfect control over herself, as always. "His vitals were getting out of control." She glanced towards the room's door, frustration traveling through her veins like fire. "They're in there now, examining him."

Tony nodded slowly. Obviously processing. "Is he… waking up?"

Natasha shrugged. Not uttering even a sound. It took her all not to snap something she might've regretted later. She officially dealt horribly with the 'I don't know'.

Thankfully Tony's mind was moving at a breathtaking speed, as it usually did. All of a sudden he was fiddling with his phone. "I'll send Wanda a message. She may not be ready to enter a hospital yet but… She'd want to know, right?" He was typing the entire time, pacing around the narrow space like a caged tiger.

Natasha sat down because really… What else was there to do but sit and wait? She hated it, from the bottom of her heart, because she was used to being one of the people who _did things_.

She spotted movement just a second before someone sat beside her and stiffened before recognizing Steve. Neither offered the other a word. He just sat there, close enough for her to feel him. The close proximity should've bothered her. It didn't.

The two of them sat and waited while Tony paced and waited, until the room's door finally opened and a doctor emerged.

* * *

/ _Clint woke up a one more time. He no longer felt like he'd been choking but breathing still wasn't easy. Everything felt off and he wasn't entirely sure if anything was even real._

 _The familiar humming of the Quinjet surrounded him, cocooned him like a blanket. It was still cold and he was trembling. But the pain… Something had happened to it. He never got the chance to try and process what that 'something' may be._

 _Because all of a sudden a much too familiar, masked figure loomed above him. Holding a knife that was stained by fresh blood. Clint was almost certain that his heart stopped for a couple of seconds and his lips opened until the arrival – the leader who quite nearly slit his throat – brought a finger to his lips. "Not… a… sound", the man hissed, and nodded to the right. "Or the others end up like her."_

 _Clint's heart thudded painfully. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his gaze. A tiny, pathetic whimper broke out of him and his eyes blurred from unshed tears._

 _Wanda lay on the floor next to him, eyes open but unseeing. Dead. Along with the hellish surge of agony the discovery brought he was tormented by a thunderstorm of flashbacks from Pietro's death._

 _Another failure – another Maximoff twin he hadn't been able to protect._

 _He struggled to move. To help her, even when he knew that it was too late. She was gone. Killed while he slept right beside her._

 _It took some time before he realized where the strange, keening sounds came from. They bubbled out through his lips, making his throat feel like it'd been set on fire. They were barely audible but still nearly managed to drown the other sound._

 _"Clint!" It was horribly cruel, to hear Wanda's voice while she lay right in front of him, obviously dead. "Clint, it's only a dream! It's just a dream. Come back to me."_

 _Eager to leave the horror image behind Clint blinked his eyes open. Which was a bizarre experience, considering that he already imagined that he was awake. His gaze darted around, unfocused, until the dark shadow looming above him cleared enough to reveal Wanda's face. Had she been crying? Why? He wanted to ask her if she was alright but couldn't._

 _A few more keens slipped out as he stared at her, until the sounds first turned to feeble whimpers, then faded away entirely. He didn't realize that he'd been crying until she moved one trembling hand from his temple and gently wiped away the tears. It should've bothered him that she'd so clearly used her powers to wake him up. At the moment all he could concentrate on was that she was alive._

 _He was already drifting away once more when she grabbed his hand, squeezing so very hard that it hurt. He didn't mind. "It's… It's okay", she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's okay. We're going home, now."_

 _'Home.' It was the first time she said that and meant the States. Clint's eyes fluttered closed while he tightened his fingers around hers the best as he could. Giving a promise of his own._ /

* * *

Wanda had hated hospitals since she was a little girl. That's why it took far longer than she felt comfortable with before she managed to convince herself into going to see Clint. No matter how much she wanted to see him – and didn't, because the memories were still far too fresh.

Having to watch him get tortured…

Finding him, barely alive…

All the blood…

His nightmare, those awful, barely human sounds it provoked…

Until finally, finally, she concentrated on the memory of the hold he had on her hand. It was weak at best but didn't break even when he lost consciousness. He never let go, not until they made it to the hospital and he was wheeled away to receive the care he desperately needed. And for what felt like ages the memory of that stubborn hold was the only thing keeping her sane.

That, and Vision's company. He was always there for her. Even when she told him – in a far from kind manner – to leave her alone. Especially when she ordered him to leave. Every time she had nightmares he was there to escort her out of them. He was beside her even when she broke down and cried, just once, although her tears clearly made him feel uncomfortable. She felt equally embarrassed. Obviously they both had a few things to learn about being human.

He was also there when she finally made her decision and prepared herself to visit Clint.

"Are you sure that you will be alright?"

Wanda nodded and took a steadying breath while smoothing her shirt. "I know that you'd come with me if I asked you to, and I appreciate it. But… This is something that I need to do alone." She gritted her teeth, feeling ashamed. "I should've done this sooner."

Vision seemed to know exactly what was going through her mind. Who knows how. "He's far better at being human than the two of us. I'm certain that he will understand." Seeing her look he frowned. "What is it?"

Wanda shook her head. And smiled for the first time since the beginning of the horror story. "I'm just… I'm still finding it hard to believe that Tony Stark ended up creating something like you."

Entering the hospital without having a panic attack was a challenge. Facing Clint – with all the hospital equipment and still visible injuries – was something beyond. Wanda sat down slowly, as though fearing that her mere presence might somehow make things worse. Then, almost out of reflex, she took his hand and was surprised to discover that his skin no longer felt feverish. Her hold tightened while a hint of comfort traveled through her.

Wanda's lips opened several times before any sound came. "You… You never even flinched. When you realized that I was using my powers to pull you out of that nightmare." She stole a quick glance towards his unconscious face before looking away again, focusing on their joined hands. "I don't know what I've done to earn that trust, or if I deserve it. But… Thank you."

She'd been told that Clint had been showing stubborn signs of waking up recently. Still she was startled when all of a sudden his fingers twitched, squeezing hers. His free hand was wrestling with the oxygen mask before he'd succeeded in cracking one of his bleary eyes halfway open. Talking was obviously a painful struggle but he managed to wheeze out, anyway. "… deserve it …"

About half an hour later a nurse peered into the room and recoiled a step with surprise. The first thing her eyes locked on was the young, soundly sleeping woman who'd maneuvered herself into the bed. Usually such wouldn't have been allowed but the visitor looked like she needed the rest. And the bed's official occupant didn't seem to have anything against sharing his limited space.

Clint had been sleeping as well but his eyes fluttered partially open when he became aware of a presence. Instinctively he shifted to shield the woman beside him – what little he could move, anyway – until he realized that there wasn't a threat. He produced a tiny, thin smile, then gestured for her to be quiet before drifting back to sleep.

The nurse didn't bother holding back a smile of her own while she marked down his vitals and left the room, knowing that by some miracle her patient was going to be fine.

* * *

Time passed by. And eventually Clint received the permission to go home. He still got exhausted pathetically easily and slept more often than not. The aches were also there and it'd take a lot of physical therapy before he'd be able to shoot arrows like he used to. But he'd be fine, provided that he didn't do anything stupid that'd slow down his recovery. The hospital staff appeared almost as relieved as the archer when the news broke out that he wouldn't need the facility's care anymore.

On the morning of his release from captivity Clint woke up to the sensation of a feather like kiss. He should've been startled but wasn't. He knew those lips as well as his own…

His eyes opened slowly to find Laura's face. He could tell that she'd been under a lot of stress lately – and hated himself for it – but at the moment she was smiling. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty", she whispered, running a tender hand through his tousled hair. "Ready to go home?"

Clint swallowed, still tasting her. Of course he was happy to see her but… Was it safe…? "… shouldn't be here …", he rasped. Even the thought of sending her away hurt physically but her safety had to come first.

Laura shrugged, clearly catching the reason to his hesitation. "As far as people know I'm a nurse who'll be in charge over your homecare." She smirked cheekily. "Stark thought that I had excellent qualifications and called me. What do you say, Mr. Barton? Am I hired?"

Clint's heart fluttered. This time in a good way. Talking long sentences was out of the question for the time being so instead he held up a thumb. The twinkle in his eyes left no questions as to how he felt about her playing a nurse for him.

Laura giggled. As though reading his mind. "Pervert", she accused affectionately before kissing the tip of his nose.

* * *

Thaddeus Ross was there, looming like a shadow, when Clint was discharged. He ignored the woman he'd never seen before – most likely some sort of a nurse – immediately. Instead he focused on the Avengers.

Wanda and the mystery woman occupied both sides of Clint, their backs to him. Tony walked ahead, babbling almost constantly with his arms flailing animatedly. Natasha lingered a couple of steps behind. Was she keeping watch or keeping her distance?

He sensed Steve a second before the man stood beside him. The air between them made perfectly clear that his presence wasn't welcomed. "I was under the impression that you received the word that Clint won't be able to deliver a reliable mission report."

"I did." Ross lifted his chin, his predator's gaze still lingering on the team. "I'm merely… observing."

Steve looked at him. "You're looking for a chance to shut us down." It wasn't a question. It seemed that the Captain had learned enough of the 21st century to stop being naïve.

"Yes, I am." What point was there in denying it? He kept watching as the group crammed into a car. "Because when people with the kind of powers and strength you have decide to take the law into their own hands… That's when they change from allies into a dangerous problem."

"Too bad that the… 'dangerous problem' happens to be my family." Steve's eyes weren't threatening but message was clear all the same. "We're not the bad guys. We're not seeking for battle and destruction. We're just trying to help."

Ross sighed. He was really, genuinely getting tired of all this. "Too bad the world around you is too fragile for your kind of 'help'." He gave the Captain a sharp look. "You may have been a celebrated national hero, once upon a time. But you're not untouchable or above the law. One day the Avengers will end up creating such collateral damage that you won't be able to shrug off. And when that day comes I'll be there to seal the fate of your so called team. Until then I'll keep watch, and wait." His eyes locked on Clint, who was still obviously in the middle of his recovery. "You claim that they're your family. Be sure that these games don't get one of them killed eventually. With the… alterations you've been through, it must be easy to forget how breakable humans actually are."

"I don't forget. For even a second." Stony sincerity was loud and clear in Steve's eyes. Obviously this was a sore spot. "That's why I protect my own. No matter what. Now, if that was all…" Without really waiting for the answer the Captain began to walk away.

Ross watched him go. And his eyes narrowed even further. Who would've thought that out of all the members of that ridiculous team Captain America would become the biggest thorn in his side…

* * *

Some more time passed until it was a rainy afternoon at the Barton Farm. Cooper was still at school and Lila was close to dozing off while drawing until she heard commotion. Soon after familiar voices began to drift to her ears and her eyes shone while she sped into motion. Barely daring to hope after so long…

As soon as she made it downstairs she found Natasha helping her dad into the house. He was pale and clearly sore. But he was _there_ , finally not just a voice on the phone. And that was all the encouragement she needed before rushing forward.

"Lila, carefully sweetie, remember that daddy's not well yet!"

Her dad emitted a small 'oof' and shuddered when she catapulted herself to his arms and held on tight. She didn't notice. Weeks upon weeks of longing and worrying crashed down to the gesture. "You came back", she whispered, and repeated it who knows how many times. Eyes closed, taking in her dad's warmth and inhaling his familiar scent. "You came back."

Small mercies, that she didn't realize he was crying too. "Yeah, sweetie. I'm home."

* * *

Time passed by again. A significant amount of it. A gentle summer wind was blowing as Tony made his way to the Barton Farm. Instead of knocking he headed towards the sounds of thuds. The sight he encountered wasn't surprising but warmed his heart all the same.

Clint was target practicing. A very familiar look of steel hard concentration could be seen in the archer's eyes while he focused and aimed. Then, in a fluid motion, released the arrow. It whistled through the air nearly soundlessly and slammed at the target board, splitting another arrow in half while forcing its way to the bullseye.

"Showoff", Tony accused with amusement, his tone revealing that he was genuinely impressed.

If Clint was surprised – which he doubted the archer was – the man didn't let it show. The bow was lowered with practiced ease. No tremor. No sign of a struggle, physical or emotional. Obviously the physical therapy had worked its magic. "Are you sure that it's a good idea to tease an armed assassin?"

"Pepper would probably hang you from your privates if you shot me with an arrow again."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Just once… Just once, to save your sorry ass… And you never let me hear the end of it."

"Well my 'sorry ass' will never be the same again", Tony pouted half-heartedly. This was good. The fact that Clint was finally able to joke about that event was good. He didn't feel like reminding or remembering that as soon as he'd been hit by an arrow the guy who'd meant to shoot him to the head aimed for Clint instead and fired.

Clint pursed his lips, clearly catching something. "So… Are you and Pepper…?"

Tony shrugged. "We'll see. Right now it's… one step at a time, I guess." He then shook his head, realizing that he was getting sidetracked. "But I didn't come here to update you on my relationship status."

Clint's eyebrow rose. "Anthony Stark, are you checking up on me?" The Hawk sounded touched.

"Well _you_ almost checked _out_ on us. So sue me." Another Stark-pout made itself known. "Would've spared me from having to drag myself all the way here if you bothered to stop by on occasion, Legolas."

Clint sighed and sobered, but only slightly. "I know. Sorry about that. I'm just…"

"… still getting to your feet?" Tony suggested almost gently. He shrugged at his friend's surprise. "I get it. It's not like I'd be totally tone-deaf to basic human emotions."

Clint's features softened. "No, you're not." The man stretched. It clearly ached a bit but no longer unbearably. "I _am_ getting better, you know. I almost feel like myself already."

Tony could see that. The haunted expression was gone. "Well, you don't look like death warmed up anymore." Traces of lost weight and exhaustion were still there, though. It'd take a while before the nightmares would ease. The new faded but still visible scars on his forehead and throat were a befitting proof that things would never be exactly the same again. But at least he was definitely in the right place to recover. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't wait for your return. Rogers is nowhere near as fun to bully as you."

A small but genuine smile was his reward. Clint nodded towards the house. "You hungry? Laura started cooking just before I headed out. And Coop has some sort of a design he's been wanting to show you for ages."

Tony's heart swell a little at that. "Like I'd dare to say 'no' to those two." He glanced towards his friend and frowned at something that might've been a trick of his imagination. "I can practically hear the wheels turning, Robin Hood. Something you wanna share with Dr. Stark?"

Clint looked down for a second, then sighed. "It's stupid, I know, but… Sometimes when I look at my kids… I can't help but think about that little girl." The archer's eyes narrowed. "I wonder what'll happen to her."

Tony wanted to point out that what happened to the girl's mom was none of Clint's fault. But he knew that his words would echo on deaf ears so he shrugged instead. "She'll probably be raised by other relatives. The people around there have big and tight families."

The look on Clint's face darkened just a little bit. "I know. That's what worries me."

* * *

Far away the mentioned little girl's eyes were cold as ice and hard from concentration while she focused on a target board. More arrows than she could count were already sticking from it, scattered all around the white and red. To the middle of the board she'd fastened the picture of a hawk she drew on the day of her mom's funeral.

Her eyes narrowed while the bow's string tightened, and then allowed the arrow to fly. She watched, anxiously waiting for the result. Her hand tightened around her weapon to a point where her knuckles turned white. The anticipation ended up to a thud.

A cruel smile which shouldn't have belonged to a child's face appeared when the arrow pierced the hawk's head.

A large hand squeezed her shoulder. An appreciative hum followed. " _Excellent work. You're a natural talent._ "

She shook her head. Appearing too old for her age. " _No, uncle. Just motivated._ "

* * *

End of short story

* * *

A/N: PHEW! Clint made it. (BEAMS) BUT, it looks like he'll be in a lot of trouble in a few years… (shudders) And who wants applications for the Ross hate-club…? (lifts a hand)

Sooooooo… Any good, at all? Garbage material? PLEASE, do let me know!

 **WHAT IN THE WORLD COMES NEXT?**

Thor gets his turn in the spotlight when he tries to keep a very fragile Hawkeye alive until help gets there.

And Fury, of all people, sees first hand just how accident prone Clint is…

Now what is wrong with Natasha – why is she trying to kill Clint?!

And a car accident in the middle of a mission has results none of the teammembers would've known to expect…

Until the next time, ya all! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.

Take care – and look after all the Hawkeyes of the world, because we all know that they need some caring!

* * *

Guest: I can't even express properly how happy you made me! (HUGS) I REALLY hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: LOL! Feel free to call me names all you like. I've deserved it. (chuckles) (then winces) But gosh, poor Clint AND the team! We'll see just what comes out of this mess… I'm thrilled that the chapter captivated you so!

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

hatschi: Awww, such kind words! (hugs) I REALLY hope that what's to come won't disappoint, either.

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Nightshade: Quite a cliffie, eh? (smirks sheepishly) I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it, though! I love the relationship between Clint and Wanda, too. Which means that we'll be seeing some more of it… (wiggles eyebrows)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	53. Behind the Wolf Border

A/N: PHEW! I've been traveling, which is why it took me longer than usual to update. (Hola to anyone who's been roaming around Madrid over the past few days!) PLUS, I wanted to at least try to get Thor's voice right. So, here we are, AT LAST. (smirks sheepishly)

First, though… You guys are PHENOMENAL! That there are so many other Clint Barton fans out there… You can't even imagine how happy it makes me! (starts purring, and HUGS) THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for the love and support! And remember, this is nowhere near ending… (smirks)

Awkay, because it's LATE and I need to get some sleep tonight… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE** pretty much right after Thor's return from 'Dark World', so shortly after 'The Avengers'. Which means that certain tensions still linger…

(Kudos to those who know what the Wolf Border is without Googling, LOL!)

* * *

Behind the Wolf Border

* * *

Thor woke up to the crackling of fire. For a few seconds he tensed up, preparing himself for an emergency, until a brush of cold wind reminded him of his current whereabouts. He took a breath, oddly soothed by the bitter and icy air, then opened his eyes halfway to face the campfire. It was rather small but provided enough warmth the keep the worst of the winter evening's biting edge at bay. The warm clothes he'd wrapped around himself also worked well.

"Look who's up." Clint sounded equally amused and relieved. The man's eyes examined him for a few seconds before returning to observe the fire. "Five more minutes and I would've started throwing cones at you."

Thor sat up, struggling to break himself free of the dream he just had. The warmth helped. He shifted, a frown furrowing his eyebrows as his gaze become lost on the flames.

"What were you dreaming about, anyway?" Clint's tone held genuine concern. The eyes looking at him were without a doubt those of a hawk, he could feel as much even without meeting them. "You were murmuring something."

Thor swallowed. He wondered how to set his words for a frustratingly long moment. "I… was dreaming of my childhood", he admitted quietly. All of a sudden the fire didn't seem to be enough and he wrapped his arms more tightly around himself to keep warm. "Today… would've been Loki's birthday." Or the anniversary of the day Odin brought Loki home, anyway. Foolish, perhaps, but the longing was still so fresh that it stung like a blade.

Clint stiffened, going entirely quiet. The archer even seemed to forget to breathe. Thor couldn't blame his friend. Loki was still a very, very sore topic – would most likely always be. It took a long time before the Hawk spoke, his voice nearly getting lost into the wind. "Today… would've been Phil's birthday, too."

Thor felt like someone had dropped his hammer to his chest. All of a sudden he understood why Clint had been quieter than usual for the past few days. Why it seemed that his friend hadn't slept a wink lately. The silence between them became heavy and awkward.

"Clint…"

"Don't." Clint's eyes and voice held no hostility. Even if there was a strange, torn expression on the man's face. "What Loki did… It wasn't your fault. He never apologized, not even once. So don't you start apologizing for him."

Not for the first time Thor wondered just what his brother did to Clint. What all Loki made the Hawk do. But just like every single time before he didn't dare to ask. He was too much of a coward and a weakling to have the weight of his brother's deeds added to his own sins. "He… was a lousy brother", he remarked instead, eyes on the fireplace once more. "But… So was I."

"He was your brother nonetheless. You shouldn't be sorry about missing him, or grieving him." The man clapped his hands together purposefully loudly, breaking the quiet which resumed. "We should get going." 'Get back up and continue like nothing happened', seemed to come naturally for Clint. The archer was already standing, his gaze scanning the sky. "We've got an hour's walk to the meeting point and there's a snowstorm coming. And it'll be dark soon."

Thor nodded. It sounded like a good idea, to get something to do. Maybe it'd be enough to distract him from his thoughts and memories.

Besides, Clint was right. The nature around them was beautiful but hostile and it was best to get moving. For the past couple of days they'd been scouting the most northern spots of Finland, looking for Loki's Sceptre. So far they'd had no luck and the reports of the others weren't any more encouraging. A few hours ago Steve finally decided that it was time to call it quits and go back home. They'd been trekking through thick snow since, only stopping for a quick breather less than an hour ago. How Clint was able to keep going was beyond Thor when even he was growing exhausted.

This time the silence which followed was light and companionable as they both focused on looking out for their surroundings and putting one foot in front of the other. Eventually Thor was the one who spoke first. "It was an honor to meet Phil Coulson", he stated with utmost sincerity. "He was a great man."

Clint, who'd been walking in front of him, tensed up for a couple of seconds. Then nodded. "Yeah, he was", the archer agreed softly. "One of the best."

* * *

As it turned out the storm fell on them even faster than Clint had feared. And a great deal more mercilessly. Forty-five minutes later it was impossible to see more than two steps ahead. The Hawk could only hope that they were at least headed towards the right direction.

That thought – among several others – occupied Clint to a point where, for a while, he failed to notice the howls. The wind helped wipe away the noise. Until it was too close for comfort. And then, as the unpredictable wind turned once more and brought his scent to the new threat's attention, the howls turned into growls. That was when Clint froze, ice chips coursing through his veins.

"Thor", he breathed out. In hopes that the animal wouldn't hear instead. There was no response and with new chills Clint wondered when was the last time he heard the Asgardian's footsteps.

It was entirely too easy to lose track of one another in that weather and he could only hope that his friend had more luck than he did.

Although it sounded awfully lot like Thor was trying his hardest not to be lucky. " _Clint? Where are you?_ "

The growling intensified. It was far closer to Clint but if the Asgardian would come any closer… Something moved at the corner of his eye and it definitely wasn't his friend. It was fast, far too quick even for Thor's hammer.

 _Shit...!_

Clint braced himself for the grand total of two seconds. Then screamed at the top of his lungs, knowing far too well which ears would catch his words. His hand had already grabbed the haft of his knife. "Stay back!"

The wind had betrayed him. From whichever direction he'd imagined the threat was coming from, it was the exact opposite. The wolf reached him without making a sound. Clint was down before he ever saw it coming.

Clint saw a flash on yellow eyes and incredibly sharp, yellowish teeth. The wolf was large and thin, a lone male looking out for its territory, especially with a potentially dangerous pack nearby. It wouldn't take his intrusion kindly. From there it was a fierce battle over survival. The Hawk wasn't planning on losing.

Clint shifted the best as he could without exposing his neck to those magnificent jaws, then kicked fiercely. The wolf yelped but soon found its anger once more, with more force than before. A flash later he felt teeth biting into his leg and gasped, too out of breath for actual words. When they dug deeper he finally found his voice and roared, instinctively swinging the hand holding the knife. He didn't know what he hit but the sound he earned as a response offered a great deal of promise.

His shout and sudden hit actually succeeded in getting results. The wolf retreated a step of two, growling while observing him with some hesitation. It didn't like the confrontation any more than he did. Red stained the snow as they glared at each other.

" _CLINT!_ "

Clint shifted again to remind Thor to stay away. The wolf obviously took the motion as a threat and struck again. This time the teeth sunk to his shoulder, so deep and painfully that his line of vision swam for a while. He didn't even want to know how bad the damage was but he _did_ know that something broke.

Despite the state of shock he was slipping into Clint's body reacted instinctively. He swung the blade a one more time, desperate need to survive bubbling in his veins. Stubborn to the last.

And finally, finally his attempts paid off. The wolf gave a final, defiant snarl and a heated glare. Then, slowly and reluctantly, the animal turned and began to limp into the forest. It disappeared to the storm like a strange dream, fresh snow on its fur creating a striking contrast to equally fresh, oozing blood.

Clint blinked sluggishly, wondering if he was in fact dreaming. He tried to get up, not liking his vulnerable position, but his feet slipped awkwardly before he even got the chance to sit. With no other option he lay there, staring at the almost unnatural white surrounding him. Darkness was beginning to fall, or was it just for him?

Clint remembered, vaguely, that there was something he was supposed to be worried about. Someone. But the thought slipped away from him before he could process it.

And then, through the snow and shadows, Phil appeared. The smile on the man's face was comfortingly familiar. "Come on, kid. Let's go home."

Clint smiled and closed his eyes. Snowflakes gathered to his eyelashes before melting away. "Yeah", he murmured. "Let's go."

" _CLINT!_ "

* * *

The snowstorm was growing worse and Thor was, much to his dismay, forced to admit that he was… concerned. He lost sight of Clint somewhere along the way and despite having called out several times he hadn't received a response. At one point he thought he heard the archer but it was most likely just the wind. The distant howls echoing through the landscape sent chills down his spine.

He wandered on, trying to look around although it was practically impossible to see. "Clint!" Finally, finally, he spotted faint foot-tracks. At least he was headed the right way. "Clint, can you h…!"

It wasn't only the red against white which made him trail off. It was the sight of Clint lay on the snow, more and more blood running from the wound on the man's leg. Too quickly for a non-critical wound. There was a tiny, eerily calm smile on the unconscious archer's face.

Thor was used to fighting his way through problems with his hammer. But when it came to matters which required gentle proceedings… He'd never quite known how to deal with those.

So he did what he could. He rushed to his friend, his heart pounding in his chest, and took off the wool scarf he'd been wearing. He had no idea how much pressure he should add, how much would do more harm than good.

"Clint?" He didn't care if he sounded desperate. For once in his life honor didn't matter even the slightest bit. His friend offered no response. "Clint, I… I don't know what to do." Even admitting it _hurt_ – facing the reality that he just didn't know, that he was completely and utterly helpless, _hurt_.

Time was running out. The pool of red kept growing. Clint was a fighter but the man was fading away rapidly.

"Clint?"

* * *

The team's meeting spot was a forest cabin in the middle of nowhere. Not exactly ideal but it was the best they'd been able to come up with. They appeared in pairs, first Steve and Tony who were both grumpy and bickering, then Bruce and Natasha who were even quieter than usual.

The final pair, however, failed to show up.

When two hours had passed by Tony groaned. Trying to appear irritated rather than worried although his eyes gave away the truth. "Feathers has gotten himself into a trouble again, hasn't he?"

Bruce rubbed his own face roughly with one hand. He'd been awake for over two days, which wasn't helping his self-control at all. "Maybe we should go and find…" The cabin's door emitted a loud bang as it flew open and they all shuddered. "… them."

All four of them turned their heads simultaneously. What they discovered made the freezing temperature outside pale in comparison. They froze, unable to utter a sound.

Thor stood by the doorway, nothing short of despair on his face. And on the Asgardian's arms was Clint, unconscious, pale and bloodied. Appearing horribly small and fragile in the larger man's protective, shielding hold. Thor's eyes pleaded uncharacteristically long before the hammer wielder found his voice. "Help."

* * *

Bruce's hands weren't steady and his blood pressure was most likely through the roof while he worked on Clint's horrific wounds. Stitching and patching them up the best as he could. Hoping desperately that he was somehow doing more good than harm although the equipment and his skills were limited.

Terrifying odds, really, considering that his friend's life was basically in his hands.

They could be fairly certain that Clint was attacked by a wolf, although Thor never actually saw the animal. One of the bites went pretty deep into the archer's shoulder. With luck the man might avoid permanent damage. It looked bad and required a lot of stitches. Bruce really, really hoped that Clint would be able to shoot arrows like before. To imagine the Hawk without his bow…

The second wound, however, was what threatened Clint's life. Based on the amount of bleeding an artery had been nicked. If Thor hadn't worked on it as quickly as the Asgardian did…

Bruce swallowed thickly, unwilling to even think about it. Nor was he willing to look at Clint's unconscious, unnaturally pale face. Instead he fixed his eyes on the man's chest, monitoring the motions. Up, down, up, down… "You'll be okay", he swore. Even if he knew full well that there was no way he could promise that. He swallowed again, not liking the taste in his mouth. "You… You survived this far. And… We'll take off, as soon as the snowstorm settles. So… You hang on, until then. And we'll go home."

"… home …"

Bruce actually jumped. Too close to losing control. His eyes darted towards Clint's, spotting them hazy but halfway open. The archer licked his lips and frowned. "… we home yet, Phil?"

Bruce could actually feel his heart break, just a little. After a few dazed seconds he finally shook his head. "Not yet, but soon. Now go back to sleep."

Clint nodded and closed his eyes, absolute trust radiating from the archer.

Bruce was still in the middle of pulling himself together when Natasha walked into the room. Her eyebrows furrowed while her gaze scanned through her partner. "Any change?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not really. He woke up for a few moments but wasn't exactly lucid." He didn't have the heart to reveal the exact details. The day was already horrible enough.

Natasha nodded. Her expression gave away nothing but the look in her eyes… "Go and get some sleep, you haven't rested in days." Like she would've…! "I'll keep an eye on him." Her tone was sharp but not hostile. It was clearly her way of announcing that she needed to do this alone.

Bruce went to leave, knowing better than to start an argument. At the door he, however, stopped. "Look, Nat…"

"I know." It was hard to say which sealed the almost starting conversation more effectively. The look on her face or her voice.

As Bruce did leave he heard her muttering softly to Clint in Russian.

* * *

They took turns in keeping watch because it was blatantly obvious that they'd all lost too much sleep already. Emerging from one of the cabin's tiny bedrooms Steve stretched, spotting Tony on the couch. The billionaire just lay there, torn eyes glaring heatedly at the ceiling. Clearly the lack of anything to do was taking its toll. "How's Clint?"

"About the same. Nat's still inside. She fell asleep there and none of us has dared to try waking her up." Tony didn't even try to joke. If that didn't reveal how bad things were…

Steve sighed. A nightmare, all of this… "She needs the rest." He turned his head towards the cabin's door. "Is Thor still out there?"

"Yup." Tony went on as he began to move. "I wouldn't, if I were you. He's not in a good mood."

"Since when have I taken advice from you?"

True to Tony's report, Thor was stood at the porch, narrowed and exhausted eyes keeping an eye on the forest around them. The Asgardian's arms were folded and the whole tall frame swayed dangerously. Too little rest, too much worrying. It took too long before the hammer wielder reacted to his presence. If possible the tension intensified. "Has there been change?"

"No, no. That's not why I came", Steve hurried to reassure his friend. "Clint's still alive and fighting." He could only hope that the Hawk would remain stubborn for a little while longer.

Thor nodded. Resolutely not looking his way. "The Hawk is a true warrior."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, he is." He held a small pause, letting his own emotional turmoil settle. "You should come inside, you know. You need some sleep."

Thor shook his head. "I'm alright. I'm keeping an eye on the storm. We'll go home once it settles, yes?"

Steve sighed heavily. He was the leader of this team. And this was one of those moments when he didn't like it. "Thor, what happened today wasn't your fault. You saw Clint's injuries. For him to sustain those… The attack had to have been sudden. There was nothing…"

"I was steps away when it happened." The wheels in Thor's head could practically be seen turning and somehow it seemed that this wasn't solely about Clint. "And he chose to handle it on his own."

Steve had never asked whether Thor was there when Loki died. Somehow he'd just assumed that it was so and now it was confirmed. He considered his next words carefully. "I… was only steps away, too, when someone as close to me as a brother died. I tried to help but…" He trailed off. The memory of Bucky's death was still far too fresh.

Thor seemed to mull over his words, still not glancing his way, and in the end said nothing.

Steve watched the snowstorm, pleased to discover that it was mellowing. "What we do… It comes with risks. Sometimes we're able to look out for one another. Other times…" He gulped against the bitter taste rising up his throat. "Other times we're not so lucky."

"It feels like a failure", Thor mused out loud at last, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

"It does. It stings. But… We need to learn to live with it. We need to accept that we do everything we can." Steve hoped that one day he, himself, might. "Otherwise it breaks us."

They stood in a silence for a very long time. Keeping watch. Observing how the storm died down, one sigh of the wind at a time.

"We were lucky today." Thor still had a thoughtful look on his face. But the Asgardian didn't seem quite so torn anymore. "We didn't lose him."

Steve didn't point out that they still might. Couldn't face the thought just yet. "We didn't", he agreed. "Because you were there for him."

"I didn't fail today."

"No, you didn't", Steve affirmed because somehow it felt like his friend needed to hear those words.

The storm ended.

* * *

They had a couple of close calls during the flight back home. Clint's condition was far from stable. And the leg wound began to blood again despite Bruce's best efforts. But in the end they didn't lose him. Not today.

It took what felt like ages and a couple of blood transfusions. Finally the Hawk felt ready to join the waken world once more. His first words in a while, slurred as they were, succeeded in startling Tony. "… we home yet…?"

Tony nodded as soon as he'd recovered from the near heart attack. "Yup, Feathers. We're home." He smirked at his friend, relief swelling and spreading inside him. "And when you're not looking like death warmed up I want to hear why you thought that it was a good idea to wrestle with a wolf."

Clint's grin promised that everything would be alright.

* * *

After a month and a half it finally turned out that Clint's shoulder, stiff as it still was, would make a full recovery. He had mighty scars and Laura would yell at him about them but he was alive. Ready for a new battle.

However, he could sense that Thor was still… troubled. The Asgardian was more closed up than usual and somehow succeeded in keeping a hyper close eye on him while still avoiding him. It'd take time before Thor would overcome the aftermath – Clint knew, because he'd been there. He'd need to give it time. If Thor watching over him like he might keel over any second was what it took to convince the Asgardian that he _was_ alive would do the trick, then he'd suffer through it.

There was, however, something _they both_ needed to do. Because they were a team, now. And they couldn't let ghosts come between them.

Thor shifted with discomfort as they stood on a beach, sand caressing their feet. It was very, very dark but the city lights were more than enough to keep it from becoming suffocating. "Are you certain that this is a good idea? Surely there are more honorable places…"

"Are you kidding me?" Clint looked around. The beach was quiet and peaceful at that hour. As well as very beautiful. Exactly the no man's land they needed. "This is perfect."

Thor obviously had hesitations. "Are… you certain, that you wish to do this with me? Because… This doesn't feel… conventional."

Clint snorted. "Nothing about this team is conventional. That's…" He wasn't able to gulp down the lump in his throat. "That's the way Phil wanted it."

Phil. Who was more of a dad to him than his actual father. The way he died… Maybe one day Clint would be able to genuinely let go of the guilt and anger. He owed it to Phil that he at least tried. He owed it to Thor as well. Because sometimes he felt like Loki's shadow lingered in the other Asgardian's footsteps somehow and it needed to stop.

Dead and gone. Both of them. Those who were still alive needed to make the most out of what they left behind – whether it was Loki's chaos and destruction, or Phil's legacy of love and compassion.

Neither spoke after that. There was no need. They both lit a candle, then placed them to the water and watched them float away until even the faintest trace of them was gone. And somehow it felt like the ghosts of the past were a little further. They relaxed and observed the dark waters, keeping watch. Comrades from different realms side by side, seeing the world through new eyes which may or may not have been full of tears.

"Clint?" Thor's voice was strangely soft for someone of his size. "Phil… He would be very proud of you."

Clint wiped his cheeks swiftly and subtly. Because of course he wasn't crying. "I hope so."

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: You know, the bitter irony that they're both grieving someone who isn't actually dead… (winces) But GOSH, trust Clint to find trouble even in the middle of nowhere! Thank gosh first Thor, then Bruce, was there to keep him from bleeding out.

I LOVE wolves!

Soooooooo… Did I do Thor justice – was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you totally makes my day.

 **SO, NOW WHAT?**

Fury, of all people, sees first hand just how accident prone Clint is…

Now what is wrong with Natasha – why is she trying to kill Clint?!

And a car accident in the middle of a mission has results none of the teammembers would've known to expect…

Until next time, my fellow Hawkeye/Renner fans! I really hope that you'll all join in then.

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: AH! The ending was a bit open, because I felt like the girl's story wasn't quite over yet. I hope you didn't mind too much…?

Gotta love Steve, eh? It's both infuriating and endearing how firm he is in his ideals. (smiles fondly)

Colossal thank yous for the review! I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.


	54. Nick Fury and a Guardian Hawk

A/N: MY GOSH, it's late! (winces) I'm so, so sorry that this update is slightly late update! Nick Fury… isn't exactly the easiest character to type…

MY DEAR GOSH! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all your AMAZING reviews, listings, support and love! Hawkeye's fan club is even bigger than I thought. (BEEEEEEEAMS)

Awkay, because it seriously IS late… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE** pretty much right after 'Winter Soldier', which means that a recovering Nick Fury (who most definitely wasn't back to 100 by then) is still roaming through eastern Europe (because of course it's a good idea, heh).

 **MY ANSWER TO QUESTIONS** what was Clint Barton doing, and how does Fury feel, working with Clint and hiding that Phil Coulson is alive (because I'm under the assumption that the team hasn't been told the truth – as far as I know it's never been confirmed either way).

 **ALSO, PLEASE DO CHECK THE ENDING NOTE FOR A TINY ANNOUNCEMENT.**

* * *

Nick Fury and a Guardian Hawk

* * *

Fury was still recovering, despite having already headed to eastern Europe. Which was why it wasn't that much of a surprise that he was able to sleep in the newest safe house, even if he hated the unfamiliar environment. He was determined to keep the amount of pain medication at the minimum because now, if ever, he needed a clear head. But he was no superman. The dosage he had to take to keep himself from going insane would've knocked out even the mightiest.

So, in the middle of the night in a dark and unfamiliar room, he woke up with a start. His remaining eye flew open, gleaming dangerously as he prepared himself for whatever threat was coming. Because he could sense that he was no longer alone. Swiftly but subtly his hand reached out towards a carefully hidden firearm.

"I, ah, would appreciate it if you didn't shoot me", a familiar voice stated from the shadows. "It's safe to switch on the lights, by the way. I took care of the sniper who'd been keeping an eye on this place."

Fury blinked once. Twice. "Barton? What are you doing here?"

"You're seriously asking me that when the S.H.I.E.L.D just went down?" Clint sounded hurt. Not much of a surprise, considering how left out he must've felt. "And faking your death? Very soap-opera of you."

Fury didn't dignify that with an answer, since they both knew that he didn't exactly have a choice. Instead he finally turned on the lights and frowned at the other man's appearance. "Are you alright?" Because it didn't look like the archer was.

Clint stood firm, his posture perfect but his whole frame trembling occasionally. The man was pale and panting hard, one hand pressed against his side. "Peechy. Just… Jumped off one rooftop too many."

 _Of course you did._ Fury wasn't sure if that thought was exasperated, fond, irritated or worried. He would've denied all those even if he'd been held at a gunpoint. With years of experience his face betrayed nothing. "And why, exactly, are you jumping through windows nearby this safe house?"

"Hill called me for help when she started to get a feeling of just how rotten the S.H.I.E.L.D actually is. She couldn't be everywhere and I was one of the very few people she felt she could trust. I've been… keeping watch." Yes, there was definitely hurt on Clint's face. "I know that things have been… different, since Loki. But _you_ could've given me that call. You know I would've come."

Fury tensed up at those words, as well as at the unveiled accusation and self-blame. Clint clearly imagined that he still didn't find the Hawk trustworthy. The truth… was much, much more complex. Despite the time that'd passed since Loki it was far more difficult than he'd known to imagine to face Clint. To see how much the man still grieved and know that it was unwarranted. It'd been easier in the beginning, when even Fury had been almost certain that there was nothing they could do for Phil. When the loss was the main thing making the team fight together. But now – knowing that Phil was alive and well, still an active agent, and seeing the load Clint still carried on his shoulders every single day… No amount of experience and training had been able to change the fact that Fury was a human being and his heart, while hardened, wasn't made of concrete.

He'd wanted to tell the truth more times than he could count.

He did trust Clint. He would've been an idiot not to. But he wasn't entirely sure if he could trust himself, especially now when he was injured and medicated, vulnerable. "I know that I should've called you." What point was there in arguing against logic and pure reason? Uncharacteristically he felt the need to say he was sorry. He winced, which came from the bottom of his heart and soul. "Stark's already going to give me an earful for this mess and leaving him out. So save it."

Clint looked at him. And seemed to see more than most people, as he usually did. Some of the tension on the archer's face faded away. "As much as I'd love to be the one giving you a scolding for once, I'm too tired for a proper one right now." True to his claim the Hawk slumped to a nearby chair, his eyelids drooping heavily. "Keeping your sorry ass safe has been a fulltime job."

Fury frowned. Even arched a curious eyebrow. "I'm no stranger to fieldwork, Barton. I don't need a babysitter." He sincerely hoped that he didn't sound as much like a pouting child as he feared. "Besides, I'm a dead man, remember?"

Clint gave him an unimpressed look. "This is the corrupted part of S.H.I.E.L.D after you. And Hydra has more connections than you imagined. Did you really think that there wouldn't be someone who'd be able to find out that you're alive?" Worry flashed sharply in the man's eyes, even if the archer looked ready to fall asleep any given moment. "Besides, you're still recovering. Your…" The Hawk blinked sluggishly, obviously fighting sleep. "… ass-kicking abilities aren't at one hundred percent. And you don't even have the S.H.I.E.L.D to back you up like you used to."

Fury would've never, ever admitted it to a living soul. But those words genuinely touched him. "So I have you for a backup instead." If his voice was atypically soft he didn't care.

Clint smiled, appearing just a little proud of himself. Or at least relieved. "Yup. Ever since the very first safe house in States." The man's eyes narrowed at him. "Now sleep. No offense but you look worse than I feel."

Fury knew that he should've slept. But first… "Just out of curiosity…" Although he probably would've preferred not knowing. "Since States… How many enemies have you taken care of for me?"

Clint frowned. Counting. "Twenty-two. Or twenty-three, if that guy from Craiova counts."

Fury's stomach lurched uncomfortably. He had no idea of 'that guy from Craiova'. He was being sloppy. The fast rising guilt didn't help him feel better. "Thank you." What else could he say?

Clint shook his head. "No need to thank me." It was obviously sincere. The younger man looked away. "After… everything… I owe you." The archer tried to give him a stern look and succeeded with the experience of a parent. "Now go to sleep."

Fury grinned. Really, honestly grinned, and mentally cursed the drugs. "You'll fall asleep first", he managed around a glorious yawn.

"Fury?"

"Hmh?"

"You're way more fun than usual when you're half-high on pain meds."

Fury would've rolled his remaining eye if he'd had the energy to open it.

* * *

Fury wasn't entirely sure what woke him up a couple of hours later. A strange feeling in the back of his head, perhaps. But all of a sudden he was wide awake, his gaze darting around the room. Nothing seemed to be terribly wrong. There was no suspicious or loud noise. His pain level was manageable. He didn't sense anyone nearby who might've harmed him or Clint. _Clint…!_

Apparently the archer hadn't left, after all, which surprised him. He'd imagined that the man would be gone by the time he'd wake up. The Hawk was asleep, a knife firmly in hand and with a frown on his face. Keeping watch, rather than resting.

Fury sighed heavily. It felt uncomfortably lot like he was looking at the kid Phil dragged home for the very first time. "Barton." There was no reaction, which was very alarming. The archer never slept deeply. "Barton, wake up." Still nothing. He was starting to become genuinely… concerned. He moved, hating how stiff he felt, beginning to leave the bed. "Clint, wake up, right now." Still nothing. Which was around when he began to notice how labored the agent's breathing seemed and sounded.

Clint was right. He was on too much drugs, after all. Because he'd forgotten the most important rule for the caring and maintenance of Clint Barton. Always, _always_ check for damage first thing, whatever he says.

A heavy, very unpleasant weight settling to his chest Fury got out of the bed, starting to approach slowly and with a healthy amount of caution. Clint, especially when injured and vulnerable, with a knife… Not a good combination. "Barton, it's time to wake up. I can tell that you're injured and I want to check up on you, alright?" He could see how the younger man's eyes moved behind still closed eyelids, hinting that consciousness was finally returning. "You're safe, I'm safe. But I need to check up on you."

"… 't gonna let 'u grope me …"

"Too bad", Fury muttered. The tightness on top of and around his chest eased slightly at the discovery that Clint was at least somewhat awake. He was close but still moved slowly, wanting to avoid crowding the agent. "Make things easier on us both and just show me the damage."

It was a very clear sign of something being wrong that Clint didn't spout out any further protests. The man merely shrugged, struggling visibly to keep his eyes at least halfway open. "… probably 'ust a scratch, or something… 'sn't hurt much anymore." In a more coherent condition the agent might've realized not to take that as a good sign.

Fury bit his tongue to keep the acid at bay. Instead he took a deep breath, then focused on the task at hand. "Let me be a judge of that", he advised, his voice remarkably calm although his mind was anything but.

Mindful not to cause even further damage he pried Clint's hand away from the man's side, to which it was still pressed. He didn't like the dried and fresh blood coating the younger man's fingers. He liked what he found upon obtaining a clear view even less.

There was a massive shard of blood stained glass sticking from Clint's side. He didn't know how much of it had actually impaled the archer. Nor was he keen on guessing just what vital organs might've been damaged.

Fury bit his lip to keep himself from exploding to a storm of curses as his heart sunk like a stone. He took several deep breaths, unable to calm himself as much as he would've wanted to. "You… managed to get some glass stuck on you. Any idea how that happened?" He felt tempted to shield the wound with something but it wasn't really bleeding anymore, at least so that the blood would've flowed out, and he didn't want to risk making things even worse.

Clint blinked once. "Oh." It was a small miracle that the man managed to open his eyes again. "… flew through a window, once… 's why I needed a breather, and came in here." The Hawk looked at him, the hazy eyes seeking. "… it bad?"

"Worse than a scratch", Fury admitted bluntly. He had no desire to admit – even to himself – just how much worse. He was already dialing the emergency number. "But I'll call someone over to patch you up, alright? Which fake-ID have you been using?"

Using the hand that wasn't bloody, Clint pulled out an ID and showed it to him feebly. The man's breathing seemed to be getting worse. Time… was an issue.

After making the call – and ensuring strongly that help would be there quickly – Fury focused on Clint once more. Was the archer still conscious? "Barton." He squeezed the younger man's shoulder. "You'll be alright. But you need to stay awake." He refused to believe that someone as stubborn as Clint would…

 _No_ , absolutely not, not like this!

"Hmh." Clint was clearly slipping but trying to hang on, tooth and nail. The agent swallowed hard, shifting slowly and carefully. Despite his condition the archer seemed to be thinking hard. It took some time before the man looked at him, the best as he could, and spoke out in a barely audible voice. "Nick… I'm sorry… 'bout Phil…" The look in the archer's eyes would've shattered pretty much anyone's heart.

It took a long while before Fury managed to catch his breath in the aftermath of that blow. He was uncomfortably sure that for a while his self-control failed him. He didn't know what hurt the most. Clint calling him by his first name for the first time. Clint still blaming himself over something the archer had absolutely no control over. Or his own secret.

"Not your fault", Fury pointed out sharply. Somehow managing to sound almost like himself. "You hear me? Not… your… fault. So calm down and focus on staying awake."

Clint nodded feebly. Accepting the comfort. Trusting him. "Okay." The Hawk tested the idea for a moment, then nodded again. Feebly but determinedly. "Okay."

They were both lost into their own thoughts for a long while, waiting for the promising sounds of approaching sirens. At some point Fury's fingers strayed to monitoring the younger man's pulse. Neither of them noticed that eventually he began to basically hold the archer's hand. Or that the Hawk's fingers squeezed back, as firmly as the man was able to.

"… Paris again …"

Fury scoffed through the annoying lump in his throat. "I know. With the exception that back then it was Natasha hauled to a hospital." He gritted his teeth, hating the way Clint was losing color. His own heartrate was growing treacherously quick while the younger man's was already thready. "That was when the rule against jumping through windows was made."

Clint shrugged, swallowed and winced. Most likely tasting blood. Then tried to grin despite being too out cold for it. "… held for almost seven months …"

Fury snorted. Ridiculous, all of it, what they called their lives. "And then Budapest happened." He was glad that he didn't have hair. It would've all turned gray because of these two.

Clint chuckled. But only for a couple of seconds before it turned to gasps. Almost instantly traces of panic appeared to the man's eyes.

Fury's chest and stomach tightened painfully. "Clint? What's wrong?"

In a flash it became apparent what was wrong, aside the obvious. The man's breathing sounded and looked much worse than before despite the Hawk's furious attempts to work on it. "… can't … hurts …" Since then the downfall was steep and shocking.

Clint's face lost whatever little color there'd still been. Was there a hint of blue or did Fury imagine it? The archer kept hanging on with all his might but even such a fighter had his limits. There was nothing Fury could do but watch as Clint gasped and deteriorated.

A lesser man might've screamed. Fury felt his jaw tighten as he took his phone again, his gaze on Clint's face and his fingers on the man's faltering pulse. His own heart was racing, breaking and filling with fiery determination all at once. "It's going to be alright", he promised, not recognizing his own voice. "You're not going to die. We're both too stubborn to allow that." _Not because of protecting me. Not like this._ "You'll be alright."

Clint held his gaze, hanging on, until the man's eyes rolled back and closed.

* * *

The unnaturally loud wails – almost like howls – of sirens broke the night's silence.

* * *

Clint drifted. Only vaguely aware of where he was. Wondering if any of it was even real.

The people working on him, calling out to him, trying to save his life.

Medical jargon that went past his understanding, especially in that language.

The sterile reek.

The blinding lights.

There was, however, one thing he knew – with absolute certainty – to be a dream. He'd dreamt of Phil Coulson at least a hundred times since the man's death. The amount of repeats didn't succeed in making it hurt any less.

This time Phil seemed slightly older, sitting there beside him. And sadder. There were lines on the man's face he didn't remember seeing before. Maybe he was mixing up details. It'd been a while.

Clint sighed. And immediately winced at the flare of sheer agony it brought, such that seemed to radiate through his entire body. _… 'ing glass…! …_ "… hallucinating again, huh?"

Phil's Adam's apple bobbed. The man's eyes watered for a while. "You should rest. It's…" The man cleared his throat. "It's going to be a long road, before you're better. You need rest."

Clint couldn't help smiling, just a little bit, through intense physical and mental agony. That sounded so much like the real Phil that he could barely bear it. In the end he sighed heavily, his eyelids drooping. "… least you're a nice hallucination", he slurred. "… not usually nice …"

Phil took his hand. That was new. They'd never touched in his hallucinations before. "Go to sleep, Clint. It'll hurt for a while but you'll be okay. I promise."

Clint decided to trust those words. Phil had never lied to him before, after all. Reflexively his hold on the imaginary man's hand tightened as his eyes closed. He fell into a sea of black with the cruel, heartbreaking knowledge that when he'd wake up again with a clear head Phil would be gone once more.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

* * *

The first time Clint woke up and could be sure that he was fully back in reality Natasha was beside him. Very few people would've been able to pinpoint the worry and relief in her eyes. Every single one of her facial muscles was tense. "Jumping through windows, Barton? Again?" She did _not_ look impressed.

Clint shrugged, even though it hurt. "Had to try to keep someone alive", he mumbled. Then glanced towards her with suspicion. "You're… really here, right?"

Natasha looked at him like he'd just said something in a language she couldn't understand. "Yeah, I am. Why?"

Clint was already practically passed out. "Just checking." He fell asleep, safe in the familiar feel of her presence.

Unlike the ghost of Phil Natasha was still there when he woke up. Asleep, curled up to the chair like a cat. He ruffled her hair, hoping that for once she, too, would be spared from unpleasant visitors to her dreams.

* * *

It took a long time for Clint to recover enough to be able to go home. It was slow. And incredibly painful. But at least he got to spend the last month of it at a very comfortable, almost homey recovery center in Tahiti.

Fury's apparently still existing connections weren't a completely bad thing.

But finally, finally he was allowed to go back home. Laura hated his new scar and expressed her displeasure in no uncertain terms. And immediately after showed just as clearly how happy she was to have him back. He kissed away the tears she shed upon how close they'd come this time and hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that he could've promised 'never again'.

He swore to use every single day they had left together to make it all up to her.

Fury didn't actually show up – at least so that Clint would've been able to remember it – until the archer had been back home for two full weeks. Laura was cooking downstairs, with Cooper and Lila as her eager assistants, while Clint followed some sort of a sixth sense and headed to the barn. Fury was just sending a text as he walked in and lifted an eyebrow. "Please don't tell me that this time I've got a sniper tailing me."

Fury shook his head. "No. Hydra… It's still active. But I've come to realize that it takes more than a handful of people to stop it."

Clint smiled. Even if he had no idea what to think and feel. "Time to call in the Avengers, huh?"

Fury nodded. The man's expression was as unreadable as always. "As soon as Thor's returned and you've recovered." Nick's gaze studied him for a few moments. "Are you alright?"

Clint grinned. "Peechy. Laura's not a fan of the scar, though." His expression became almost fond. "You didn't have to come all the way here to check up on me, you know."

"Actually, I came to thank you." Which alone was something unheard of. For a second or two something flashed in Fury's eye but it disappeared before he had the chance to identify it. "What you did for me… It was incredibly stupid." Which, in Nick Fury language, meant that the man had been worried. And feeling guilty. And several other things, which probably pissed him off.

Clint shrugged. "Not my first near death experience, and I doubt it'll be the last. I just…" He took a deep breath and this time the tightness of his chest wasn't caused by the already old injury. "I'm glad I didn't check out in your arms. Coulson was bad enough."

Before Clint got the chance to see or hear Fury's response to his words Cooper's voice called out to him. He peered over his shoulder. "I'll be there in a second, buddy." His attention then shifted back to Fury's, whose face betrayed as little as usual. "When the time for rumble comes… I'm ready. Don't forget to send an invite this time."

Fury nodded. "I won't make that mistake again." Which was as good as an apology.

Satisfied with that, Clint began to walk away. Phil's ghost and its weight would most likely never stop haunting him. But if he'd learned anything in his life it was the one should never, ever lose themselves to the past. It was too easy to get lost like that. Always move forward and don't look back, it'd been his motto since he was a child. The more it hurt the more determined the onwards step.

If Clint had looked back for once in his life he would've found Fury's eye watching him, darkened by guilt.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear… Tahiti? Did I actually… you know…. for a bit… (gawks and shudders) And oh dear gosh, if only Clint knew…! (In case you're wondering, it looks like Phil really WAS there. Or was he…?)

Was that… any good, at all? This is very different from anything I've ever typed before – and seriously, when I thought THOR was difficult to type…! – so I'd LOVE to hear your verdict.

 **NOW, TO THE ANNOUNCEMENT!** On popular demand – and because I'm HOOKED on the idea – I WILL type a 'Phil returns' short story, most likely four or five chapters long. THE QUESTION GOES, do you guys want it to be an independent story OR included to this collection? **DO GIVE YOUR VOTE!**

 **ALSO!** This collection's birthday is approaching! There'll DEFINITELY be an update on **August 9th**. (smiles fondly)

 **SO, what in the world next?**

Now what is wrong with Natasha – why is she trying to kill Clint?!

And a car accident in the middle of a mission has results none of the teammembers would've known to expect…

Awkay, because it's getting insanely late I've gotta go. Until next time, all members of Club Feather! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Nightshade: HOORAH! Gosh, how happy and flattered you're making me feel. (BEAMS) Thor IS difficult to type! I'm glad you think I did him justice. AND, the other characters, too.

I LOVE that scene – imagining Renner fighting a wolf is addictive! (gets all starry eyed)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Alethea13: LOL! Don't worry, it'll be posted very soon. I'm really happy that you're looking forward to it so!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: I'm just glad that your'e back now! (hugs) And especially that you enjoyed the chapters. Thor's such a darling, isn't he? So big and strong but still so human. Sometimes I just wanna give him a hug.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: That's the BEST compliment! I'm aiming to making the chapters unique. (BEAMS) I really hope that you'll be as happy with what's to come.

Enormous thank yous for the review! Until next time.

ps: Awww, I'm really happy to hear that! (HUGS)


	55. Lost in the Dark

A/N: I'M SO SORRY for skipping last week! I was traveling and just couldn't bring myself to type a proper new chapter. (winces apologetically) But I'm back now, so… Yay?

GOSH! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your absolutely AMAZING reviews, love and support! I still can't believe the amount of fans Hawkeye has. (HUGS)

Awkay, it's almost time to get this one started. First, though…!

 **TAKES PLACE:** between 'Avengers' and 'Winter Soldier', and introduces my idea of how Natasha got the arrow-necklace seen on 'Winter Soldier'. (It was Scarlet's idea, apparently, meant to represent Clint/Hawkeye. How cute is that?!)

 **THIS CHAPTER WASN'T INTENDED AS CLINTASHA.** I can't, however, stop anyone's imagination…

 **AS FOR THE 'PHIL COULSON RETURNS' -STORY VOTE…** Check the ending author's note!

* * *

Lost in the Dark

* * *

Natasha had been in a lot of… tough spots. Sadly enough waking up firmly chained wasn't a new experience for her. Nor was facing someone she'd imagined dead.

But this was different. This was a childhood monster from under the bed come to life. This was her worst nightmare coming to haunt her.

Dr. Valeriya Akulov sat in front of her with a pleasant smile on her face. If it wasn't for the burn-scars marring her left cheek and neck it would've been easy to miss that something out of the ordinary was going on. It'd been over thirteen years since they last met each other and the doctor had aged, yet Natasha would've recognized those hazel eyes anywhere. The woman's long, dark brown hair, which seemed to have stripes the color of drying blood, was tied to a neat ponytail, as always. Dr. Akulov was petite and pale, appeared almost motherly. Natasha could still remember how that smile fooled her, once upon a time.

* * *

/ _"Come, little Natalia", the woman urged her kindly. Taking her tiny hand gently. "There's no need to look so scared. We'll take a very good care of you here."_ /

* * *

" _Hello, little Natalia_ ", Dr. Akulov greeted her. The tone was deep, smooth and pleasant, almost hypnotic. " _It's been a long time, hasn't it?_ "

" _You were supposed to be dead_ ", Natasha growled. She felt like fire ants had been crawling under her skin. Despite all the years that'd gone by she somehow still felt like a lost, angry and abandoned little girl whenever she was with Dr. Akulov. Like she never left Red Room.

" _For many years I imagined that you were gone as well._ " The scarred woman's cool hand caressed her cheek like that of a mother's. The doctor appeared genuinely happy to see her alive and well. Almost. " _Until I saw you on the news, with the Avengers. I must say, little Natalia… I'm very proud of what a strong, skilled woman you've become. You were always a very special little girl, the best of them all. We always knew that you'd get far._ " She smiled and shook her head. " _Finally I found you._ "

Natasha gritted her teeth. There was still crawling under her skin, and on top of that a cold that didn't seem human set in. Keeping her face expressionless was a challenge. " _You're going to kill me._ "

Dr. Akulov appeared shocked for a few seconds. Then shook her head. " _I'd never do that, Natalia. Despite everything you're still one of my children. And a proper mother never abandons her children._ "

There was so much Natasha wanted to say to that. So many bitter words, fueled by the barbwire twisting around her aching heart. But she never got to utter a single of them.

Because just then Dr. Akulov's hand brushed a device she hadn't noticed before. And just seconds later eerily familiar music filled the room. " _You used to sing this in your sleep._ " The scarred woman met her gaze, with that ever-present smile. " _Do you remember, little Natalia? It's your song._ "

The music grew louder and louder. But no matter how hard Natasha struggled against her restraints she remained tied. Unable to do anything but listen.

" _It's your song, little Natalia. Let it flow through you. Let it remind you of who you really are. Of home. Don't let them take you away again._ "

* * *

/ _It took years before little Natalia figured out how they knew which song to use on her. How to pick just the one which had the greatest impact. The first few times Dr. Akulov sang it to her herself. Holding her and humming softly, letting it seep in._

 _That song was the only memory she had left of her birthmother. The only, paper thin trace she had of a home. How was she supposed to not be affected?_

 _Dr. Akulov sang, just like her mother. Every single evening. Sometimes several times over, when the little girl's hands were stained by blood that wasn't hers. Eventually, when the hold was strong enough, Natalia began to ask for it. The lyrics wrapped around the lost, confused child like a security blanket. How was she supposed to not get attached to its promise?_

 _How was she supposed to not become theirs when they were all she had left?_ /

* * *

The second Clint heard that Natasha hadn't come back from a mission as planned he knew that he'd have to go. Anything else wouldn't have been an option. The rest of the Avengers, assembled only a little over a year earlier, were busy with other duties so he headed there alone. As usual.

Clint had a vague idea of Natasha's favorite hiding spots in the small Russian city. With the aid of technology Tony had supplied he found his way to a less than appealing, reeking street. He frowned at the tiny motel up ahead.

It looked and smelled like a trap – which he, the fool he was, chose to take as an invitation.

There was a woman sitting behind the reception counter as he walked in. She smiled at the sight of him, which didn't come out right with her scars and the fact that her hazel eyes didn't join the gesture. " _Can I help you?_ "

Clint forced a smile as well. " _A room for one. For tonight only._ "

The woman took a book, running a finger down the pages. Clint's hawk's eyes skimmed through even faster. Going through the names. One of them stood out. ' _Aliya Shostakova_ '. It was Natasha's favorite fake-ID in the eastern Europe.

He looked away well on time before the scarred woman lifted her gaze. " _Well, I do have a room for you. You're traveling alone, then?_ "

Clint gritted his teeth. He was getting the feeling that he was being interrogated. He kept his expression neutral. " _Yes, at least for now._ "

Something about the woman's smile seemed threatening. " _Well, sometimes traveling alone leads to surprises._ " She wrote the fake-name he delivered to the book. " _Have a good night._ "

Clint's skin tingled. In the same way it always did when there was a threat. " _Goodnight_."

Upon walking towards the stairs that led upstairs he noticed a stain of blood on the guestbook's page.

* * *

Natalia's mission was clear. A man was coming to kill her. Hawkeye, one of the world's most famous marksmen.

S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't messing around this time.

She waited in the shadows at Dr. Akulov checked the man in. As soon as the man had walked by the older woman gave her a tiny, subtle nod. Confirming the target.

She moved as well. Resolutely not looking towards the corpse of the receptionist, lay at her feet. Now wasn't the time to start developing a conscience.

Hawkeye was on the phone when she slipped into his room, using the spare key Dr. Akulov gave her. His back was towards the door – amateur's mistake. "… the address. I'm pretty sure that she's somewhere around here but…" He lifted his gaze, and it wasn't until then she realized that he stood in front of a window. He sensed her, quite possibly saw a part of her reflection. Not an amateur, after all. "I've gotta go." He hung up, then spun around, a firearm aimed right at her forehead. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of her. The gun was lowered slowly. Definitely a big mistake. "Tasha?"

She snorted. Something tried to scream a warning inside her but she smothered it. " _You have the nerve to call me Tasha, when you've come here to kill me._ " She didn't give him another second to brace himself before raising her own firearm.

Yet somehow he knew to be ready for her. As though having read it from some micro-expression, from the slightest twitch. He disarmed her with a single blow. It was a smack against her pride, which she brushed off quickly. Hand to hand? So be it.

They spun around each other like they'd done it a thousand times. Exchanging kicks and punches, the gun having slipped from his grasp long ago. Whatever move she attempted he knew to expect it. And somehow she seemed to know his thoughts as well.

It was disturbing. Not how much of each other they knew. But that some very, very tiny part of her wasn't bothered by it.

She let the confusion turn into irritation, which quickly transformed to such rage she could barely contain. And she didn't even try to. She attacked him with all the fire there was in her veins.

He'd come to kill her. Too bad. Perhaps she wasn't exactly a fan of her life but it was hers and she wasn't about to give it up just yet.

* * *

Clint had sparred with Natasha enough times to know that now she was _serious_. And her eyes… They were those of the Natalia he met for the very first time, ages ago. And all of a sudden the words 'Red Room' flashed through his head.

" _I'm not here to kill you._ " He blocked her swift punch with his arm and struck back, determined to keep his blows under control. He knew her well enough to recognize the pain hiding in her eyes. " _I'm here to take you home._ " They spun around each other. " _Because this isn't you anymore._ "

He managed to grab Natasha's arm and yanked it behind her back, locking her to an iron tight hold. She snorted while writhing furiously. " _And you imagine that you know who I am?_ "

Clint tightened his hold on her. Trying to ignore the stab of guilt over having to hurt her. " _Yeah, I do. You're my best friend._ " Simple and true.

Natasha remained suspiciously still for a couple of seconds. " _Sorry to burst your bubble_ ", she then hissed. " _But I don't do friends._ " Her kick was as hard as a sledgehammer. " _And I'm done playing around with you._ "

Clint gasped under her attack but held on tight, knowing that if he'd let go now she'd be lost forever. Whatever they'd done to her, the impact ran deep. It didn't matter. He'd broken that hold before and he'd do it again. Whatever it'd take.

His arm burned and screamed as she yanked against its hold, straining the limb to its extreme. He groaned, holding on with all his willpower. He wasn't going to fight her, didn't want to hurt her. He'd hold on, and pull her back. "You _are_ my best friend", he swore again, in English this time. And again. And again. The words rumbled in his chest and through his racing heart. He closed his eyes and clung tightly. Not letting her get lost into the dark.

No matter how weak the small but deadly knife she'd plunged into his stomach was making him feel.

A million little memories flashed through his mind. Rome. Tokyo. Cairo. Berlin. Madrid. Athens. Even Budapest. The whole mad tale of Strike Team Delta.

He could only hope that whatever came next she'd be able to forgive herself. There was already too much unnecessary load on her shoulders. Too much red on her ledger. He knew that feeling entirely too well…

Natasha fought him for what felt like ages. Each twist and jolt his body was forced to make introducing him to a new world of pain. Several times he was sure that he wouldn't be able to take it anymore. Until… "Clint?" Her voice was shaky and uncertain. Nothing like her usual one. Or was it that way only to his ears…?

Clint expelled a long breath of relief. When did he close his eyes? "It's okay", he murmured, his hold on her starting to slacken. "It's over, now. It's okay."

Natasha breathed hard for a while, each inhale and exhale shuddering. Neither asked a thing – he didn't have the energy and she didn't want to know. So they just stayed there, trying to catch their breaths. Natasha was trembling, shock and adrenaline rushing through her. Along with what had to be a massive load of very, very unpleasant memories.

Clint swallowed. His grasp on consciousness was feeble but he had to… Needed to… "Tasha…"

"Don't. Just…" She swallowed, hard and loudly. "Just, don't."

* * *

It was like waking up from a nightmare, only to find that she was still in it.

Clint held her. Promised that it was over. But it'd never be over, would it? Not really.

She'd been robbed off herself, again. By a ghost. And all it took was a song.

It used to be her favorite…!

Her head was spinning and aching. No wonder she wasn't aware of the tears. Small mercies…

"Idiot", she rasped hoarsely. Far too much emotion in her voice. "Why…?" She couldn't bring herself to voice the rest.

"'cause you're my best friend", he declared, firmly but quietly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. And, really… It was. "… did the same for me." His grip on her broke entirely.

Natasha turned, her chest tightening painfully and dread swelling in the pit of her stomach like a big, cold ball. She found a pair of barely open eyes and a horribly pale face. Her eyebrows furrowed. "Clint? What's…?" And then she noticed the knife. Her heart clenched unnaturally before it began to thunder. Everything spun horribly for a few moments.

 _NO…!_

What had she done?

Then Clint was falling, and all of a sudden she was moving as well. She caught him and this time it was her turn to hold on. Her hand ghosted above the wound and the weapon, not quite daring to touch. Blood oozed out in a sickening, tiny flow of red.

A nightmare…!

"Backup… will be… here soon…" Clint's hand shifted. It was impossible to tell if he attempted to grab her hand or claw at the wound. His eyes were dazed, barely open. "'s okay…" He smiled, appearing so relieved that it was heartbreaking. He looked at her for a heartbeat, perhaps two, clearly making sure that she was really there. And then his eyes slipped entirely closed, his features growing slack and peaceful.

Natasha felt like she'd been sinking. Down, down, down, into pitch-black waters. The voice that cried out didn't sound like hers. "CLINT!"

* * *

That was how the team which came for backup found them. Clint, heavily unconscious if not worse, pale and bleeding. Natasha holding him, shielding him when it was already hopelessly too late. There was a grim look on her face, which had gone almost as pale as his.

In the hospital's waiting room Nick Fury appeared every bit as solemn as he sat in a waiting room, deep in thought. His gaze barely shifted when Maria Hill walked in, rubbing her face tiredly with one hand. "How is she?"

"Quiet." Maria sighed heavily while sitting. "Well, quieter than usual. She didn't take the news that Dr. Akulov's still missing well." There was a brief pause. "She blames herself."

Fury glanced towards the room's door when there was movement. It was just a nurse running past. "There's only one person who can help her with that." It'd been six hours and so far there'd been no news. He _hated_ waiting. "What, exactly, happened there?" Obviously it wasn't worry that made his voice unnaturally, painfully sharp. He was just irate. "Did she clarify who Dr. Akulov is?"

"Someone from Red Room." There was a grim look on Maria's face. "She doesn't think that it's activating again, but… Apparently this person was supposed to be dead. She didn't explain further."

Fury didn't like how easily someone as strong as Natasha had been turned into the person she used to be. How strong Red Room's hold on her still was, despite all the help and training they'd given her. And he most definitely didn't like the fact that this could cost them two Avengers. "Is she herself?"

Most people would've been appalled by the lack of sympathy in his voice. Maria seemed to know better somehow. "She is", the brunette reassured him with a sigh. "And… isn't." Sadly, that was quite understandable. "She insisted that she'd fill out the official report immediately."

Yes, he could see how letting Natasha do that in her current state of mind might've been a problem… He groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. If this was some sort of a nightmare he was more than ready to wake up.

"I made sure that such wouldn't be expected anytime soon", Maria assured him before he could ask. "They were forced to sedate her as soon as I was done with questioning her, anyway. She was in a state of shock, disoriented, confused and potentially a threat to herself or others."

Yes, Fury had received the report. Upon reaching the scene the backup team found Natasha still hanging on to Clint's unconscious form. As soon as she saw the agents she… reacted. It took them ten minutes to convince her that they'd come to help Clint, not to harm him. That they weren't a threat to Natasha, either.

Fury groaned again, for good measure. And muttered some well-chosen words under his breath, now that Steve Rogers' sensitive ears weren't listening. "What a mess."

"I know." Maria didn't seem any happier than he was. But there was a fire in her eyes, unrelenting hope. Eerily similar to Clint's gaze. "But they're our mess." They both looked towards the door when steps approached, only to see two nurses who were preparing for their soon beginning shift. "Should we call the team?"

"Not… just yet." Fury couldn't imagine the idea of the others rallying around right now sitting well with Natasha. And Clint… His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes fiercely against the searing sensation filling them. "Not until we know more."

And so the decision was made. They sat there, not talking because neither felt the need to mull over the horrid recent events any further that day. And they waited.

Until a doctor finally approached them with an ominous, morose look on his face.

* * *

It took much, much longer than Natasha would've liked to wake up. Not that her nightmares and the reality would've been very different. She couldn't understand why she wasn't incarcerated or worse.

… her mind had been broken, so easily …

They had restrained her, though. Smart. Not smart enough. She fought herself free easily and was on the move before she'd processed where she was going. Despite the fact that due to shock and still lingering drugs her steps were wobbly.

Finding Clint's room was easy enough. She only followed the direction from where medical personnel pissed off at Fury came from. Some of them looked at her oddly, most paid no mind.

It was the ICU, she noticed and her insides tightened until it was painful to breathe.

She spied Fury who was just walking away, most likely to make a phone call. She waited, more patiently than she'd known herself to be capable of, until he was safely out of sight. Then, soundless as a thief, she sneaked into the room.

She'd expected a lot of things. Like how small, frail and _wrong_ Clint looked in the hospital bed. Like the stab of guilt going through her. (The irony…!) She _hadn't_ expected that as soon as she approached, Clint's eyes fluttered open. And filled with such fear she'd never seen before.

Now, Natasha wasn't the kind of a person who ran away from her problems. But with Clint looking at her like that – with such fear… She found that she couldn't stand it.

However, when she turned to leave a feeble but determined hand grabbed her wrist.

* * *

Clint had just dreamt of Natasha's eyes turning cold. Of her fading away. Losing herself.

It was even worse than Loki, to watch that happening to someone he cared about.

Then, all of a sudden, he was awake. Looking at her. And he could tell that she was still slipping away. So he did the only thing he could.

He held on, determined to not let her go and lose herself all over again. He looked at her, desperately trying to make her understand that this wasn't her fault, that it wasn't her. That he understood, all too well, and wasn't going to let her go through this alone.

He was, however, losing the battle against losing consciousness. His eyes had already closed when he could've sworn that he heard a sob. _No…_ Then soft, barely audible words that could've been a trick of his imagination. "… _I'm sorry_ …"

When he woke up again, several days and a couple medical emergencies later, she was gone.

* * *

"I'm already benched." Natasha was positively seething as she squeezed the desk so hard that her knuckles turned white. On the verge of losing whatever little control she had over herself. "And you've been nagging about my piling up vacation days for ages. So sign the paper and let me go."

Fury frowned, assessing her with a single glance. She was pale and obviously exhausted. Painfully tense, a haunted look in her eyes. It was easy to tell that she hadn't really slept since… Well. Normally Fury wouldn't have let any agent in that state of mind out of his sight. But this was the famous Black Widow.

To let her run away – or to hold her back with an iron fist until she'd crack.

Fury wanted to point out that while she hadn't been even allowed to try a psych eval yet – there was absolutely no way she would've been able to handle it – it was evident that while she wasn't herself then, she was now. He wanted to say that while Clint was still in the middle of his recovery at least he _was_ recovering – she wasn't. "Any destination in mind?" he inquired while signing.

"It wouldn't be much of a vacation if I told you."

* * *

If she was fully honest with herself Natasha had no idea where she was planning on going. All she knew was that she'd have to find Dr. Akulov before the woman would find her again instead. Over the course of three weeks Natasha followed those trails to Istanbul, then to Bucharest, Minsk, Craiova… Cities and towns blurred together until she was forced admit the bitter truth to herself.

Dr. Akulov had vanished like a ghost, there was nothing more she could do.

It was two in the morning when that realization finally sunk in. At first Natasha stared at the cheap, disgusting motel room's wall with wide, dazed eyes. Then finally gave in to the urges of her utterly drained body and mind.

She cried, real and honest, for the first time since she was a little girl. The ghosts of the past and crushing guilt keeping her company. That song, which now made her stomach turn, playing in a loop in her head.

Until she heard steps.

Forgetting the embarrassing tears easily, she whirled around, fully prepared to face a threat. She was after a remnant from Red Room, after all. Instead, however, she found Clint. He was incredibly pale, obviously in pain and a little unsteady on his feet. But he was there, looking at her with warm eyes and a tiny, sad smile.

Natasha stared. Her eyes wild, trembling to her core without even noticing it. "You should be in a hospital", she snapped, far more sharply than she'd intended.

Clint shook his head. "Nah." His voice was hoarse but familiar. Calling her out from the dark she'd been lost into for weeks. "I'm right where I should be."

Natasha had no idea which one of them started the hug. But she refused to imagine for long that it could've been her. Yet there they were, embracing each other although it had to set fire into Clint's wound. Alive. Hanging on tight. Getting better.

"Look… I hate to break the mood, but… I _should_ be in a hospital." Clint yawned, looking much more like a cat than a hawk. "So… Sleep?"

Natasha took a deep breath. He sounded, felt and smelled familiar. So why couldn't she stop shaking? "We… should talk", she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

"We'll talk later." Very stubborn. Very Clint Barton. "Now, sleep."

He wasn't joking when he basically admitted to needing rest. She had to practically drag him to bed. Afterwards they lay there, eyes closed. It took less than a minute for Clint to doze off. Natasha, to her later shock, followed soon after.

She slept properly for the first time in weeks.

Yes, there'd be a lot of recovering ahead. For them both. And yes, there'd be a lot of talking – which would be highly unpleasant. But for the time being none of that mattered. Natasha slept on, her best friend alive and safe beside her. And the haunting song became nothing but a memory.

* * *

A couple of days later Natasha was finally back home, unpacking her stuff once she'd ensured that Clint would be checked over by someone from S.H.I.E.L.D's medical team. Only… There was something in her bag which didn't belong there.

A necklace, a tiny arrow.

She fastened it around her neck and never took it off since. Why should she have? It reminded her that she didn't belong to Red Room anymore, that now she had somewhere she belonged. And for as long as she wore the necklace the song never haunted her.

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: Awww! Gotta love Strike Team Delta. Thank gosh they're both recovering now. (smiles)

 **AS FOR THE PHIL RETURNS -STORY…!** You're not gonna believe this, but the votes were even. Now, how about this… Maybe it should be a story of its own? It'd be five to eight chapters long. And YES, there WILL be Clint-whump – and hurt, comfort, and feels. How does this storyline sound? Phil Coulson's old enemy finds out that he's alive and uses Clint to smoke him out. Clint's saved – but what about his relationship with Phil and Nick Fury when the lie comes out? **Would you guys be on board for that one?**

 **IF** it's an independent story, it'll start as soon as tomorrow!

 **THIS COLLECTION** will be updated this weekend. So, after a skipped week (winces) a week with two updates. How's that for an apology? (grins)

I REALLY have to head to bed. Until next time! I really hope that you'll all stay tuned for some feathery adventures.

Taka care!

* * *

Nightshade: I'm SUPER happy that you enjoyed it so much! (BEAMS) I love Fury and couldn't resist the idea of giving himself some spotlight. (grins)

As for the Natasha-chapter… Indeed! Clint would definitely understand how that feels. Hopefully he'll be able to help her…

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: (BEAMS) Sooooooo happy to hear that! Now stay tuned. The votes have been counted and the results are announced in the ending note of this one.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: LOL! I'm overjoyed that enjoyed it so. Especially that you found it unique. And caring-Fury is ADDICTIVE, right? (giggles)

Ah, no worries, however it comes out Clint will most likely end up almost dying. (smirks evilly) We'll see how the votes go.

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	56. Hawk Without a Name, 1 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

A/N: DAAAAAAANG, it's late! (winces) BUT, I just couldn't go to bed without updating this collection so… (smirks sheepishly)

OH… MY GOSH…! Just look at those numbers, people – this collection is blowing up! THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your love and affection towards this story! I LOVE typing this, intensely (more than I should, LOL). It feels amazing that so many of you have joined in! (HUGS)

Awkay, because the clock's ticking… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TO AVOID CONFUSION, HEH…** The 'He' of this story is, obviously, Clint. (grins)

 **Based on a prompt from a dear person, sent AGES ago.** (If you recognize this as your prompt, please announce yourself so I can announce you, if you wish me to!)

* * *

A Hawk Without a Name, part 1 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

* * *

He woke up to the patter of rain. It felt like ice had been poured down on him. He trembled, his whole body so cold that it was a miracle he could breathe. Was he injured? It was hard to tell when he was so very numb.

He tried to get up, to at least open his eyes, but beyond the uncontrollable trembling there was nothing he could do.

And then he heard unfamiliar voices. " _… ist… he still alive?_ " It was oddly muffled, as though coming through a wall. The language sounded like Spanish.

" _Yeah. ... got a pulse …_ " Hands groped him and he wanted to get away from them, wanted them gone, but as it was he couldn't do a thing. " _… hear me? …_ "

" _… n't thin he can_ ", the first voice pointed out. A finger brushed his ear, making him shudder. " _… thing's broken._ "

" _Deaf, huh?_ " The activity around his ear intensified, making his heart hammer and filling his whole being with discomfort. " _… doesn't look like a regular hearing aid …_ "

The device was taken away and whatever little he'd been able to hear faded away. Or maybe he simply lost consciousness. Because everything else disappeared, too.

* * *

A light shone into his eyes. Uncomfortably, painfully bright. He shivered and most likely groaned. He couldn't hear it but felt something pass through his throat. This time he could move. His hand shot out at a remarkable speed – even if the simple motion made his shoulder feel like it'd been set on fire – and grabbed a wrist. Hard.

For a couple of seconds the other – a victim or an attacker, it's too early to tell – remained frozen by shock. Then tried to yank the trapped limb away desperately. Scared. It was the fear that made him let go like he'd been burned.

Finally he was able to open his eyes properly. At first everything was far too blurry for him to distinguish anything. Then, slowly, his suddenly hellishly throbbing head began to catch on.

He saw a beautiful woman who'd tied her wavy brown hair to a ponytail. There was a frown on her pale face. The worry wasn't exactly uncalled for. " _I know that you can't hear me, James. But can you understand me, if I talk slowly and clearly?_ "

He nodded, his eyebrows furrowing. James…? No, that couldn't be right. It didn't sound right. He wasn't…

Who was he, anyway?

She searched through something. Then showed him a driver's license. 'James Coughlin', it said. " _Is this you?_ "

He stared at the picture, his chest tightening uncomfortably. That face… looked familiar. But the name still refused to ring true. He nodded, very slowly. Then shook his head.

" _You don't know?_ " the woman guessed somehow. She definitely wasn't scared of him anymore, nor was she pitying him. She was just genuinely worried; for him, herself or someone else, he couldn't tell. " _My guess is that it isn't your real name, anyway. Very few around here go by their real names._ " Her eyes narrowed, just a little, studying him. " _Do you remember what happened to you?_ "

He shook his head, feeling cold and aching horribly all over. He was incredibly tired and, if he was honest with himself, scared. This interrogation from a stranger was the last thing he wanted.

" _You had a gunshot graze on your head when you ran straight to a street and got hit by a car. It was unclear whether you were running away from or towards something. You have numerous bruises, lacerations, four broken ribs and a broken clavicle. I removed bullets from your right side and left shoulder. It's also fairly clear that you have a severe concussion along with the gunshot wound._ " The woman gritted her teeth, compassion and frustrated fury in her eyes. " _You're still incredibly feverish and there may be internal damage. Not to even mention how worrying these memory problems are. You should be taken to a hospital._ "

He shook his head firmly, no matter how much it hurt, ignoring the waves of nausea and dizziness. "No", he announced firmly, the words rumbling in his throat like a roar. He didn't know much about _anything_. But he _did_ know that he couldn't go to a hospital with several gunshot wounds.

Too many questions. Too much attention. Especially when he was in no condition to defend himself.

He'd been running, despite having been shot several times. Whether he'd been running away from or towards something he had a solid guess that there were people who shouldn't find him. People who'd hurt him, and others.

The woman didn't seem to understand his reasoning. Her jawline tightened and her eyes darkened. " _I may not be able to help you here. I don't have enough medication or supplies for the kind of injuries you have._ "

He shrugged. His eyelids were drooping as pain, exhaustion, his injuries and whatever medication he'd been given began to drag him towards sleep. "… 'll be enough", he declared and had a feeling that it wasn't comprehensible. Swore even if he had absolutely no way of knowing.

He slipped into the dark again. Amongst strangers. Without a clue of who he really was. Knowing, deep down, that there was a threat looming around somewhere.

Knowing that _everything_ was wrong and in his current condition there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

The third time he woke up the room felt and smelled different, somehow. Sweat. Blood. The general stench of someone having been ill. He shivered and wrinkled his nose.

How long had he been unconscious?

His eyes fluttered open and darted around suspiciously in the dim light. He wasn't in the condition to fight but he wanted to be ready. He still didn't know if there was an acute danger.

The woman from the previous time was there again. The worry still lingered on her face. " _I can tell that you're in pain. I just gave you some medication. It should help soon._ "

His brows furrowed while he licked his parched lips. She'd given him something too strong. He was feeling drowsy and hated it. "How long?"

" _Since the injury? Six days._ " She approached him and began to inspect one of his wounds. Judging by the look on her face it wasn't healing well. " _No one's come looking for you, if you're worried. Not that anyone would even know to come here._ "

He blinked sluggishly, trying to stay awake. Pieces began to slide together as he was finally, momentarily, coherent enough to take in their miserable surroundings and her clothes. She was a homeless person, with extensive medical knowledge. His head turned just enough for him to see her arms. There was a minefield of old and some far fresher track marks.

He was out of it enough to stare, and she noticed. She shivered but didn't hide the source of her apparent shame. " _We're all faceless and nameless here. I was Dr. Marta Shearing, once._ " She scratched the marks absentmindedly. " _I made mistakes. Now I'm no one. Just like the rest of us._ " The ghost of a half sad, half bitter smile lingered on her lips for a moment. " _I don't know how you've been stubborn enough to make it this far. Maybe you'll even pull through. If you do… You'll fit right in, James._ "

He frowned, watching as she worked on the wound. He was already halfway asleep by the time he got the words out. "Why do you care?" They were strangers. It was clear that he brought along a threat. So why would she take the risk of hiding him and helping him?

She looked into his eyes. The sorrow in her gaze was palpable. " _Because you remind me of someone I used to know._ " Her eyes narrowed, like she was able to sense his agony and exhaustion growing. " _Now get some rest. You're being too stubborn for your own good._ "

Those oddly, comfortingly familiar words lulled him to sleep, gave the man without a name or a past a false sense of security.

* * *

The next time he managed to wake up he could actually hear. His head felt clearer and although the pain was definitely there, roaring, it didn't threaten to consume him in whole anymore. He heard someone – a woman – humming softly. A sharp twinge announced that she'd just tended to the gunshot wound on his side.

Marta noticed his twitch and stopped. "Hey. I was wondering when you'd join me." Her voice was softer than he'd expected. "It took us a while to get it fixed."

"Thanks", he rasped, and winced at how his voice sounded. When his eyes agreed to open she had her back to him while she changed his I.V. bag. "For…"

He was interrupted when a man entered the room. Tension and hostility lingered in the air as the arrival's green eyes clashed with his. The man with reddish blond hair was incredibly tall and broad shouldered. And not pleased with his presence. Definitely a threat.

His hearing aid was still acting up but he caught a word here and there. Words which the two most likely imagined he wouldn't understand. " _… not letting him die!_ " Marta snapped, working remarkably well at keeping her voice even.

The man was about to answer when their eyes met once more. The newcomer's gaze bore into his, seeing far too much. " _Outside. Now._ "

He shivered, watching the two leave. As soon as he was alone he began working on the I.V. line, yanking it off and mentally preparing himself for what was to come. Even if there was no way he could know.

He'd been staying put for a while, hiding, recovering. But now… Now it was time to get going. Because the hatred he just saw…

He'd been laying down too long already. He needed to know who he was. What'd he'd done. Who was after him and why. For the sake of himself and others.

The problem with his plan was that after such a long time of immobility and with several serious injuries his body didn't appreciate being pushed around. Getting up was a world of agony and the ensuing dizziness nearly swept him to the floor. Taking actual steps… was too much.

He managed one. It was like crawling through broken glass. Two. Was there anything unbroken in his entire body? Three. The whole world was swaying before his eyes. Four. Was someone sawing off his legs? Five.

He slumped to the floor and plunged into far too familiar dark.

* * *

Marta clearly didn't appreciate his determination. Yet again she was there when he woke up, glaring at him. "Do you have any idea how much damage your inflicted on yourself with that little stunt? How insanely stupid it was?"

He swallowed. Someone must've given him water because his mouth wasn't painfully dry anymore. Well, the rest of his body was quite painful enough… "I have to leave", he insisted huskily. Feeling far more determined than his body was ready for.

Marta groaned, then shook her head. "I'm not letting you head to your death. I took an oath, once. And you're a good person."

He snorted. Sounding far more bitter and frustrated than he would've liked. He wanted himself back! He wanted his life back, no matter how dark and twisted it'd been! "Even I don't know who I am", he pointed out. "So how should you know?"

"Because I know people." For the first time the drafty room's little light met her face, revealing the massive bruise circling her eye. It made his blood boil and she clearly noticed because she gave him a hard, warning look. "None of your business. So do not interfere."

"He can't…!"

"No, he can't." Marta sounded deadly calm. Chillingly so. "So I handled him."

He had an eerie feeling that he knew exactly what she meant. It bothered him far less than it should've. What sort of a monster was he? "You've killed people." It wasn't a question.

Marta shrugged. She didn't appear proud or pleased. It was merely admitting a fact. "So have you. We all have. We're survivors and this is a twisted little family." Her faint smile was full of grief but genuine. "Didn't I tell you? You'll fit right in."

He smiled back and had a feeling that it came out exactly like hers.

That was when Marta remembered something. She began to pull something from underneath his bed. "I was supposed to give this back earlier but then you decided to be a moron and endanger your recovery." She went on upon seeing his confusion. "You had it when you were found. I'm sorry that there were no arrows left."

He barely heard the final sentence and it had nothing to do with the hearing aid. He stared at the item she offered towards him, his heart racing madly and his head buzzing. He felt like he was flying and falling simultaneously.

Because even though he still had no idea who he was, as soon as he curled his fingers tenderly around the bow he felt like he'd come home.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So… What kind of a gang has Clint managed to find? And how will he get his memory back? Where's the team in all this? Will I ever stop asking questions only I have the answers to?

PLEASE, do leave a note! It ALWAYS makes my day to hear from ya. It's MARVELOUS to hear from fellow Hawkeye fans!

 **KEEP IN MIND, THERE WILL ALMOST DEFINITELY BE A NEW UPDATE ON THIS COLLECTION'S BIRTHDAY! I hope you don't mind an early update…?**

Awkay, I REALLY have to go and get some sleep. Until next time! I really hope that you'll all stay tuned for that one.

Take care!

ps: To anyone wondering… **THE PHIL COULSON RETURNS -STORY OF MINE HAS NOW BEEN KICK-STARTED**. Yay?

* * *

Nightshade: OH, how happy I am that you enjoyed it so much! (BEEEEEEAMS) I adore Natasha, too, so it means a lot that you like my interpretation of her! And its means THE WORLD that you adore the Clint I'm typing so much. (hugs)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: Oh wow…! (BEAMS, and bows) I'm SUPER happy that you enjoyed it so much! I LOVE the friendship between Clint and Natasha, too, so I always do my best to do it justice.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: The Coulson returns -story is officially out! (BEAMS)

I'm overjoyed that you've enjoyed this collection so very much! I really hope that you'll be every bit as pleased with what's to come.

Huge thank yous for the review!


	57. Hawk Without a Name, 2 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

A/N: Phew! It's INSANELY late. But I was determined to nail this on this particular day, so… (grins)

THANK YOU, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART, FOR ALL YOUR REVIEWS, LISTINGS AND LOVE! AND FOR STICKING AROUND FOR A FULL YEAR! This is my longest running fic and it warms my heart, more than you could ever imagine, that you're all taking this mad journey with me! (HUGS)

SO, HAPPY BIRTHDAY 'SOS'! May there be lots more Clint-whump to come!

Awkay, because the clock's TICKING… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy this birthday update.

* * *

A Hawk Without a Name, part 2 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

* * *

Whoever he used to be, this was his life now. He was faceless. Nameless. Homeless. He didn't have anything but the bow, the arrows he made in hours of boredom and his bizarre hearing aid.

But at least he was recovering, infuriatingly slowly but still. According to Marta it'd been two months. Finally his world expanded from the tiny, drafty room.

He looked around curiously, taking in the building as he made his way through. Everything was brand new, a little overwhelming. "What is this place, anyway?"

"A place no one cares about in London." One corner of Marta's lips twitched. "This is called Robin Hood Gardens."

He couldn't help but laugh a little. The irony… "Home sweet home, huh?"

"For as long as we can stay here, anyway." She pursed her lips. "I like it here, actually. Compared to many others this is a nice place."

He wondered just how many worse places she'd used for a temporary home. The thought of someone like her living a life like this saddened him. He held his tongue, though. "You… mentioned that there are others." It had bothered him for a while, now that he was coherent and had too much time to think. How were Marta and that chilling man the only people he'd met so far?

Marta sighed. "Most of them are… shy. They've had a lot of bad experiences. And I'll be brutally honest. I like you, but I haven't decided whether I can trust you." They locked eyes. "You were heavily armed when we found you, and all your old and new injuries suggest that you have extensive combat experience. We don't know why you were running. What kind of people are after you and what they're willing to do to find you."

While his facial expression remained unchanged he shivered. Those thoughts were such that'd kept him awake on several nights when he should've been resting. Who he was, now that was one question. The other, far more dangerous, was what he'd done. "Maybe you should've turned me away", he pointed out.

Marta shrugged. "Probably. But I took that stupid oath once." Funny, that – it sounded like a parent swallowing back a naughty word in front of a child. "I can't just turn my back on someone when they'd die without my help." She hesitated. Something he'd never seen before. "Especially on someone who has as much to lose as you seem to."

He froze. His gaze studied her face intently, unable to read anything. "What are you talking about?"

Marta appeared apologetic. "I wanted to wait until you recovered a little." She began to search through her pocket. "We looked through your clothes, while you were unconscious. It's a standard procedure with someone who isn't one of us. We found this."

An item was handed towards him. A photograph. He accepted it with hesitation, a heavy feeling settling to the pit of his stomach.

On the picture a woman with brown hair and two children – a boy and a younger girl – looked towards him, smiles on their faces. Or well, the ladies were smiling, the boy trying not to. The photograph was worn, like it'd been handled a lot.

Something painfully sharp traveled through him, nearly enough to strike him breathless. The sound of a little girl's excited voice echoed in his head. ' _Daddy!_ '

"What an adorable family", Marta complimented, melancholy in her voice.

He wanted to comment but couldn't. His head was spinning. His heart was racing and breaking all at once. The sudden longing… It was shocking, and crushing.

"James?"

Somehow that name – _wrong, wrong, wrong!_ – made him feel even worse. He couldn't look at her because he couldn't move his eyes from the picture. "I… I need air. I need air."

Marta didn't ask or judge. Only shrugged. "Okay."

That was how they ended up sitting outside. In pouring rain. They stayed there until Marta announced that she'd drag him inside before he'd pass out.

Neither was aware of the pair of eyes observing them.

* * *

/ _"_ Tin Can, what's your status? _"_

 _The tone of Clint's voice was more than enough to send shivers of alarm down Tony's spine. The series of gunshots from the archer's end didn't help him calm down. He frowned, wishing that he could've picked up speed as he sped through the sky. "What have you done?" he groaned, trying to sound irritated rather than worried and failing miserably._

 _"_ I've got the package covered. They decided to take it personally. _" Clint sounded ever so slightly out of breath. And tense, although someone who didn't know it might've missed it. "_ Any chance you could give me and the Doc a lift? _"_

 _Well. That was a surprise. "Feathers, exactly what are you…?" That was when he saw two people in the horizon, falling through the air from a dangerously high-floor office towards the murky waters of Thames. "You didn't just blow up another enemy office!" he snarled, something close to panic sharpening his tone._

 _"I_ didn't. Doc here did. Now get that metal ass of yours here! _"_

 _It spoke volumes of the gravity of the situation that Tony offered no snarky remarks. Instead he hurried on, trying desperately to keep his ever-analytical mind from calculating whether he'd be too late. Unwilling to wonder if this would be the time when he'd be too late to save his friend._

 _For a little while he managed to be optimistic. He reached the plummeting duo. First he grabbed a secure hold of the doctor they'd come to rescue in the first place. Then his free hand took Clint's wrist, firmly, desperately. Determined to not let go. The Hawk winced from the whiplash and shivered, but didn't slip from his grasp._

 _And then all went to hell – there was no prettier way to describe it._

 _Clint's eyes widened as the man saw something behind him. Before the archer could voice a warning, however, a bullet whistled by. It missed the Doc, as it was probably supposed to. It gave a 'bling' as it brushed his metal suit. And then it encountered Clint's unshielded head. A splash of blood stained Tony's armor while his friend went utterly limp in his hold, eyes closing._

 _Tony was about to deliver a roar, perhaps a plea. But then something attacked him. A rival in a metal armor._

 _His hold on the Doc held. But Clint's wrist slipped from his fingers. Sending the Hawk plummeting down, down, down._

 _The sight of Clint plunging into the water, unconscious, would haunt Tony until his dying day._ /

* * *

Tony Stark had very vague memory flashes of what happened next.

There was a scuffle. The Doc brought it to an abrupt end with a device which would've normally fascinated the billionaire. Not quickly enough. By then Clint had already vanished without a trace.

It'd been two and a half months, and they hadn't caught a trace of Clint since.

Tony swallowed thickly and narrowed his eyes. He rubbed them roughly with both hands, hating how they stung from lack of sleep and something else entirely. Come to think of it, he hated pretty much everything at the moment.

He wanted to believe that Clint wasn't dead, like pretty much everyone else seemed to believe. He wanted his friend back. He wanted this nightmare to finally end.

But it _wasn't_ over. Their newest enemies had used a guy in a metal armor against him, which he took as a personal insult. The said enemy was horribly crippled but not down. A top secret flash drive, full of important and delicate information, was missing. And according to the Doc they saved only Clint knew where it was.

Steve dedicated himself to ensuring the Doc's safety. Like it was some sort of an act of penance. Natasha had gone missing over a month ago, out of her own free will. Who knew what was going through her head. Bruce and Thor… They were still missing. It was ridiculous how much Tony missed them.

Because he felt like these days he was fighting alone.

Tony swallowed yet again, feeling lost, abandoned and miserable. He needed a drink but knew that he couldn't risk one, not yet. "Look, Feathers…" He sighed at the computer screen. "If you're still out there… I could really use a sign right about now."

He actually jumped when there was a 'ding', announcing that he'd received a new mail.

Healthily cautious, Tony opened the message from an unfamiliar sender. He stared for several long moments even though it was short. His head whirring.

' _Are you still looking for Hawkeye?_ '

Tony hesitated uncharacteristically. If this was his only shot at finding Clint… ' _Yes. Who is this?_ '

' _A friendly warning._ ' More floated in after a brief pause. ' _Stop looking._ '

Tony felt incredibly cold. He gritted his teeth, then typed. ' _Why should I?_ '

' _Because he's still alive, for now. But if you find him so will others. And after that you'll never see him alive again._ '

* * *

His life was by no means glamorous. And it was confined. But he wasn't a prisoner.

At two months and three weeks Marta woke him up early in the morning and asked him to come with her. He obeyed, confused and wary. He was even more so when she led him to a park, with five kids.

"It's still quiet around here at this hour", she explained while the kids were busy having fun. "I want them to see the world. But… They don't need the attention most people give us."

He nodded slowly, unable to tear his gaze away from the kids. Two boys and three girls. Reasonably clean but in old, worn clothes. One of the boys wore a shirt that had the picture of Captain America's shield. For some reason seeing the picture brought a twinge of longing. Not as sharp as the photograph but still.

After a small eternity he managed to look towards Marta. That was when he noticed that he wasn't the only one trying to overcome longing. He thought about it for a long moment before speaking out. "You… lost yours, didn't you?"

She shuddered visibly. For a while he was sure that she wouldn't answer until she whispered barely audibly. "It was an accident. My little boy…" She swallowed and wiped her eyes although no tears were visible yet. There was a heartbreaking amount of pain in her eyes. "He was only five. Just like Alfie, there."

He took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. He couldn't even imagine… "I'm sorry", he murmured. All of a sudden he understood all too clearly what led to the track marks on her arms. What broke her.

"It almost killed me", she admitted with brutal honesty. "But here I am. I still don't know why."

He didn't know what to say to that. How to console her when no words would do any good. "You will, one day."

Well, how about that. Marta chuckled. "So. You're either an assassin or a philosopher." Seeing his surprise, she clarified. "One of the kids, Allie, saw your target practicing. She's hoping that you'll teach her." She searched his face. And seemed to understand. "But you're not going to stay, are you?"

He didn't answer, couldn't bring himself to face what they both knew. Instead he looked away from her, focusing on the children. The silence which fell was surprisingly comfortable.

* * *

Fate and luck are fickle things. Because only about half an hour ago Natasha, who'd spent several weeks looking for her friend – unable to let go although she should've – from all over the world, passed by the park. Only to have the sight on the other side of the busy street freeze her.

At first it looked like a very poor family. A man and a woman with five children, all in old clothes that'd been worn several times too many. But then her eyes locked with the man's entirely too familiar ones. Her heart leapt uncomfortably.

The man was obviously unwell. He wasn't clean shaven. But she would've recognized him anywhere.

Because while anything else might've fooled her those eyes never could've.

She didn't think. All she could think of doing was to cry out. "Clint!"

* * *

He froze as a woman's voice drifted through the wind. " _Clint!_ " He turned his head just in time to see a redhead on the other side of the road. She made a move towards him until she saw the lack of recognition in his eyes. And then heavy traffic separated them.

"Do you have any idea who she is?" Marta inquired sharply, clearly worried when they had the children to protect.

"No", he murmured. His heart heavy and aching. Because he didn't know, didn't have even a clue, and he realized that he desperate wanted to know.

Was that stranger there to kill him or to take him home?

* * *

By the time the traffic had passed by, allowing Natasha a visual, Clint, the woman and the children were gone.

* * *

They made their back in a comfortable silence, listening to the children babbling excitedly. He was surprised to find a small, young dark skinned woman waiting for them outside the door. One of the children greeted the stranger excitedly, telling everything about the park in a language he barely understood.

"James, this is Aisha." There was a soft, almost comforting look on Marta's face. "She… doesn't talk much."

He surprised himself with delivering an honest smile. If one of this strange building's even stranger occupants chose to trust him enough to let him babysit her daughter and to let him see her… "It's alright", he assured and pointed at his hearing aid. "I don't hear very well."

The stupid, bad joke earned an honest smile in return.

Aisha then gave Marta a note. The woman read it and gave them a look. "Why don't you see what you can do about a breakfast? I'll be back soon."

He frowned. Some sixth sense inside him was screaming a warning. "Is everything okay?"

Marta grinned. It was almost convincing. "Sure. Just… a very old problem I should've taken care of long ago. I'll be back before you know it."

He kept tracking down her distancing back until he felt a tug on the hem of his shirt. Looking down he found Aisha's little girl, who was staring at him with wonder and curiosity. "Is it true that you don't remember a thing?"

Her innocent fascination was heartwarming. He found himself smiling. "Yup. Not even my own name."

"So…" The child frowned. "You're not James?"

He nodded as a confirmation.

She considered the new information as they entered the building. "You're no James", she agreed. "You look like Jerry."

He chuckled. "Oh? As in short for Jeremy?"

The girl shook her head immediately. "Nah. Just Jerry."

He ruffled the child's hair. Somehow it helped his heart hurt less. "You know what? Jerry's a lot better name than James."

* * *

Dr. Stephen Strange was a very… interesting person. Steve had a lot of time to notice as much, because they'd spent pretty much the entirety of almost three months in a safe house. Waiting for when it'd be safe for the Doc to re-enter the world.

The enemy wanted Dr. Strange back desperately. Steve had sworn, out loud and internally, that he'd do absolutely anything it'd take to keep that from happening. Saving the man cost them Clint's life. He wouldn't let that go to waste.

Steve did his best to convince himself that what happened wasn't the doctor's fault. Stephen did whatever the man could to make amends, helped in every way he could and beyond. Which included processing the suit of armor which attacked Tony until Stephen collapsed from exhaustion. In the end they accepted one another's constant, inescapable presence with silence.

They were both private men. Used to looking after themselves. Silence was the best way to go to avoid driving one another mad.

Until one early morning Stephen's words nearly made Steve choke on his coffee. "Captain Rogers. We have to go to London."

Steve turned to ask why. Before he could Stephen pointed at a laptop's screen. The sight there nearly swept the Captain off his feet. His phone started ringing but neither heard.

The footage, most likely filmed with a smartphone, showed who could be no one else but Clint Barton. Walking with a woman Steve couldn't recognize. The Hawk didn't seem to be well but the man was alive.

Then the footage ended, turned black.

"It's a warning." The look on Stephen's face was nothing short of torn. "I go back. Or you'll never see agent Barton alive again."

* * *

While Clint enjoyed a moment calm Marta returned to the park. Her whole body tensed up when she saw the man waiting for her. The note passed on to her only told her to appear. She'd known to expect something unpleasant since. "What do you want?" she hissed while taking a seat as far from him as she dared to.

The man clicked his tongue. "That's no way to greet your father." He waited no longer than a second before continuing. "It's come to my attention that you have… a special visitor. I have a present for him." He held out a vial for her.

Rage – such she'd experienced only a few times before – coursed through her. She stared at the item in disbelief. "Are you asking me to poison him?" she growled in disbelief.

"He stole something very, very valuable, and only he knows where it is."

"He doesn't know much of anything right now", she pointed out sharply, hoping against all hope…

"Don't worry about that, dear. We have ways to… coax his memory." Those words were nowhere near as chilling as the tone.

"Who is he?" Marta asked against her better judgment, because the less she knew…

"An enemy." Her father's eyes were cold and soulless upon meeting hers. "Either you give him this, and ensure that I get to have… a talk with him. Or you'll never see your daughter again."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear gosh…! Poor Clint! Poor team! Poor Marta! This is quite the horror story for them all. Let's just hope that our favorite Hawk comes out okay…

SOOOOOOOO… Any good? A worthy birthday present? PLEASE, do let me know! And this story wouldn't object to any birthday wishes… (grins and winks)

I've reeeeeeeeeally gotta go now. Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): (BEAMS): I'm REALLY happy that you find this so promising! I really hope that what's to come meets your expectations.

LOL! I just couldn't resist the Eater Eggs. (smirks and wiggles eyebrow)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: (BEAMS, and bows) I always aim to make each tale of this collection unique. (jumps with joy) Thrilled that you enjoyed it! We'll see just what unfolds…

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (2): Ah, we'll see, we'll see… I couldn't resist the temptation to hide a couple of Easter Eggs. (grins) I REALLY hope that the rest turns out worth the wait!

Massive thank yous for the review!


	58. Hawk Without a Name, 3 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

A/N: PHEW! It's waaaaaaaaaaaay too late but I just couldn't bring myself to stop typing. So… Here we are! (grins)

THANK YOU, so, so, so much for all your reviews, support and birthday wishes for this mad collection! You can't even imagine how good it feels that so many Clint/Hawkeye fans have found this. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, before I get sappy… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Hawk Without a Name, part 3 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

* * *

One of Tony Stark's best traits was that when he wanted to be, he could be very efficient. All it took was a brief call and a private jet had been arranged for Steve and Stephen. Steve's head was still spinning on their way towards London.

If he was fully honest with himself Steve still wasn't entirely sure why the Avengers were sent to save Dr. Stephen Strange. Most of the information concerning the doctor's past and career was classified. From what the Captain had seen the medical man was worthy of his surname but had succeeded in learning very little else of his enigmatic charge. He was ashamed to admit that he'd kept some distance. The emotional turmoil the whole thing caused… was a little too much.

They thought that they lost Clint. He wanted to tell Laura what happened himself – to take the responsibility of a team leader, and a friend – but Natasha took that grim task instead. Steve had spent several nights awake since then, 'what ifs' and thoughts of the Barton family haunting him. And now… Now Clint was alive. What happened to the archer? Why didn't he come back to them and his family?

That, however, was beside the point. Now they'd figure out how to get him back. And for that they needed to know what they were up against.

"His name is James Milverton." Stephen's voice had become very cold all of a sudden and the man's eyes promised murder. "He's a scientist and an inventor. As far as I know his… experiments have killed almost three hundred people, more or less directly. Bombs, chemical weapons… Lately he's been fascinated with the Avengers."

" _Hence the suit_ ", Tony hissed through a speaker, obviously still appalled, disgusted, hurt and insulted.

"Yes", Stephen affirmed. There was a grim look on the doctor's face. "As I said, he's obsessed with your team. And because he knows that you'll never work for him he's been exploring possible ways to destroy you. He… coaxed me to help him develop his very own Super-Soldier Serum."

" _And that is why he captured you?_ " Natasha confirmed from her end, her tone a great deal tighter than usual. Steve felt the need to comfort her. Even if he knew that she would've beaten him up for it.

"No." Stephen gritted his teeth. "I went willingly, because I was hoping that I'd be able to destroy his work from the inside. Your rescue interrupted me, as much as I appreciate it." Obviously he saw their surprise. "He used me to lure you there. His intention was to destroy you. He might've succeeded if I didn't cause that explosion."

They all spent a few moments absorbing the new information. Steve frowned. "Why would you take such a risk?"

"Because he needs me alive and uninjured." Stephen sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Not only because of the… project I just told you about. But also because I may be the only one who can save his life." He took the sharp silence which responded as a demand to clarify. "Milverton is terminally ill and needs an organ transplant. The problem is that despite a long search, there's only one match."

"According to his file he has two daughters."

"Yes", Stephen agreed. "Marta, who goes by her mother's surname for obvious reasons. She isn't a match. The other daughter is."

"Ilsa."

Something unreadable but, for a fraction of a second, visible flashed in Stephen's eyes. "He needs her, even if helping him would kill her. And I'm the only one who knows where she is."

" _I assume that he wasn't very happy about you withholding information_ ", Tony predicted.

"I have no one close enough to me whose life and safety he could've threatened anymore." Stephen stared at the wall with a gloomy, dark gaze, seeming to feel sick. "But over these past months he's… been sending me pictures of random people." None of them needed to ask about the nature of those pictures. For a medical professional who gave an oath to fight for life the weight of guilt they brought must've been crushing.

" _We'll stop him_ ", Natasha swore, her voice full of steel hard determination. And while Steve knew that she kept secrets and sometimes lied, he also knew that she didn't give empty promises. " _Whatever it takes._ " This monster took her partner, her best friend, and attempted to use him as a bargaining tool. She'd make sure that the man paid.

* * *

He was deep in thought as Marta approached him. Her hand trembled subtly while she offered a steaming mug towards him. Clearly a craving was rolling in. "Tea?"

He bit back a smile. The British solution to all the sorrows in the world. "Thanks." He took a sip, let the taste swirl on his tongue. "Chamomile?"

"My own mixture." Marta took a seat beside him on the worn, most likely moldy couch. Her nose scrunched momentarily. "I don't trust those from a store."

He took a couple of more sips, sinking deep into thoughts. How about that. His head was already a little more clear.

They both stared at the vial on the table.

Marta appeared genuinely disgusted. She folded her arms. "So… Any idea what we're gonna do about that?"

His eyes narrowed. In that moment all worry and doubt left him. "I'll take it back to him and thank him for the thoughtful gift."

"He's going to…"

"… what, kill me? Nah. I'm not much good for him dead." He glanced towards the bow and newly made arrows resting at his feet. "And I'm not planning on sticking with him for tea."

* * *

By the time the jet touched down Tony and Natasha were already waiting. Both of them looked fully prepared to take down any enemy fate would throw at them. "Ready?" Tony inquired, his voice sharpened by the unnecessary guilt he'd been carrying around for months.

"Ready", Steve and Stephen confirmed together. Steve stepped forward, revealing his shield. "Now let's go. We've already wasted too much time."

* * *

James Milverton was just about to leave the base building when he froze at the sight of an unexpected guest. He frowned, staring at his daughter. Very quickly his gaze sharpened to a glare. "Didn't I hint clearly enough that I wouldn't be want to see you come here alone?"

Marta gave him a wry look. "Well, you've told me that I'm slow since I was a little girl." Her eyes flashed. "Besides, I'm not alone."

Before Milverton could ask something flew through the air and landed close to his feet, shattering. A vial. "Thanks, for that." He'd never heard that voice before but made the connection quickly. "But I've never been the experimental type, so I'll pass."

Milverton lifted his gaze. Very close to the ceiling, dangling on a massive pipe, was a human shaped shadow. A tiny beam of light streamed in, shimmering as it hit a metallic arrow head.

"You know… If you wanted to check what I know you could've just asked." The voice, laced with badly veiled hostility, made the hair in the back of his neck rise. "Or did you just want an excuse to see me?"

He gritted his teeth, annoyance burning in his veins like lava. "Why don't you come down here, Hawkeye? I like to see the eyes of those I'm talking to."

"Alright."

The shadow moved. Milverton watched with a great deal of fascination how the younger man used first smaller pipes, then metallic beams and made his way downwards. Perfectly controlled and smooth, like an Olympic athlete.

And then Clint Barton stood only steps away from him. There was a grim, dangerous look on the man's face. "Let's talk."

* * *

The building gave Tony chills in an instant. Cold and massive, such that sent a very clear 'stay away' message. Of course he headed right towards it. It didn't come as a surprise that almost instantly a metallic suit was flying towards him. Jet-black, with the parts which in his suit were yellow painted blood-red.

Tony's eyes narrowed. That… thing was a poor mockery of the Iron Man, attacked him, made him drop Clint. "Round two", he growled.

They clashed loudly and violently. The opponent was good, Tony gave him that. But nothing could've matched his own fierce, rage fueled determination.

Fifteen minutes after the clash started a black pile of metal crashed to the ground.

Tony took a deep breath before daring to test his voice. "So? Was that enough of a distraction for you?"

" _Showoff_ ", Natasha muttered.

" _Thanks_ ", Steve responded a little more politely.

"No problem." Tony glanced towards the building with a torn look in his eyes. He would've wanted to go in to look for Clint, badly. But as it was… His attention moved towards the shadows sneaking towards him in the night's darkness. Well, the idea _was_ to get the entire security personnel's attention… "Keep me posted, okay? I've got some people who seem eager to say 'hi'."

* * *

The echoes of Iron Man's battles carried to where the trio stood but none of them paid that a lot of mind at the moment.

Hawkeye stepped closer to the monster. His heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through his veins. "I don't even know my name", he pointed out. "Whatever information it is that you want from me… I won't be able to give it to you."

Milverton sighed heavily. There was a disappointed look in the man's suddenly tired eyes. "Then what use, exactly, are you to me alive?"

"Clearly worth something", he pointed out. Taking another step forward. "Otherwise I'd be dead already."

"You won't make it out of here alive", Milverton pointed out.

Hawkeye shrugged. Unable to feel as worried as he probably should've. He was _angry_. This man cost him his memories, himself – his family. No matter what, it wouldn't go unpunished. "From what I've heard we're both dead men, then. But out of us two I'm the one who has a chance."

The look that appeared to Milverton's eyes was a nice, if a little feeble reward.

He pulled out an arrow and aimed at the criminal. "This is the garage level of the building. Before your arrival we ensured that we'll have at least five minutes of quality time with you before anyone from the security gets here. You really should consider trusting one of them enough to walk with you at all times." His body braced itself. "There's nothing you could or would do for me. But you took away Marta's child. Tell us where she is… and I may consider not putting an arrow between your eyes. Or to more delicate areas."

Milverton, however, smiled. "You know what? I don't think you'll do such thing." The man seemed to be listening. "Because you got one thing wrong. I _do_ trust someone to keep me company at all times. That someone's already here."

He and Marta could only stare as a girl, no older than twelve, emerged from the shadows. As though out of thin air. The arrival was holding a bow with three tiny yet deadly arrows ready to be fired. Every little bit of metal was coated heavily by liquid. Poison.

Her unexpected arrival, or her age, weren't the worst part. The thing that shattered Hawkeye's heart was the look that took over Marta's face. One of sheer agony. "Ava…!"

"And as for my granddaughter?" Milverton's teeth shone in the dim light. "She's right here."

* * *

Natasha made her way through the building soundlessly. Tony's little havoc had ensured her a fairly clearly route but she got the chance to vent her frustration on a couple of poor, unsuspecting souls. Every single one of her senses was on high alert while she entered a massive laboratory.

Instantly a load of highly unpleasant memories rolled in and she gritted her teeth to keep herself from gagging.

A few seconds later her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Which was when she saw the massive cage. If she'd been feeling ill before…

The cage was empty, the door ajar. And there, on its floor, lay abandoned several toys. Barbie dolls, Legos, books, puzzles… There were also clothes, such that seemed to belong to someone close to their teenage years.

What was she looking at? What _the hell_ was going on? What kind of a monster had been allowed loose into the shadows?

* * *

When Marta last saw her daughter the child was two years old. It was the second time her… less than advisable habits took over. By the time she got clean her father had obtained full custody of Ava and announced that he'd ensure she'd never get her hands on the child again.

And here she was. Those incredibly blue eyes – which once laughed even at every stupid noise she made – were full of steel. A deadly weapon was trained right at her.

"Ava", she tried again. Her voice broke but she didn't care. "Ava… Sweetie…"

"They're a security risk", her father interrupted her. No emotion visible or audible. "They came here to harm us. Finish them."

Tears ran down Marta's cheeks. Her child… Her innocent little girl… "Ava…" Her mouth opened several times unsuccessfully. Their eyes locked and held, and she tried desperately to find at least a ghost of her daughter. Maybe it was there. Maybe it was nothing but a trick of her imagination. She wanted to, needed to, believe that it was real. "Ava, sweetie… It's alright."

The child's hands wavered, but only for a second or two.

The sounds of the three arrows being released simultaneously was the loudest thing she'd ever heard. Time stopped. Then sped up. All of a sudden Hawkeye stood in front of her.

The only sound he emitted when the arrows rained on his back was a gasp.

* * *

The rest of the remaining security was left for the team of Steve and Stephen. The doctor insisted on going alone but the Captain refused. He wasn't going to take the risk of Milverton getting his hands on Strange.

"I can take care of myself, Captain."

Steve grunted while taking down three particularly persistent guards. Stress and worry were wearing his patience dangerously thin. "I can't afford having to…" He looked over his shoulder and trailed off.

With skilled moves and practiced ease, using a bizarre mixture of Asian martial arts, Stephen took down a set of three guards who'd appeared from nowhere.

Stephen looked at him as soon as they could be certain that the men would stay down. "I told you. I can take care of myself."

* * *

Hawkeye gasped once, twice. At first there was searing pain, such that became almost hellish. Then tingling. And finally… Nothing. A horrible numbness.

He trembled a few times but wouldn't go down on his knees.

"Trickshot." Milverton's voice echoed oddly in his head. Like coming from some other reality. "She passed her test. Now get her out of here. I'll discipline my daughter myself."

The steps were unnaturally loud to his aid supported ears. He couldn't move but heard two people disappearing. In front of him Marta emitted a wounded yelp, then moved to follow. A mother lion rushing to protect their young. Her progress stopped to a furious snarl.

"Oh, no you don't", Milverton hissed. "You betrayed me. My own flesh and blood. Do you have any idea of the punishment I have in mind for you?"

Sounds of fighting could be heard. Slaps. Punches. Kicks.

Finally, finally Hawkeye managed to make his body obey. Maybe it was a one last adrenaline rush. He spun, then lunged like a tiger.

He attacked Milverton with such force that Marta was taken down as well. She rolled away, roughly but safely. Milverton must've hit his head hard because the man was staring up at him dazedly, wonder and even alarm in those eyes. It was like the man saw someone else entirely. Hawkeye didn't pause to wonder.

The monster in front of him had killed and hurt hundreds of people. He needed to be stopped. And there, with the last of his strength, the archer decided to do just that.

He brought his fist down. Once, twice, and again. Until he couldn't tell which one of them the blood on his hands belonged to. Until it was difficult to recognize Milverton's face.

Until he ran out of steam, and gasped to breathe.

He slumped down, right next to Milverton. Somewhere in the chaos his bow had fallen nearby. He stretched his hand towards it but couldn't quite reach. And then his eyes slipped closed.

The last thing he heard was someone calling out to him. Odd. The sound bounced around strangely in his shutting down head, reminding him of the battle cry of a hawk.

* * *

TBC, for a one more chapter (hang in there, Clint!)

* * *

A/N: That was INTENSE and full of action! Apologies if it felt like a speedrace, but I wanted to focus this part of this tale to one chapter.

BUT WHO CARES ABOUT THE ACTION?! POOR CLINT! Will he get help before it's hopelessly too late? Just HOW mean am I?

PLEASE, do leave a note! I LOVE hearing from you guys.

Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see ya all in the conclusion of this mini-tale.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: Awww! I'm super happy that you think so. (BEAMS) I really hope that the next chapter pleases you every bit as much!

I'm a HUGE Cumberbitch, btw. (smirks) SERIOUSLY can't wait for 'Doctor Strange'!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: (HUGS) And I'm happy that you've been sticking around for this long! This collection has absolutely no intention of stopping anytime soon. (grins)

We'll see what the next bit brings…

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	59. Hawk Without a Name, 4 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

A/N: GOSH, I'm so sorry that it took me this long to update! (winces) I had a VERY happy family-event that did some tricks to my typing schedules. BUT, here I am! And this week will see two updates to compensate. (BEAMS) Yay?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your AMAZING reviews, listings and support! (HUGS) Let's continue to show the world that Clint Barton isn't an unloved Avenger.

Awkay, because it's LATE… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy this conclusion.

* * *

A Hawk Without a Name, part 4 of 4 (DEAF CLINT)

* * *

For someone like Iron Man taking care of the hostiles swarming to greet him was a picnic. Still, they were heavily armed and dangerous. Handling them caused scratches and bruises on his suit. And took infuriatingly long.

The radio silence didn't help.

Tony gasped as he stood there in the middle of enemies that'd fallen to the ground like autumn leaves. His wide eyes refused to budge from the building towering in front of him. "Cap? Widow? What's going on in there?"

" _We… found something._ " It was easy to hear how hard Steve fought to keep his emotions in check. " _A laboratory. It looks like Milverton's been working on developing a chemical weapon. Among other things._ "

Tony swallowed. Then asked, although he had a feeling that he didn't want to know. "Meaning…?"

" _Human experiments._ " Steve sounded positively nauseated. " _Some… couldn't handle them. Doc's checking if there's anything he can do for any of victims._ "

Tony felt cold. Really, really cold. "Don't you dare tell me…"

" _Hawkeye's not here._ " For a moment there Steve nearly slipped Clint's real name. The trace of a 'C' was audible.

"Good, good", Tony breathed out. Sounding nothing like himself. He struggled to catch his breath, and composure. It was embarrassing how his eyes stung. "Maybe… Maybe he's not in this hellhole, after all." Even a fool's hope was still hope, right?

" _He is._ " Natasha's hissing voice was low. She wasn't alone. " _I'm looking at him._ "

Those were the first good news in ages. Maybe. Tony's head whirred. "Is he…?"

" _Radio silence. Now._ " There were no further explanations after Natasha's quiet but sharp command. After that there was, indeed, nothing but silence.

* * *

Hawkeye gasped, his head spinning wildly, and stared at the ceiling that seemed to be swaying above him. Why was it so bright all of a sudden? He wanted to sleep…

All of a sudden he felt a gentle hand caressing his face. Curious where he should've been startled, he blinked sluggishly. Looming above him was the woman from the photograph he'd been carrying around, smiling softly down at him. He couldn't hear her – another thing which should've worried him far more than it did – but managed to read her lips. " _Keep fighting a little longer and come home, honey. Come back to us._ "

Hawkeye gasped some more, shuddering at the waves of agony crashing through him. A tear he didn't notice slid down his cheek as he blinked slowly, sluggishly. "I'm sorry", he gasped. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" (1)

There was pressure, somewhere around his back and stomach. The agony that exploded would've made him scream if he'd been able to. Something that felt like a long, low moan of pain crawled through his throat until the world around turned black.

* * *

It was a horrific decision to make. One of the worst Marta had ever faced. To go after her daughter, to make that desperate attempt to save her child. Or to help the man she'd known for a blink of an eye.

In the end there wasn't really a choice. She'd sworn to save lives and the man in front of her would die without help. Besides, did she really, honestly stand a chance with Ava? Her daughter just tried to kill her, and now the child had that armed man escorting her. Marta would've only gotten herself killed. And she definitely couldn't let someone who just risked their life to save hers die.

After all the mistakes she'd made in her life, she was determined to do at least this one thing right.

Gritting her and firmly fighting back the tears wanting to fill her eyes she knelt beside the man, instantly starting a checkup. "Can you hear me?" The only response she got was a small, half pained, half angry moan. The man in front of her was trembling, his skin pale and clammy.

Marta frowned. Those arrows were tiny, otherwise there would've been no way Ava would've been able to shoot three of them at once. They couldn't have gone deep or damaged anything vital. So why was her patient crashing?

That was when she noticed the greenish substance. Just visible on the bloodied steel and his dark clothes. She swore, loudly and colorfully, in all the five languages she knew.

There'd been many times, ever since she was only seven-years-old, Marta had wanted to kill her father. Her very own monster from under the bed come to life. She'd never wanted to soil her hands with his blood as badly as she did now.

Fortunately – which was a debatable term these days – her violent thoughts were interrupted by approaching steps. She turned her head to find a red-haired woman. The arrival first examined Hawkeye with her gaze, then fixed a glare that promised murder at her. From her angle the stranger couldn't see the arrows, only the man's nearly lifeless face. "What the hell did you do to him?"

* * *

It was like something out of a horror, or at least crime, movie. Tony had made Steve watch so many of those that he recognized the similarities with sickening ease. There were four bodies in the massive, heavily clinical room. The failed ones. Steve didn't want to guess how many more there'd been.

Two bodies, a boy and a girl, couldn't be older than fifteen. Mere children. Their injuries suggested that they'd fought to death. Dr. Strange did mention that the experiments of Milverton's scientists may have triggered violence.

Said doctor was currently occupied by a heavily pregnant woman who seemed to be in her early twenties. She'd been placed to a medical table. She'd been strapped firmly from her wrists and ankles by metal and heavy locks. Dried blood along with deep wounds showed just how long and hard she'd been struggling. She wasn't moving at all anymore. But she was breathing, shallowly and laboriously. And muttering something in a language Steve couldn't understand.

Stephen did. The doctor's expression was unreadable as the man murmured something back, holding the woman's hand. The Captain obviously couldn't tell what was being said but it seemed to calm down the dying woman. She relaxed, her breaths fading until they disappeared entirely. Her hand went slack in Stephen's.

Steve looked away, sharply and with a lump growing in his throat. He tried desperately to keep himself from thinking about how much like Peggy Carter she looked. He should've chosen his new point of focus better.

The final body also lay on a medical table, covered by a white blanket. It'd been the first thing he saw when they entered the room, just a minute and a half before Tony's inquiry. And only thirty-six seconds before Tony's voice boomed into his ear Stephen had confirmed that it definitely wasn't Clint lay there dead. Steve's heart skipped a beat and faltered then, and it didn't feel right now.

It wasn't Clint. They hadn't lost him. He was waiting for them. They'd just have to find him.

Stephen began to move. First the man covered the woman's corpse gently, then approached. The doctor's expression was still carefully in check but pain could be seen in his eyes. Steve felt tempted to ask what the woman said to him but decided against it. He was a lot of things, good and bad, but not cruel. "We need to keep looking", he announced instead.

Stephen nodded numbly.

Just then Natasha's voice came through Steve's earpiece. " _I found him. But we've got a problem._ " Her clipped, strained tone would've been enough to tell as much. " _He's been poisoned._ "

* * *

The responses came in a flash. Steve exhaled sharply. Tony swore, very loudly, which would've normally roused objections from the Captain. Stephen was sharp and clinical. " _Describe his symptoms._ "

His tone helped Natasha focus. Her eyes were hard as she glared at the woman who'd introduced herself as Marta. They were both bruised and out of breath as she held the struggling woman firmly against a wall. "Describe his symptoms. Now", the Widow commanded, while removing her earpiece with her free hand and fastening it to the other's ear. "Don't even think about doing anything stupid."

Marta's answering glare said everything necessary.

Natasha was convinced that Marta indeed wouldn't be trying anything ridiculous. And if she would she wouldn't get far. So Natasha risked focusing on her best friend instead. Her stomach instantly dropped and tightened at what she found.

Clint… looked worse than before. She wasn't sure if she could trust her senses but it seemed that he wasn't breathing as he should've been. Time was running out.

Natasha gritted her teeth. Soldiered mightily against the emotions threatening to take over. She took his hand before she managed to process it. His hand was clammy, cold and limp. Lifeless.

" _You fight. You understand?_ " She tightened her hold on him, silently urging him to hang on as well. " _Don't even think about giving up._ "

It would've been a huge relief to have Clint open his eyes right then, but such only happened in movies.

Marta's return caught her off guard and she hated it. Almost as intensely as she detested the grim expression which appeared to the doctor's face as the woman assessed the Hawk's condition. "They'll be here soon. That doctor… He said that he may know how to help."

"He does?" Natasha shouldn't have trusted it. But if there really was a chance…

"Apparently this poison is based on something he developed."

* * *

Tony was terrified. And not even afraid to admit it. He heard that Clint had been poisoned. That there _might_ be a cure. Then… nothing.

"Guys?" There was no response, from them, the nature or the fallen enemies around him. "Guys, what's going on in there?"

Tony waited. Even though he was horrible at waiting. Until he couldn't. He dashed on, even if he wasn't entirely sure of the destination. Muttering pleas and threats under his threat.

" _Sir, are you…?_ "

"Not now." His breath hitched, a panic attack looming right under the surface. "Just… Just not now, 'k? Not yet." _Not yet… Not yet… Not yet…_

* * *

Steve's heart raced as he did his best to help Stephen with the cure. The doctor had seen this building before, albeit briefly, and knew where to find what he needed. Barely controlled anger and remorse were visible in every single one of the medical man's motions.

Something that'd been meant for helping people having been transformed into a fast-acting poison…

Time ticked by. Slipped away. When there wasn't a second to waste. Until finally Stephen had produced a strange, blue liquid.

Steve stared at the substance, his mouth very dry all of a sudden. Hoping. "So that's going to help him?" It sounded far more like a plea than a question.

Stephen's jawline tightened. "I'm not going to start lying to you now. His condition is very serious. But with this we've got a chance."

Steve nodded, a bitter taste rising to his throat.

By the time they made it to Clint the others were already there. None of them spoke, which made Clint's horrible sounding breathing seem unnaturally loud. There was unease in Dr. Strange's eyes but his hands were perfectly steady as he injected the antidote.

And all they could do was wait.

* * *

Ava was biting her nails as her vacant eyes observed the view spreading outside a private jet's window. The evening was darkening, casting a strange hue on everything. She tilted her head at the ridiculously beautiful sight.

She was a killer. A freaky science project. A weapon. Nothing more. That much had been made adamantly clear to her for as long as she could remember. But none of those things meant that she would've been unable to enjoy looking at beautiful things.

"Stop that." Trickshot's annoyed voice pulled her free of her thoughts. The man was watching her like she was a moody child getting on his nerves. "You're purring. Stop that."

"Why?" She snatched a set of headphones and put them on. "I'm a freak. Why not embrace it?"

She pressed 'play' and Sinatra's 'Moonlight Serenade' floated to her ears. She closed her eyes and savored it. Humming along softly.

They landed less than an hour later. As she left the jet, shadowed by four guards while Trickshot disappeared to meet an old friend, Ava came to a very important decision. Her eyes narrowed.

She was a killer. A freaky science project. A weapon. Nothing more. But soon she'd be free.

* * *

The first time Hawkeye woke up a blond-haired man whose whole posture screamed out military was there. Something must've happened to his hearing aid because the world around him was entirely quiet. It didn't startle or bother him like it should've.

All of a sudden the stranger was talking. He observed the slowly moving lips intently, no matter how exhausted and disoriented he felt. " _It'll be okay, Clint. The cure's working. You'll be just fine._ "

Clint, huh…? That… That sounded right, enough so to make him want to cry.

He shouldn't have trusted. Not really. This was a total stranger, possibly dangerous. But he couldn't stop his body's automatic response.

His eyes slipped closed and in a matter of seconds he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

The second time he regained consciousness he was accompanied by a red-haired woman. This time he was actually able to hear. There was traffic outside. And a heavy wind. The woman's expression was neutral but her eyes gave away her hurt.

"You don't remember me at all, do you?"

He shook his head slowly, apologetically. Oh, how he would've liked to help her feel better. But he was no liar. Although… There was something… "I heard you", he rasped, and winced at his horrible voice. "There. I heard you." He really hoped that he was making sense to her because he wasn't making sense to himself. How could he have…?

She smiled through the pain in her eyes. Something told him that it was a rare sight. "You'd better keep listening to me, idiot. Because I'll always be there. No matter how long it takes for you to remember."

He swallowed. The woman seemed to read his mind and offered him water. It tasted heavenly. "What if I never remember?" he slurred.

She punched his shoulder. Gently, almost fondly. "First thing you need to know about Clint Barton. He never, ever gives up. Even when he should." She went on when he'd already almost dozed off. "I'm Natasha, by the way."

He fell asleep with the thought that her name sounded soothingly familiar.

* * *

There was a man with dark, disheveled hair beside his bed the next time he woke up. The man appeared genuinely exhausted but was nonetheless making and studying notes. A real scientist, then.

The second the stranger caught the first signs of him moving the man's tired eyes lit up and darted towards him. "How about that, the Sleeping Beauty awakens!" Suddenly the man didn't seem sure what to say or do. "So, uh… Water? Ice chips?"

"Coffee?"

The man snorted. "Yeah, right. That poison did a Macarena in your stomach. No way the docs would allow anything with caffeine anywhere near you." The scientist's eyebrows furrowed. "Do you… remember what Macarena is?"

He stared. And stared. His head aching and spinning.

"Clint?" The other man seemed genuinely worried. "You're… sort of starting to creep me out, here."

"Amsterdam", he blurted out. He blinked furiously, the agonizing flashes refusing to stop. "You… got too drunk… And danced Macarena… I filmed it."

Now it was the other man's – Tony, Tony, _Tony_ – turn to stare. "You… Shit, you remember me?" The inventor then seemed to notice how dizzy he was getting. "Clint? Hey, Earth to Feather-butt!"

At that moment he did something so very clichéd that he hated himself and his body for it. His eyes rolled back. And he passed out.

* * *

Clint remembering Tony was a good sign. But it wasn't a magic switch. Two weeks passed by and although his body recovered further memories didn't. It was infuriating, especially when he had so many people expecting him to… come back, really.

But despite all the wishing and hoping the only things he could remember were Tony's name and that stupid Macarena. He had a family and three friends expecting him to pull miracles. And _that_ was the best he could do?

It was a massive pressure. Threatened to drive him insane. Because eventually the time of hiding had to come to an end. He'd have to go home and face the family he didn't remember having. Today was that day.

He and Marta were both exhausted as they stood on the building's rooftop, watching the slowly awakening city. Marta was the first to cut the long, peaceful silence. "So… How are the others holding up?" The woman nodded towards his bruises. "It looks like Natasha's been venting some frustration."

"We both have", he admitted. "She's trying to get me back into shape. And I think she's trying to beat my memory back to me. Steve's avoiding me. Tony… I don't know what he's scheming with Dr. Strange and maybe that's for the best." He gritted his teeth, feeling helpless and angry. "They don't know how to handle this and I have no idea how to help them."

"Recover. Get back to your feet. And stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders." Marta gave him a look of sympathy. "None of this is your fault, you know?"

"Or yours." His eyes darkened and he sighed. "I'm so sorry about Ava."

"I'll find her, somehow." The determination in Marta's eyes was such only a parent would be able to experience. "Milverton… My sister and I, we'll inherit his fortune. There's nothing that bastard could do about it now. And I'll use every bit of my share on finding my daughter. No matter how little she'd want to be found."

He offered his fist towards hers. Unsure if he wanted to laugh or cry, or neither. "To foolish optimists, huh?"

Marta bumped her fist against his. Her expression was most likely identical to his. "To foolish optimists", she agreed.

There was a new silence, every bit as comfortable as the last. This time Clint broke it. "Thanks, for everything."

"You did what I never had the courage for. You killed my father." Considering her words, Marta's expression was incredibly tender. "We're even."

* * *

After the talk Marta wandered to the room she'd claimed as hers. Then pulled out her greatest treasure, a barely functioning iPod she found once. She put on the headphones and pressed play. Soon Sinatra's 'Moonlight Serenade' caressed her ears.

* * *

And that morning, three weeks after he'd been poisoned, Clint headed towards the Farm. Tony offered to take him there on his private jet. The archer accepted, no matter how silly such a ride made him feel. In truth he could sort of use the company to keep himself from thinking far too much.

Tony's babbling was a very easy distraction. Eventually the inventor glanced towards him. "You've… got that funny look on your face. Like you're thinking too much. It doesn't suit you."

It didn't sound like an insult so Clint didn't take it as one. "I just…" He wondered how to set his words for a moment. "I think I'm starting to figure out why I remembered you, of all people."

Tony grinned. The warmth in the man's eyes was genuine. "I'm absolutely unforgettable, Feathers." The billionaire considered. "Look, this is gonna sound like something from a chick flick but… I'm glad that you're still around."

Clint smiled warmly as a response. "Well. I'm glad you guys never stopped looking for me."

The companionable silence which followed stretched. Clint spoke first. "We're not gonna hug."

"Or tell Natasha about this." Tony shivered at the thought. "She'd never let us live this down."

About twenty minutes later, as they began landing, it occurred to Clint that they were nowhere near the destination he'd envisioned. He frowned. "Where are you taking me?"

Tony sighed heavily. "The kids… You can't go back without remembering them. Not when there's a choice."

Clint gulped. He had no idea how to feel about this. "So… Is this what you and Doc have been up to?"

"Yup", Tony confirmed. Popping the final letter. The billionaire sounded every bit as nervous as he felt.

Neither felt like talking so they finished up the landing in a silence. It was raining heavily as they made their way towards a black building that looked like a mixture of a dojo and a laboratory facility. Clint didn't even feign surprise when they found Dr. Stephen Strange as soon as they entered. "So…" Clint took a breath. "Tin Can here said that you may have something that'll help with my memory."

Stephen nodded. The man appeared far more tense than before. "It'll be extremely painful. And there's no way of knowing it'll work."

Clint gritted his teeth. "I'm willing to take my chances. I want my life back."

"And to think how many times you've asked me why I fell in love with you." Turning his head towards the woman's voice he found a somehow familiar looking brunette. She was smiling but he had a feeling that tears joined rainwater on her cheeks. "In sickness and in health. For better or for worse. That was the deal."

"It may get ugly", Clint pointed out, his heart racing and jumping.

"After everything we've been through it'd take a lot more than that to drive me away."

It was horribly clichéd. But right there, looking at her… Clint knew something with absolutely certainty, even though he had no real memories of her yet.

There was no hell he wouldn't go through to find his way back to her.

* * *

It'd been three weeks from when their mom left to help their dad, leaving them with aunt Natasha. Lila had counted with Cooper's help. Every single day she sat on the porch until bedtime, waiting, hoping.

Until finally, right before dusk, a familiar figure was approaching the Farm. Her eyes widened before she shouted with delight. "Mommy!"

And then Lila noticed the other arrival. "Coop!" she hollered. "Coop, they're home!" She was racing on without a thought, soon followed by her brother.

They crashed into their parents with such force that they were all tackled to the ground. Were they laughing or crying? It didn't matter. "Now this is what I'd call a greeting", her mom chuckled.

Lila clung to her dad so tightly that it probably hurt, burying her face to his chest. She was too young to notice how exhausted, pained and drained he looked. "Where were you, daddy?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He kissed her head. "I… got lost. But now… Now I'm home." His hold on her tightened. "I'm finally home, sweetie. Sorry it took me so long."

Neither child felt like questioning further.

And so the Barton family lay there on the grass. Tangled so that only the size of limbs told one person from another. Basking in the glorious light and promise of a setting sun.

* * *

A couple of weeks later what was left of the Avengers marched towards a jet, preparing for a mission. Steve's heart and feet were heavy. He hadn't talked to Clint properly since they found him. It'd felt too painful, too awkward. Now, just like many times since the archer first plunged right into Thames, he found himself thinking of the Hawk.

Guilt. Longing. Worry. Sometimes being a team leader felt like a burden rather than an honorable position.

Steve moved towards the pilot's seat until Tony stopped him. There was a cheeky grin on the billionaire's face. "Sorry, Cap. But we've already got someone there."

That was when the rest of them saw a very familiar face occupying the pilot's seat. Clint Barton greeted them with an incredibly familiar grin. "So… Are you guys ready to go?"

Natasha smiled, real and honest. For the second time in less than two months. It spoke louder than any words.

Steve felt like someone had removed a ton's weight from his shoulders. A smile appeared without him even noticing it. "Yeah."

"You heard the Captain." Tony clapped his hands together. "Get this thing off the ground. It's time to go and kick some ass."

"Corny", Natasha muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes.

* * *

It was raining when Trickshot returned from a bar. Drunk, irritable and overall hating his life. His spirits weren't lifted as he entered his tiny flat and discovered that he wasn't alone. He froze, his eyes narrowed. "Okay, funny joke. Now stop hiding like a coward."

Obediently the intruder moved. Behind him, then stood in front of him before he could do a thing. A fierce struggle later the other man was pinning him against the floor, hand pressed tightly at his throat. That was when a lightning illuminated the space enough to reveal the intruder's face.

Trickshot's eyes widened, just a little bit. One was expected to be… surprised at the face of a ghost. "Weren't you supposed to be dead, brother dearest?" he choked. His eyes shifted. "Where's your precious bow?"

The other man's eyes narrowed. "I have no idea who you imagine I am, but I'm no brother of yours", the man hissed. The hand squeezed his throat inhumanly tightly. "Where the hell is my daughter?"

"Daughter…?"

" _Do not_ play dumb with me." Just a little more and the stranglehold would kill him. "Where… is… Ava?"

* * *

End of short story

* * *

1) I was thinking about 'Dark World' and Loki's 'death' scene while typing this… It makes a sort of interesting parallel…

* * *

A/N: TO ANYONE WONDERING… This takes place in a time/universe where Barney Barton is Trickshot.

SO… How's that for an ending? (grins) This was one of those tales that couldn't have a fully closed ending. But awwwwwww, Clint's BACK, and so is his memory! YAY – go Dr. Strange!

SO… Good? Bad? Lukewarm? Straight to fanfic heaven/hell? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you makes me INCREDIBLY happy.

Awkay, it's INSANELY late so I HAVE TO get going. Until next time! I really hope that you'll join in for some more feathery adventures.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: I know, right? (groans) I'm OVERJOYED if these lil' tales brighten your days! (BEAMS) I really hope that you'll keep having a good time.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: It's A GREAT compliment that you think I've done the characters justice! (BEAMS) I really hope that what's to come will please you as well.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	60. Flying Blind, part 1 of 4 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: Phew! It's WAAAAAAAAAAY too late around here but I promised a weekend update and I'll be damned if I don't keep my promises. (grins)

First, though… GOSH, a million thank yous for all the reviews, listings and love you've given this insane collection! It's been over a year, can you imagine? It means the world to me that you're all still sticking around! (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy.

 **I really hope that you don't mind another four parter right after the previous. This idea just steamrolled and refused to leave.**

* * *

Flying Blind, part 1 of 4

* * *

The first thing Clint heard upon waking up was the thumping of his own heart. The scent lingering around him was unfamiliar and hostile. Steel… Blood… Dust…

Where was he? And what the hell happened to him? Wasn't the mission supposed to be over, now? So what…?

Something sharp and metallic poked him and he shivered violently. "Wakey, wakey. We have a little friend of yours on the line. Let's give him a show to remember, shall we?"

Clint refused to answer. Instead he attempted to assess the situation. One man stood in front of him, he heard two more nearby. Heavy, judging by their steps. While Clint was too stubborn for his own good he wasn't an idiot. He was alone, aching horribly and firmly tied. And he had no visual over his surroundings, yet at least. He wouldn't have stood a chance.

Who were these people, anyway? The one who just spoke had a very distinct American accent, southern states. Homegrown terrorists? He tried, and tried, and tried, but couldn't recall hearing that voice before.

Clint shivered again when the knife he felt before was pressed against him, much harder this time. "Alright then, Birdie", the man hissed. "Give a nice, big shout."

It wasn't until the blade began to move across his chest Clint realized that he was shirtless. Well, lack of modesty was the least of his problems. The ensuing wound was definitely deep enough to need stitches and it hurt, incredibly lot. But the archer remained quiet. Refused to give in to the temptation.

Until the blade moved again. This time digging much deeper, at a far more horrible target. And even all his willpower wasn't enough anymore. Against his will the Hawk screamed at the top of his voice, his whole body jolting in a desperate need to get away from the violent contact. His heart was racing and breaking.

He didn't pass out immediately, once it was over. He had a few seconds before he faded away. Perhaps he was hearing things, anyway. "Do we have a deal, now, Mr. Stark?"

* * *

The next time Clint woke up it was cold. Very, very cold. And he was having hard time breathing properly. Even in his sluggish condition diagnosing fever and a severe infection wasn't a difficult task.

The question was, did his captors still need him alive?

Steps circled him slowly, ominously. The lightest he'd heard. This was the one who knifed him the previous time. "Tick, tock, Mr. Stark. Do we have a deal? Because, honestly, it doesn't sound like the little bird will keep tweeting much longer."

Stark? Tony? _No, no, no…!_ So he wasn't hallucinating before… Did they get the billionaire, too? What was going on? Clint wanted to open his eyes and find out, so badly that the need transformed into a physical pain. But nothing happened.

"You want to talk to him? Well, as you wish. This is your lucky day, looks like he's just waking up." The phone was slammed at his ear with such force and suddenness that he unleashed a small moan. "You've got exactly sixty seconds, if I'm generous."

" _Clint?_ " Tony's voice was tense and full of worry the billionaire wasn't even trying to hide. " _Are you… Are you okay?_ "

Clint swallowed thickly. His tongue felt thick and heavy but he pushed through, with the whole force of his stubbornness. "Tony…" All of a sudden, despite the fever, injuries and general confusion, he began to piece together this whole, sick puzzle. He knew what kind of stuff the Stark Industries produced, once upon a time. How much destruction they were capable of causing, especially if Tony would put his mind into developing those ideas further. To imagine such things getting into the hands of such people as his captors… "Whatever deal he's offering… Don't… Please don't…"

" _Are you insane? They… They sent me…!_ " Tony gulped loudly, audibly fighting back nausea or a panic attack, maybe both. Clint would've given a lot if he would've been able to comfort his friend, swear that it'd all be alright. Was the inventor crying? Surely not…! " _I'm not gonna let them tear you to pieces, idiot! To kill you!_ "

"Remember Belarus?" Clint wished dearly that he wouldn't have slurred like he did. "This… This ain't nothing…"

The phone was snatched away before he could finish. "Yes, very adorable", his captor mocked. "Sorry to interrupt. But if I would've listened further I would've lost my breakfast." There was a brief pause. This time it was a bare hand caressing Clint's equally naked skin. "So… A deal, or no deal?" A long pause followed. The hand pressed harder, apparently finding a bruised or cracked rib. Clint groaned deep in his throat, desperate to contain the scream which wanted to burst out. "Well, Mr. Stark… Birdie here and I are both sorry to hear that. Aren't we, Clint?"

* * *

Much, much too far away, Tony listened helplessly as Clint screamed again and again. Listened, unable to do anything else while the machinery around him did the job of tracking down for him. He wasn't sure if it was for the better or worse that the call ended in the middle of a shout.

Tony wasn't aware of the silent tears running down his cheeks, or of the fact that he was close to a panic attack, or of how he was shaking. "I'm sorry", he murmured miserably. "I… I'm so sorry."

The echo of Clint's pained voice stayed in his head and he didn't know if it'd ever go away.

The laboratory's silence was absolute. Until an emotionless, computerized voice spoke. " _Signal located._ "

* * *

The next time Clint woke up he wasn't tied. No wonder. It didn't feel like he would've been able to move much, anyway.

He shifted and hissed instantly, curling up. Wondering just how badly he was hurt. Several of his bones didn't feel right and there was a pool of blood underneath him. It was impossible to tell where it came from.

Was he dying?

That was when a flash of Tony's face and voice entered his skull. And he decided that he sure as hell wasn't done with the fight yet. Not when his friend needed him.

Only weakened in body, Clint gritted his teeth and began to crawl forward. It didn't matter that he didn't have enough strength to open his eyes. Or that he had no idea where he was going. He wasn't going to stop moving forward. Not as long as there was a single breath of life in him.

Clint was, however, so out of it that he didn't realize he had company until a much too familiar voice spoke. "Now where do you think you're going?" The other went on a couple of seconds after he flinched, not stopping. "Do you really imagine that you'll make it out of here alive?"

Clint shook his head.

"Well, you're not entirely delusional from pain, blood loss and fever. Good. It's going to make what comes next all the more fun." Steps approached him. "Tony Stark is going to spend the rest of his miserable life wishing that he made that deal with me."

* * *

The Avengers barged into the building with as much brutal force as they dared to use. Tony walked through the hollow, sterile hallways with tense steps. Prepared for anything.

He _wasn't_ prepared for hearing Clint's anguished howl, less than about five steps behind him.

His breath catching, Tony whirled around. Behind him stood a man holding a phone which transmitted the noise. As their eyes met the stranger finally cut the heart wrenching recording, a satisfied look in his blue eyes. "The mighty Stark is finally starting to get it", the man sneered. "What it feels like, to lose someone in a battle."

Tony swallowed thickly. His hands were shaking and it took his all not to… "What have you done to him?"

"I assumed that you got some kind of a picture from our last… conversation, and my little gift." The man's eyes became even colder than they had been. "Oh, that look on your face… You really imagine that I'm the villain here, don't you?" The criminal gritted his teeth. "I had three brothers and a sister, Stark. They all died fighting someone else's war. What I asked you to do… It was to ensure that no one else would have to go through the pain I did. The loss I did." The man tilted his head. "But instead you spat at my face. Someone had to pay. Or well, in this case, two people." The criminal sighed. "Poor Birdie. But war is a cruel business. Collateral damage happens all the time."

Tony shook his head, barely able to breathe. A ton's weigh landed to his shoulders and his heart… "You sick bastard...!"

The other man nodded towards a door right beside him. "Go on, Stark. See what happens to comrades when a soldier is too weak."

Tony's eyes narrowed. The rage, fueled by grief and sheer terror, which bubbled in his veins was barely human. "I'm going to…"

The criminal nodded. "I'm counting on it. I've given my contribution. I have nothing left to lose that'd be of any worth."

Tony didn't look back as he rushed towards the room. He knew that the other man would be waiting for him. And it was practically impossible to focus on anything else but…

Tony wrenched the door open, and froze. Tears pooled into his eyes as his knees nearly gave out underneath him. "No…!"

* * *

Clint frowned when he woke up next. The space around him smelled and felt different. Hurried, light steps in a distance… Beeping…

"Clint?" _Natasha…!_ "Hey, shh, it's okay. Just relax. You're waking up from a surgery, so calm down."

It wasn't until then Clint realized that the strange and chilling, wheezing sounds were coming from him. He fought mightily and finally managed force himself into calming down. "Tony?" he rasped, relieved that he was able to talk at all.

"Blames himself. But he's okay. We all are." A hand squeezed his, gently and carefully. He would've squeezed back if he would've been able to. "Listen, you've got a nurse who has such evil look that she scares me. So sleep, because I don't want to get on her bad side. Well, worse side."

Clint grinned, too high from whatever he'd been medicated with to feel pain. Sure, he was absolutely exhausted. And unwell. But he wanted to see Natasha's face, to see for himself…

His eyes refused to open. There was no fabric covering them. They just… They wouldn't…

"Nat?" His voice was little more than a panicked wheeze. He tried to lift his hand to inspect but couldn't. "Nat, what's wrong with my eyes?"

Clint wanted to stay awake. Needed to. But his injuries and shock – former and recent – were too much. His mind shut down.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear, oh dear… (winces and shudders) This is DEFINITELY going to be a painful ride. I'm so sorry, Clint…!

BUT, the question goes, any YOU ready to jump in? Thoughts, comments? It's be AWESOME if you'd let me hear from you.

Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there. Now, before I head off towards feather islands…

Take care!

* * *

IrethOfMirkwood: That means insanely lot, you know? Especially after all the time that's passed. (HUGS) I REALLY hope that what's to come pleases you as much!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (1): I'm overjoyed that you enjoyed it! (BEAMS) Hopefully school will treat you a bit kindlier soon. (hugs)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) I REALLY hope that what's to come meets your expectations. The next one will be a quite painful flight…! (winces)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (2): I'm overjoyed that you enjoyed it, especially when it took me a while to figure out just the right way to end it. (BEAMS) Awww, I love ALL OF THEM to bits, so I just had to give them all a hint of spotlight.

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	61. Flying Blind, part 2 of 4 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: I TRIED to update yesterday but it got so late that I nearly fell asleep in front of my laptop. (chuckles) BUT NOW, at last, the new update is HERE. Yay?

First things first, though… GOODNESS ME! Thank you, a million times, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings and support! Look up. You've officially broken the limit of a thousand reviews. If THAT doesn't prove how much Clint is loved, I have no idea what does. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… And because you guys were left on a HORRID cliffie… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

 **This four parter will include traces of Clint x Laura AND Tony x Pepper.**

* * *

Flying Blind, part 2 of 4

* * *

Nick Fury had a far grimmer than usual expression on his face as he read the report. For now it was unclear when, exactly, Clint had been taken. Most likely after the Avengers' latest mission, as the man had been on his way to Laura and the kids. Fury had some vague idea of how much damage had been inflicted but he'd have to wait for a new report from the hospital to know more. What he'd learned thus far was haunting, and he could only imagine how it felt to the team.

Tony found Clint lay on the floor, motionless and lifeless. For a while the billionaire had imagined that the archer was dead. The man's eyes…

Stubbornly forcing his focus elsewhere, Fury glared at a name on the report. 'Owen Walsh'. Brother of several siblings who'd fallen in battle and a father of two children who suffered the same fate. The kind of weapons he'd demanded Tony to design and produce would've killed hundreds of thousands, in best case scenario. They wouldn't know how, exactly, he captured Clint until they'd be able to question the archer. But that decision cost Walsh his life. By the time Steve made it to the scene Tony had shot Walsh six times. Walsh was unarmed, obviously having known that he and his goons didn't stand a chance against the Avengers.

Fury sighed heavily, feeling a headache floating in. What a mess…! "How's Stark holding up?"

"Not well." Steve sounded exhausted. Clearly the team leader felt the weight of this tragedy on his shoulders. "He barely leaves the laboratories. And whenever someone tries to talk to him about Barton he changes the subject."

"And Barton?"

"I just got a text from Romanoff. He's awake." Steve swallowed loudly. "A doctor is breaking the news to him." They knew all too well how that information would be received.

The heavy silence stretched. Steve was the one to break it. "What do we do now?" The soldier looked lost. And every bit as young as he actually was.

"Go home, and keep me updated on all development." Fury's eyes fell back on the report. "I'll handle this." And then he'd have to do something even more unpleasant. Call Laura Barton.

* * *

The only sound heard in the hospital room was that of the doctor. It sounded unnaturally loud. She listed Clint's injuries.

Several broken ribs. He'd received a hard blow to the head, which caused bleeding to his brain. There was also something about internal bleeding but at that point he couldn't concentrate. He also suffered deep tissue damage and several third degree burns to his back, which might explain why he'd been propped to lay on his side. Two of his fingers had been cut off. It wouldn't have pissed him off like it did if they weren't those he needed the most for shooting arrows.

Then she started talking about his eyes and nothing made sense anymore.

Clint felt like he'd been sucked into a pitch-black bubble. Everything spun around and around and around, there in the cold darkness. Was he floating or sinking? It was impossible to tell when he couldn't see a thing.

"… truly sorry … therapist … help you cope …"

Cope? Cope? He didn't want to cope – he wanted his eyesight back! He wanted himself back!

Clint wanted to scream, desperately. The unleash at least some of the ache coursing through his body. But it felt like his body had locked down entirely. Maybe it was for the best. If he'd started to scream he might've never stopped.

The doctor sighed. Loudly. "I'm sorry", she murmured a one more time. Sounding like he'd just lost someone precious. Appropriate. Her steps sounded painfully loud as she walked away.

 _Everything_ hurt.

Clint wasn't the running kind but at that moment, right there, he wanted to run away. Ridiculous. He wouldn't have even seen where he was going. So he sat there, trapped into his bubble, breathing as well as he could from the ton's weight sitting on his chest. Sat and waited although he had no idea what there was to wait for, anymore.

* * *

The wait felt like torture to Natasha. She paced through the hallways more times than she could count, casting constant glares towards the door of Clint's room. Until the doctor emerged and everything seemed to stop.

Somehow the single look they exchanged spoke louder than a million words.

Natasha sighed heavily. Like someone bracing herself for a war. "So he didn't take the news well." How was he supposed to, really?

"He's going to need a lot of help and support." The doctor rubbed her face tiredly with one hand. "We have some excellent therapists here at the hospital…"

Natasha shook her head immediately. Even the thought… "Clint doesn't respond well to psychiatrists", she pointed out. "He doesn't want anyone in his head. So… Not now, at least. Not yet."

The doctor gritted her teeth. The woman's irritation was palpable. "If we wait much longer… it may already be too late."

With a remarkable amount of self-control Natasha managed to keep herself from snarling. _Do you really imagine that I haven't figured out as much? That I can't see how much he's suffering?_ "I know", was what he settled for.

Natasha finally entered the room about twenty minutes later. Clint was still exactly where the doctor left him, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed. Trembling so hard that it was visible.

"Clint?" No reaction. She sat beside him, close but not touching. He looked like a bomb that might go off at the slightest brush of fingers.

The silence was absolute and suffocating. The only things disturbing it were the occasional sounds from the hallway. The words gathering into her mouth felt too big to fall out.

 _Don't do this, Barton. Don't shut me out. Stay with me._

Clint sat there like the man wasn't aware of her presence, or like he wasn't there at all.

* * *

Horrible, taunting dreams haunted Clint. That man torturing him. The fear… The pain…

Clint woke up with a loud gasp and bolted to a sitting position at a speed which did his injuries no favors. On his way up his arm and upper body collided with something. The loud crash which ensued echoed horribly in the room, bombarded his head mercilessly.

A lunch, he realized. They brought him lunch while he was asleep. Did they honestly expect him to be hungry?

The food…

Some sort of a meat dish, apparently. Usually the scent would've appealed to him. Right now it reminded him a little too much of burning flesh.

His stomach reacted instantly.

* * *

During the wartime Steve saw a lot of men who didn't really come back from the battlefield. The horrors and torment stole such chunks of them that only an empty shell was left behind. Some resorted to violence, to help with the aching hollowness. Some started drinking or doing drugs. Others… Others just shut down. What he encountered upon entering Clint's hospital room was achingly familiar.

The first thing he saw was the food, which had somehow spread pretty much everywhere. Had the tray been thrown? Then his eyes strayed to find Clint on all fours. There was a tiny puddle of vomit nearby and the archer was still dry-heaving, broken ribs be damned. The Hawk had most likely been trying to get to the toilet but had slipped, weakened by several days of immobility. And the sad truth was that the man wouldn't have even known where to go without his eyesight.

Steve gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt, fighting to get past that desolate thought. Past the knowledge that they found him too late, after all. "Clint?" He did his best to keep his emotions in check. His panic and sorrow would do his friend no good. "I'll help you back to bed, okay?"

Clint shook his head vehemently, paling dramatically. Was that even possible? The archer already looked like a ghost, only still healing bruises giving macabre color to his face.

In a few seconds Steve understood. "Are you still feeling nauseous?" At the tiny, affirmative nod he sighed heavily and sat down slowly, careful to avoid the mess. He should've called someone to clean up but didn't dare to leave Clint, even for a few seconds. And somehow he had a feeling that inviting a stranger into the room when the Hawk was feeling this vulnerable wouldn't have been a great idea. "Then we'll wait for a while", he announced, aiming for lightness he didn't feel.

Clint didn't react at all. The man sat there, shivering a little and fighting visibly to catch his breath. The tiny, barely audible word murmured all of a sudden startled them both. "Tony?"

It took longer than it should've for Steve to catch on. "He's okay." Of course it wasn't that simple but Clint was dealing with more than enough complications and didn't need someone else's to be added to the weight. "Not even a scratch on him, or any of us. I promise."

Clint nodded. That information calmed the man down enough to make him relax marginally. But clearly not all had been said yet. The archer licked his lips and bowed his head, contemplating. Somehow the whisper which soon came succeeded in being painfully loud. "'wasn't worth the risk." The Hawk trailed off but went on before Steve could object. "'should've left me there and let him finish what he started, Steve."

Steve felt his blood ran cold. It wasn't just those words. It was the realization that Clint clearly meant them from the bottom of his heart.

* * *

It was the eighth time Tony woke up to the sound of Clint's anguished scream echoing in his ears. He sat up straight with a gasp, unaware of the way tears shone in his eyes for a moment. Everything spun nauseatingly until his head cleared a little and he realized that he was in one the Tower's laboratories. There was a sketch for an invention in front of him and a bottle of strong alcohol that'd had three thirds of its contents consumed at his right. Did he fall asleep or pass out?

Steps approached him and Pepper spoke before he'd had the time to pull himself together. Which made her words sting painfully. "So this is your masterplan, then?" She sounded hurt, worried and incredibly tired. "You work and drink yourself to death to escape the guilt?"

Tony couldn't quite bring himself to look at her. "I… was working, but… I guess I fell asleep." Drank himself to oblivion would've been a more accurate description, but… Well.

Pepper sighed heavily. She walked away, and for a few ice-cold seconds he wondered if she'd left permanently. Soon, however, she returned and a glass of water along with two white pills were pushed towards him. "For the headache." Her voice was tight, so full of anger and worry that it was palpable.

Tony took them meekly with a quiet 'thank you'. The silence which ensued as he swallowed was heavy and uncomfortable. "You don't have to…"

"Apparently I do." Pepper lay a hand on his shoulder and he leaned into the touch without even having to process it. The temptation of familiar comfort was too much to resist. His brain was a little slow in realizing that she was talking once more, softly and quietly. "We may not be together anymore but it doesn't mean that I would've magically stopped caring about you. Good thing, because you clearly need a babysitter."

Tony smiled, just a little. Her words gave him enough courage to help him look at her. As soon as their eyes met his shoulders slumped and a lump settled into his throat. "You… You have no idea what I almost did, when they sent me…" He looked away and fought to keep himself from gagging. The mental images… "And when we found him like that…" He trailed off.

One of the biggest reasons why he fell in love with Pepper was that she was like no one he'd ever met. And once again she surprised him. She didn't walk away. She didn't offer empty words, nor did she let him finish accusing himself. She didn't utter a sound. Instead she took that one step separating them and wrapped him into a firm yet tender embrace.

For about two seconds Tony was frozen by surprise. Then, the need and desire becoming too much, he began to hug her in return. Clung to her like a drowning man.

And finally, finally Tony allowed himself to cry.

Then, and only then – knowing that she had him at the right mental place – did Pepper speak. "Not your fault", she announced firmly. Her tone daring him to question her. "Any of it. Not your fault."

* * *

Clint had no idea how much time had elapsed. People came and went, that much he knew although he didn't fully register any of them. At some point they stopped trying to make him eat. He was glad. There was no way he would've been able to stomach food.

But they did try to get him mobile. He gritted his teeth and did his best to meet the challenge, too stubborn to back down even now. Despite the fact that the unrelenting darkness which had become his world threatened to swallow him in whole. He was in an unfamiliar, unpleasant environment, surrounded by hospital staff he didn't trust. Without his most important sense. It was a nightmare.

Clint wasn't sure how much of everything was a dream. They kept him too heavily drugged for him to think clearly, and he couldn't muster the will to tell them to stop. Maybe the numb oblivion wasn't so bad, after all. He definitely didn't mind the 'not thinking' part.

If only it wasn't so dark all the time.

Clint drifted, from one heartbeat to another, alive in body while his mind remained in a strange lockdown. Until there was an incredibly loud crash from outside the building, followed by screaming. Was it some sort of an attack? Or an accident?

Clint had no idea but his instincts chose the next course of action for him. With eerily steady hands he tore off all the wires connected to him, then struggled out of the bed. Weaker than a kitten but determined.

He wasn't useless! He wasn't worthless! He wasn't…

… more than ten steps outside the room until something, another human being most likely, collided with him. The contact wasn't violent but too much on his weakened body. His knees buckled, sending him heavily and ungracefully to the floor. His injuries felt like they'd been set on fire and at that very moment he emitted the first sound he'd uttered since Steve's visit. A whimper, such that came from the bottom of his heart and soul.

Because all of a sudden he realized that this… This would be his life. From now on when people were screaming, when someone needed him…

People were talking around him but no one actually approached him. Just as well. Using up whatever little strength he could muster Clint pushed himself up once more and plunged himself into the horrifying darkness around him. He had no idea where he'd end up and he didn't even really care.

Walls. Equipment. People. Clint bumped into a lot of things on his way and some voice in his head tried to scream that he was doing a lot of harm to his still healing injuries. He pushed on thoughtlessly. He had to get away.

Until all of a sudden a pair of arms wrapped around him and wouldn't let go. They slumped to the ground, the encounter's force proving to be too much. "Clint, stop! Stop, please stop!" Wanda sounded scared, positively terrified. Had she just tackled him down? Her hold on him was tight and desperate. "You… You were headed to the stairs. Please stop."

* * *

Wanda wasn't ashamed of the tears that filled her eyes as she held on to Clint. She had no idea which one of them was trembling uncontrollably. Possibly both.

To see him dashing towards the long flight of stairs… It practically stilled her heart for a second or two. Because she couldn't bear the thought of losing a yet another someone she cared about. She couldn't help her parents. She failed to protect Pietro. She _wasn't_ going to let go and fail Clint, too.

Wanda knew that she should've helped him back to his room. Or at least demanded that a medical professional would check up on him. But she couldn't let go. Not yet.

* * *

Clint was in an incredible amount of pain. He'd definitely damaged something. But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst, the part which made him want to scream, was that he could feel how Wanda was trembling. It activated all his paternal instincts. He wanted desperately to comfort her but couldn't produce even a single word. It made him feel infuriatingly helpless.

In the end he resulted to holding her back, as firmly as he dared to. Tried to offer her whatever little comfort he could while feeling like his whole world was shattering around him. The numb bubble he'd been lost into began to crack, leaving him breathless under the full weight of everything.

He'd been knocked down and for the first time in his life he had no idea if he'd be able to get back up again.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Let's face it. Excluding losing his family (the Farm one or the Tower one) THIS is the worst thing that could happen to Clint. Because without his sight… What is Hawkeye to do?! (gulps) But is it permanent? And if it is, how will Clint learn to cope?

PLEASE, do leave a note! Good? Bad? 'Let's hunt down the author and hand her to the Avengers'? Only one way to let me know! (grins and wiggles eyebrows)

Awkay, because I have AMBITIOUS typing plans today… Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll all stay tuned for part 3.

Take care, my feathery friends!

* * *

Anonymous: I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it! Despite the sad elements. Poor Clint and Tony indeed! (winces)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (1): (BEAMS) Gosh! I really hope that what's to come meets your expectations. It's gonna be a bumpy ride…!

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (2): Oooooh! Sounds REALLY tempting. And Clint, if anyone, would soldier his way through something like that. (smiles) TOTALLY goes to my 'fics to be typed' list!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest (3): I know, right? (winces) Let's hope that both Clint and Tony make it through this.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	62. Flying Blind, part 3 of 4 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: Let me tell ya, typing this took some time. (chuckles and shakes head) But when the words finally started coming they started pouring in! Which means that I'm up at a ridiculous hour to update… I wonder if you mind…?

BUT, before getting to the next chapter… A HUGE, and humble, thank you for all those INCREDIBLE reviews, listings and support! (HUGS) The love for Clint Barton is real with you guys, isn't it? It makes me happier than is sensible.

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Flying Blind, part 3 of 4

* * *

Vision, Tony decided with the clarity of a drunken man, would have to be told once more why it was rude to sneak up on people. Tony dropped the glass he just filled with startle when Vision materialized unexpectedly. As was the norm.

"Apologies." Vision gave him a critical look. Infuriatingly judgmental, for his creation. "But there is something which requires your immediate attention. I wonder if you're sober enough?"

"I don't think I'm _drunk_ enough", Tony bit back. He had a feeling that he'd regret his harshness when alcohol would wear off. All of a sudden a nasty feeling filled him, made his stomach tighten. "Is Clint…?"

"No change has come to my attention." Vision seemed troubled. "It's… Wanda. I'm worried about her." It was hard to say which one of them was more shocked by the admission. "She has been at the hospital for days. I would go and see whether she's alright myself but my appearance… might upset the other people in that establishment." The world wasn't quite ready for Vision just yet. People always found it hard to accept what was different, Tony mused philosophically. Missions with others who wore suits and armors were very different from walking around – or perhaps rather popping up – in broad daylight.

Tony sighed dramatically. "Fine. But… I'm going need strong coffee, first." Visiting a hospital in a hangover was going to be _murder_.

Relief made Vision's shoulders sag. "Thank you. Wanda… hasn't been herself. I'm glad that you ensure her safety." Was that longing? How adorable. (Did he think about words like 'adorable' now?) "And… It will do you good, too, to see agent Barton. You have been avoiding visiting him." A frown appeared. "Have I said something amusing?"

It was around then Tony realized that he'd laughed. It felt… good. "Nothing at all." _You're far more human that I would've ever imagined._ "Just get me some coffee and stop Dr. Philling me."

* * *

Clint woke up, or at least thought he did. It was hard to tell when he couldn't see a thing. But he recognized the reek around him. He was back _there_ , back in the nightmare. _Everything_ hurt, even breathing, but he refused to emit as much as a whimper. He floated around in the darkness. It was incredibly quiet. Until it wasn't.

"Daddy!" Lila sounded absolutely terrified. And pained.

Clint looked around. It didn't occur to him until a few seconds later that no matter how long and hard he looked, he wouldn't be able to see a thing. "Lila? Where are you?"

"Daddy, help me!"

She was close. She was so very, very close, but where…? Why did she sound like she'd been tortured? His heart hammered mercilessly and it was nearly impossible to breathe. "Lila?"

But she didn't answer. No matter how many times and desperately he called out. The silence around him became almost as thick and heavy as the darkness.

"LILA!"

"Clint!" The new voice registered to him like through a thick wall. "Calm down, please. You're hurting yourself."

 _Wanda…?_ What was she doing here? Had she been kidnapped, too? Was she hurt? Ignoring her earlier words he attempted to move, desperate to make sure that she was alright. And to find his daughter. He needed to look after his child, with or without his eyes, even if he had no idea where to go. "You okay?" he murmured while gathering the strength to sit up.

"I am. I promise." Wanda squeezed his hand reassuringly. With her other hand she pushed him gently to lie down again, obviously having spotted his efforts to get moving. "Lila's okay, too. It was just a bad dream. Everyone's okay."

 _Everyone's okay… Everyone's okay… Everyone's…_

Clint frowned, feeling groggy and disoriented all of a sudden. He wasn't in pain anymore. It would've been a relief if he hadn't felt so… detached. It felt like he was slipping. "… 'thing's wrong …"

"It's the medication, that's all." Then why did Wanda sound so sad? "When you ran… You put your body through a lot. You're recovering from surgery, but you'll be fine."

It should've been good news, really. He should've felt better, and he did feel a brush of comfort over the news that no one else was in any danger. But that he, himself, would be fine… Why didn't he manage to feel happy about it? Shouldn't it have concerned him what kind of an operation he went through?

Before he had the chance to figure out anything all faded away, leaving nothing but the endless darkness to keep him company.

* * *

Tony was suffering from a massive hangover as he walked into the hospital, and he had a nasty feeling that soon things would get even worse. But he'd been avoiding this for too long already. It was time to stop wallowing in self-pity and _do something_. Responding to Vision's desperate plea felt like the logical first step.

Clint… looked even worse than he'd feared. It was blatantly obvious that the former assassin hadn't been eating or sleeping properly. Yes, the man was in a very restless drugged slumber at the moment, but every single one of his facial muscles was tight and exhaustion was clearly visible on the unhealthily pale, slightly grayish face. It was like seeing a ghost, and maybe in some bitter way that was the case. The clearest sign of still lingering life was the sheen of sweat high fever had left on Clint's face.

Tony's eyes, however, strayed towards Clint's. A sickening amount of scar tissue covered them like a nauseating spider's web. It was impossible to tell what sort of a chemical had been used to burn them but the damage… was horrible. A sick feeling swell in the pit of Tony's stomach as he wondered if some of the screams he was forced to listen to over the phone came from the Hawk losing his eyesight. One of those horrific noises echoed in his head, over and over again. He'd never heard such, of course, but Tony could easily imagine that what came out of Clint then sounded exactly like a pained hawk.

At the moment the man wasn't making a sound. Until he was. The tiny, barely audible whimpers began so suddenly that Tony shivered, taking a subconscious step towards the door.

Wanda's voice startled him. "He… He keeps doing that." She sounded exhausted and pained. "Whenever he's asleep instead of unconscious he starts making that noise." She shook her head with a sad look on her face. "I wish that I could help him."

Tony wanted to say something, anything, encouraging. But as it was all words failed him. Pep talks had always been Clint's area of expertise, anyway, and… Well. "When's the last time you slept properly?" They both blinked twice at the loud churning of her stomach. "Or ate, for the matter?" He went on when she didn't seem sure. "Wanda, it's been five days since he first woke up from the surgery. You need a break."

Wanda didn't seem to have any intention of going anywhere. She swallowed loudly. "They can't get his fever to break. He's on antibiotics and they should be helping, but… He can't seem to fight the infection. It's like he refuses to."

Tony sighed, a ton's weight settling to his chest. He wasn't entirely sure how to handle all the feelings crawling through his system simultaneously. "You want to help, I get it. But you need to take care of yourself, too." He continued before she could object. "Go to the Tower. Eat and sleep for a bit. I'll keep watch in the meantime."

Wanda was still frowning. She glanced towards Clint, licking her lips, then looked back at him. "You'll call me if anything changes, right?"

"Of course." He tried to grin but it was probably something closer to a grimace. "I wouldn't want to face your wrath if I didn't."

It was blatantly obvious that Wanda didn't want to go but she also knew that she needed to. She sighed heavily, then whispered something to Clint's ear and squeezed the man's shoulder gently. On her way out she gave him a one more look that was a strange mixture of a threat and a plea. "Look after him."

Tony gave a mock salute. Trying to bring at least some lightness into the horrible situation. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Wanda held it together miraculously well. She even managed a tiny, polite nod at a nurse she passed by. Once she made it to an elevator she realized that she wasn't alone. An elderly woman was looking at her with very open pity. "Oh, honey… I'm so sorry for your loss."

Wanda was about to deny it until a realization hit her like a sledgehammer. Clint was still alive, hanging by a thread. But Hawkeye…

With that loss Clint Barton would never be the same again.

So no, Wanda didn't deny it. Instead she nodded barely visibly. And came so very close to breaking down that it hurt. She made it all the way to the Tower, until the moment when she found a sandwich Vision had made for her.

Vision was startled when he materialized in the room and had Wanda hugging him instantly, uncomfortably tightly. He shifted, fighting to comprehend. "Are you… crying?" He frowned, holding her back the best as he could. "I'm… sorry. My intention wasn't to upset you. It was only a sandwich…"

That was where Wanda had him puzzled once more. She laughed through still continuing sobs. "You… You have so much to learn about humans." Her embrace tightened still, she leaned her head against his chest. Showed a level of openness and affection neither of them had expected. "It's okay. So do I."

* * *

With Wanda's departure came silence. Aside the room's machinery the only sounds present were breathing and Tony's own, furiously hammering heart. People usually said that he was too loud and wordy for his own good. At that very moment he couldn't find anything to say.

Tony took a deep, slightly shuddering breath. Braced himself. Then began, choosing his words uncharacteristically carefully. "I… I'm so, so sorry that this happened to you. And I'm… I'm sorry that it was my fault." He narrowed his eyes. They stung horribly. "But you don't get to give up now, okay? Laura and the kids… They need you to make it back home. And… If you ever tell Rogers I said this I'll pluck your sorry ass, okay? I guess… I guess we kind of, sort of need you, too. Because… Let's face it." He chuckled dryly. It sounded only slightly hysterical. "Without you Rogers and I would be at each other's throats within months."

"… done with the chick flick moment? …"

Tony wasn't ashamed to admit that he was startled. He took a couple of seconds to compose himself. "So you are awake, after all. I was starting to suspect as much." He started guessing when he noticed that those heartbreaking noises stopped. He didn't dare to tell Wanda or she might not have left.

Clint snorted. It sounded almost familiar. "… hard to sleep with that reek of old alcohol." The man's voice carried a great deal of worry, which caused a brand new stab of guilt. The ailing man went on before Tony managed to gather enough breath for words. "How'd you get in, anyway?"

Tony didn't need to fake a smirk, which was a relief although it shouldn't have been. "Who could deny this face anything?" Gaining information on Clint's condition had been pulling teeth. Being a Stark helped, even in places where names and money weren't supposed to matter.

Clint tried to smile, almost did. But then the weight of everything came crashing down and the man's shoulders slumped. "Look, Tony… There's no need for this guilt trip…"

Tony's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare suggest that I'd be doing this out of guilt! I'm doing this because you're my friend, and I want you to get better. And if you want _me_ to get better you're not gonna check out on us all, you hear me?"

Clint didn't seem entirely sure how to react. In the end the feverish man snorted. "Are you trying to guilt trip _me_ , Stark? Seriously?"

"Oh no, Feathers, I'm not guilt tripping you." Tony smirked, real and honest. "I'm threatening you."

* * *

It took almost a week before the mission was over. Several days longer than Natasha would've felt comfortable with, even with Tony's updates on Clint's condition. She had a nasty feeling that throughout that time she made Steve's life a nightmare.

Once they made it back home she should've headed to get some rest. She didn't remember the last time she would've slept properly. Instead she made her way to the hospital. What she found… wasn't what she expected. That Clint no longer needed the ICU wasn't the biggest surprise.

Long before she reached Clint's room the notes of Spice Girls' 'Wannabe' reached her ears. (1)

"The patients in the rooms next to this one will kill you", Clint muttered darkly.

"Doubt it", Tony announced with confidence. "The old guy at your right is deaf. The lady at your left is eighty and has Alzheimer's. Besides, you've heard her yells of delight as clearly as I have."

"Then the nurses will kill you."

"Doubt that, too." By those words she reached the room, and saw Tony stretching. "Stark Charm has gotten to them all."

"Even Nurse Ratched?"

"Sorry, Feathers. You're under my mercy. So open wide and the music will stop."

"This is cruel and usual torture."

"I'm known to be an unusual guy."

"Give me the fork or I'll shove it where the sun doesn't shine." The was a spark of a familiar fire on Clint's face. A flash of _life_. "Don't think I wouldn't be able to, blind as a bat or not."

Tony muttered something under his breath but complied. Clearly deciding that it wasn't worth the risk. The way the billionaire's eyes shone matched the warm flutter in the pit of Natasha's stomach.

"I heard that, Stark."

As soon as Clint started eating, slowly but steadily, 'Wannabe' stopped. The duo's bickering didn't. It was like watching them both coming back to life, just a little bit.

A beyond rare smile found its way to Natasha's lips.

* * *

Getting Clint mobile again after a prolonged forced immobility was a challenge. Yes, Clint managed his brief and nearly disastrous, adrenaline fueled dash. But actually starting to walk around was a challenge. Especially without his eyes. Especially when Clint hated the stick he had to use for help with passion.

Clint was stubborn. But so was Steve. That afternoon the Captain had managed to coach his friend through five rounds of walking and found himself becoming adventurous. "Do you feel ready to head outside yet?"

Clint hadn't set foot from the hospital since being admitted. The man had to be feeling claustrophobic. Instead of following the natural call of fresh air, however, Clint had vehemently refused to leave the building. Steve understood the reasoning, to an extend. Despite being unpleasant the hospital was also safe. To face the world properly with one of the key senses missing…

And sure enough, Clint stiffened and blanched. Steve examined his friend with a worried glance. "Clint?"

"I'm fine." Too quick. "I just… I need to sit down, for a bit."

They were only steps away from the man's room. With a sigh Steve began to guide the other in. "Okay." He didn't go on until Clint was sitting safely on the edge of the hospital bed. "I'd ask if you're alright. But we both known that you're not and that you'll never admit it. Do you feel up to talking to someone else?"

Clint wasn't sure if he liked where this was going. He frowned with suspicion. "I… guess. As long as it's not another therapist."

"Good." Did Steve sound… mischievous? Was the good and honest Captain America even capable of such? "Because someone's been calling me every single day asking about you, without her mom's knowledge. I think she'd love to hear your voice."

Clint's heart jumped all the way to his throat. Several times over. Then, much before he was actually ready for it, a phone was brought to his ear and Lila's voice filled his whole mind. " _Daddy? Mommy… Mommy and uncle Steve said that you were hurt real bad._ " She sounded terrified, and so very young. And heart wrenchingly sad.

Clint gulped, unable to fight back the lump in his throat. "I… I was, sweetie", he admitted hoarsely. At that point the phone was given to him. He barely realized that Steve left the room. All that existed to him was his little girl.

" _Is it true? That you'll never see again?_ " Lila was clearly holding back tears.

"Yeah." Clint wasn't that far from crying, either. Or screaming at the injustice of everything. "I… I'm sorry, that I can never see your pretty face again."

" _And you'll never finish reading that bedtime story to me. The Narnia one._ " Lila sounded miserable. 'Narnia' had been their very own adventure, something just for the two of them. Clint had a special book with Cooper, too. He wouldn't get to read the last three chapters to his little girl.

"I'm sorry, Lila", he sighed, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

" _It wasn't your fault, right? That you got hurt._ " Lila was walking, and then settled once more. " _Can I read the next chapter instead?_ "

For moment Clint was bewildered. "Yeah. Yeah, sweetie. I'd love to hear it."

And so Lila read on. She had very obvious difficulties with some big words but she managed, anyhow. More confident with each sentence. Somehow it eased Clint's aching heart, just a little bit.

" _Did I do okay?_ " Lila asked when she was done.

"Sweetie…", Clint choked out. Fighting back a sob. "Lila, you were amazing."

When Steve came back to the room Clint wasn't on his bed. Instead he found his friend from the toilet, splashing cold water on his face. Clint spoke before he got the chance to ask if the man was okay. "Another round", the man demanded. "Let's check out that park you've been going on about."

* * *

Clint fought, with all his might. Clung to whatever he still had left. The nightmares continued. Three days after Lila's phone call one of them came to life.

As soon as Clint woke up from light, troubled sleep his eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't alone. And his companion wasn't one of the Avengers or someone from the hospital staff.

"Well. You took your sweet time to wake up." William Stryker actually had the nerve to sound annoyed and insulted.

Clint gritted his teeth. He'd demanded that his dosage of pain medication would be lowered so he was hurting, and he was also exhausted. This man's company… "What do you want?" he spat.

A pile of papers was tossed unceremoniously at him. "That… would be a form for your resignation from the Avengers." The man enjoyed his shock. "Don't act surprised, Barton." No longer 'agent'. "I never understood why you were made an Avenger in the first place. All those magnificent individuals, and then… you. A burden. A weak one." The man sounded disgusted. "Without your eyesight you're completely useless. What would someone like you do out there in the field? You'd get yourself or, what's worse, someone else killed. You're nothing but a cripple."

Clint swallowed hard, feeling sick to his stomach. _Useless… Useless… Useless… Worthless…_ "Does Fury know about this?" Of course he'd known to expect this. But… Maybe not this soon. And… It was stupid, really, but… He sort of wished that Fury would've done this in person. Apparently he wasn't worth even that courtesy anymore. He understood, even if he hated it. _Useless… Worthless…_

"Yes." Stryker had gotten impatient, which was a very tiny hint of satisfaction amongst… everything. "Now stop wasting my valuable time and just sign the paper. There's no use in prolonging the inevitable."

Stryker's words kept bombarding Clint's head. None of them was such that wouldn't have crossed his own mind, especially lately. All of them hit home with the same accuracy his arrows once did. He felt sick and he was in agony.

This was it. He'd never be an Avenger anymore. He'd never fight to keep the world safe anymore. What was his purpose, now?

And the disastrous train of thought continued on. Reminded him of all the enemies he still had out there. Once they'd learn of his disability – and not only one of them had enough connections to ensure they would – they'd come after him mercilessly. After him and everything and everyone he held dear. How would he protect his family? Both families?

 _A burden…_

He'd always been the team's weak link, hadn't he? And now… What use was he to anyone, anymore?

It was almost funny. His father _was_ right about something, after all. He did bring nothing but bad news.

 _Useless… Useless… Useless…_

"I'll sign it." His voice was emotionless, harder than steel. "But only if you do something for me…"

* * *

Laura knew that staying away would've been the safest and probably smartest option. But knowing how badly her husband had been injured… How was she supposed to keep her distance?

It took longer than she would've liked to convince her parents into watching over the kids. That Clint was in a hospital and needed her did little to sway them. Her mother finally relented when she broke down and started crying in the middle of the eighth phone call, all the stress and sorrow becoming too much.

She was alone with baby-Nate at the time, and would never forget the sounds the child made upon sensing her distress.

Natasha appeared almost as worn as Laura felt when they walked into the hospital. "The rest of the team's getting briefed for a mission and I've gotta get going soon, too. I'll just show you to his room."

Laura nodded gratefully and fidgeted with anticipation. The elevator was moving far too slowly to her liking. "How is he?" It was a miracle that she'd managed to keep herself from asking until then.

Natasha sighed heavily. "It's Clint, so… I have no idea. I think he's doing a little better, now." The redhead's jawline tightened. "But… Adjusting to this…"

"I know." And Laura did, so clearly that it shattered her heart. She had no idea how her husband would ever learn to cope with _this_. But he was still fighting, and she was determined to show him just how much there was to fight for.

Finally the doors opened. It took less than thirty seconds to reach a hospital room's door. "He may be asleep. A therapist…" Natasha trailed off, her usually flawless self-control failing her as shock seeped to her features. In a few endless seconds Laura understood why.

There, on Clint's flawlessly made bed, lay a familiar bow and arrows. Along with a ridiculously old looking tape recorder. Clint himself was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

TBC

* * *

1) 'Spice Girls' fans, please don't feel insulted! I was a HUGE fan, back in the day. (chuckles) Oh, those fond memories…! This is more of a tribute than anything else. High five to the band I once loved so dearly, and to all former/current fans!

* * *

A/N: Dear gosh… Poor Clint! What, oh what, has he done?! And just when things were getting A LITTLE better…!

Thoughts? Comments? Threats…? PLEASE, do feed the hungry box down below with them. (grins) I'd LOVE to hear from ya!

Awkay, I REALLY have to go and get some much needed sleep… Until next time, you all! I really hope that you'll stay tuned for that one.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: HOORAY! I'm OVERJOYED that you enjoyed it! And thanks! I'm bewildered and very, very happy that this has gained so many friends. (purrs from joy)

It flatters me that you found the chapter so relatable! And I'm beyond happy that you clearly enjoy the Clint/Wanda bond as much as I do. (grins)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: I know, right! And it's particularly hard on someone like Clint. (winces) The poor thing!

Awww, I couldn't resist some Pepperony. (giggles) Maybe she'll make another appearance…

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

FOR EARLIER CHAPTERS

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I'm OVERJOYED that you've enjoyed them so much! (BEAMS) YES, YES, A MILLION TIMES OVER – MY GOSH I'M IN LOVE WITH THAT IDEA! (nods furiously) It'll TOTALLY make it to this collection.

Heh, that's what I ask myself with every chapter…!

I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride. Thank you so much for the review!

* * *

User: (BEAMS) I'm SUPER happy to hear that! We'll see just what's to come. I hope that the ride onwards pleases you!

Massive thank yous for the review!


	63. Flying Blind, part 4 of 4 (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: **I'M SO SORRY THAT YOU'LL HAVE TO WAIT FOR RESPONSES TO REVIEWS! BUT IT CAME DOWN TO MAKING YOU WAIT FOR THOSE OR THE CHAPTER, SO… (winces) I'LL ANSWER TO ALL OF THEM ON SUNDAY, THE RESPONSES TO ANONYMOUS REVIEWS WILL BE UPDATED TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS CHAPTER.**

SO, it's updating time! (BEAMS) BUT, first…

THANK YOU, so very much, for your love and support! GOSH, how happy I am that Clint has so many friends out there. (HUGS) You guys are precious!

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go!

* * *

Flying Blind, part 4 of 4

* * *

Natasha wasn't impressed by people often. And even fewer succeeded in scaring her. But a furious – also incredibly worried, but mainly furious – Laura Barton was absolutely terrifying.

"My husband… He became blind recently, and he's still learning how to move around safely without his eyesight. He also just went through major surgery, and based on the reports I've received he can't walk more than twenty or thirty steps without growing exhausted. So explain to me how, exactly, it's possible that he's gone missing?"

The ward's head nurse swallowed loudly, seeming just about ready to bolt. "I… I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Barton. I can assure you, we're doing everything we can to locate him."

"You do that." Laura… had quite possibly never sounded quite that angry. Funny, really, that her seething expression was a lot like Clint's. "And while you're at it, ensure that in the future no one will manage to smuggle a set of bow and arrows into this building."

Natasha and Laura watched as the nurse left the room with swift steps. Under different circumstances and with less lingering worry it might've been satisfying. Natasha took a deep breath, then looked towards Laura. What she discovered tested her well-trained self-control. Laura had managed to remain steel hard and in control until then. But at the moment the woman was wiping her eyes, her entire frame trembling.

"Hey, Laura." Natasha _wasn't_ good at comforting people. But she was determined to at least try. "He'll be okay. We'll find him." Empty words that sounded pathetic even to her ears. And, sadly, the best she could come up with.

Laura nodded. Appearing furiously determined despite the tears in her eyes. "I know. And when we do I'm going to kill him myself."

* * *

It was highly unlikely that Clint would've made it that far, at least alone, but Steve nonetheless headed to see the park he visited with the archer. Wanda manned the hospital with Laura and Natasha, since it was still the most likely location. In the meantime Tony scouted the area surrounding the building, and right then he was in a desperate need for a large, stiff drink to ease the horrific feeling of helpless fury.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Vision. " _I… hope that this isn't an awkward time. But… I'm in a need of some assistance._ "

Tony felt his breath catch. He wasn't sure if he should've been hopeful or terrified. "Is he…?"

" _Yes, but I think it would be advisable for you to come._ "

Tony reached the Tower in a flash. Relieved, beyond all reason, that he'd had enough sense to ask Vision to keep watch. And although he had no idea what kind of a disaster awaited it warmed his heart that even in the middle of this turmoil, even at his most vulnerable, Clint still trusted the Tower enough to head there.

Vision was waiting for him with a strained look on his face. "He doesn't seem to be in a critical condition. I'd try waking him up, but…" They both knew that it would've been a horrible idea.

Tony fought the urge to pat the other's shoulder. "I'll go and see what's going on, okay?" Worry was twisting and turning in the pit of his stomach, and he had a feeling that it wouldn't ease until he'd seen his friend.

Figuring out where to find Clint was a no brainer. Tony made his way to the room that'd been reserved for the Hawk and peered in. He gave a couple of slow blinks.

It seemed that Clint had been packing up whatever little possessions the man had in the room. And it all ended to a fit of rage. A lot of items had been thrown basically everywhere until the archer had blown off the steam. At the moment the man lay on the bed. Fast asleep, rather than unconscious. A frown on his face and whimpering or grunting constantly. Tony could see all the way from where he stood how his friend was shaking.

"Hey." A bad idea? Screw it, Tony couldn't bear watching. He did approach with healthy caution, though. "Clint, you're dreaming, okay? Everything's okay. Wake up."

Clint shuddered and grunted.

Tony swallowed, working with his all to keep panic at bay. Him losing it wouldn't help either on them. "Clint, wake up…" That was when his foot collided accidentally with the bed.

Clint woke up with a massive gasp and shuddered like he'd been electrocuted. The man's fists balled so tightly that it had to hurt. "… Tony …?"

It took about two seconds before Tony realized why, exactly, his friend sounded so panicked. It wasn't all about the lack of eyesight. "I'm all good, Feathers. Although you did your best to give us all a heart attack, you idiot." He didn't even try to hide how upset he was.

Clint's jawline tightened. The man tried to sit up but changed his mind with a scowl of agony, and paled. "I'm… I was only supposed to get my things, and go."

"Go where?" Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer. A sick feeling swell in the pit of his stomach.

Clint didn't answer. In fact, didn't seem to be able to focus at all. The wait was torture.

And in the end Tony couldn't take it anymore. He shifted. "Clint?"

"I'm no Avenger anymore, Tony." Clint's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Sad, not bitter. Somehow that was worse. "I don't belong here."

"A load of crap!" Tony spat. His eyes narrowed. "Do you seriously imagine that you're not one of us anymore? That you're not worthy of being an Avenger? You're family, and we're not letting you go!" He then gave his friend a look and thought again. "Except to the hospital, maybe. You just went through a major surgery and I have no idea how you're still conscious now. You _should_ be in a…"

"No!" Clint shook his head furiously, looking absolutely frantic. "No hospital, Tony! Promise me! I can't…" The man breathed hard, and winced. Definitely in a lot of pain. "I can't _think_ there. I can't…"

"Okay, okay." Tony had little actual medical knowledge but he did know that Clint wouldn't be able to handle a panic attack. "No hospital. But I'm gonna ask a doctor to come and see you here."

Clint nodded, obviously not liking it but realizing that there was no option. The man curled up the best as he could, turning his back on him. "… tired …"

"Then sleep a bit, before the doc comes poking around." Tony risked punching the other's shoulder lightly, tenderly, and felt a wave of warmth when his friend didn't even shiver. It was a massive sign of trust. "You do realize that I'll yell at you when you're feeling better, don't you?"

Clint commented nothing, only relaxed further.

After inviting a doctor over Tony took a deep breath, still on the edge and trying to recover from the adrenaline storm. He turned towards Clint and opened his mouth, only to realize that the man was already fast asleep, breathing deep and even. In a moment of daze it occurred to him that it was most likely the first time since _then_ Clint slept without obvious traces of nightmares. And through the whole horror story and the recent terror – even though he knew that things were very, very far from alright – Tony couldn't help smiling, just a little bit. "Idiot", he murmured, and meant it. And didn't.

Tony knew that he should've notified the others but had a feeling that Vision was already taking care of that. At the moment his top priority was to ensure that Clint would _stay_. So he grabbed a chair and settled to it.

Eventually all the stress and emotional turmoil got the best of Tony. He fell asleep. He, too, slept dreamlessly.

* * *

Natasha announced that she needed to have… a talk with Fury, and Laura needed a moment. Which was why about half an hour later Wanda approached the room alone. She was uncertain what to expect but what she found… definitely wasn't it.

Vision was there, hovering like a nurse despite clearly not quite knowing what to do. Critical, visibly worried eyes checked over Clint before a blanket was draped loosely around Tony. So right and so wrong all at once.

That was when Vision noticed her. He jumped, just a little, as though having been caught doing something forbidden. A small smile came to Wanda's face without having to be called. "Thank you, for looking after them", she whispered.

Vision frowned. As though wondering if she was serious. "What else would you have expected me to do?"

Steve came next, side by side with Natasha. They stared at the group for a while until Steve spoke. "We should've known that he'd come here."

"Yeah." Natasha's eyes were uncharacteristically soft. "That stubborn idiot… No matter how lost he gets, he always finds his way back home."

* * *

When Clint woke up next he recognized his companion's scent immediately. His stomach clenched and his mouth went dry. "Laura?"

She lay right there beside him, warm and familiar. But incredibly tense. "That stunt you pulled… I can't even begin to describe how mad I am at you." Her voice wavered and it broke his heart. "What could've happened… What I think you wanted to happen…" She trailed off, and it was easy to hear how she fought against sobs.

Clint's exhausted heart was torn to pieces. He sighed heavily. "Did you… listen to the tape?"

"No. Because… Because I think I know what's on it. And I… I can't listen to you giving up." Laura shifted, probably wiping her eyes. "We don't give up, that was supposed to be the deal."

"I'm sorry", Clint murmured. Gently he took her hand and guided it to his face, as close to his eyes as he could bear. "But… Like this… I'm…" He couldn't quite say it, although the word wouldn't stop haunting him for even a second.

"What, useless?" Laura sounded furious and heartbroken. "Tell that to your daughter who keeps hoping that it's you whenever the phone rings! Who won't stop talking about how she'll finish the Narnia book with you as soon as you come back home! Tell that to your son who keeps trying to figure out how to make the Farm safer for you! Who hasn't smiled in… I don't even remember how long, because he needs his dad! Tell that to your baby, who's spent a lot of nights awake, crying and probably missing you!" By then she was crying openly, almost hysterically. He'd seen her lose control like that less than a handful of times. "We… We miss you like crazy, you idiot! We're a unit, and we need you to come home! We…" Her voice broke. "We need you to _stay_!"

Clint was shaking miserably. His breathing felt horribly wrong as he buried his face to her shoulder, finding it with ease. It _hurt_ , all over his body, and he wondered how much of it was physical. "I'm sorry, Laura." _For letting this happen to me. For getting lost into the dark. For giving up._

"You will be, when you're better and I get to start drilling you back into shape." Laura sniffled, nuzzling his cheek with her nose. "Now shut up, stop being a moron and hold me."

How could he have said 'no' to that?

* * *

That evening William Stryker was invited to a very displeased Nick Fury's office. The director's message was short but left nothing to be questioned. "I wasn't aware that anyone had given you the authorization to be able to accept a resignation report from an Avenger." Fury's eyes narrowed. "I'll hand out an official warning and cut down your pay. This goes into your records and it'll be up to Barton whether he wants to call you out on going through his patients records while you had no permission." Sensing a protest, the man thundered on. "Consider yourself lucky that it's all you'll get. But remember this…" The expression on the other's face was nothing short of murderous. "Cross a line like that again… and you'll spend the rest of your so-called career stationed to Siberia."

* * *

Clint spent the following two days sliding in and out of wakefulness. Finally, in a familiar place where he was surrounded by people he could trust, his body decided that it'd been put through enough crap. He ached, slept, tried to eat, fought to keep his head above the water. It was easier to cope – to breathe – in an environment he knew perfectly.

' _Watch it!_ ' he teased Tony, once. _Before_. ' _I could find my way through this place with my eyes closed. Do you really want to test my patience?_ '

A pretty nasty bad dream became interrupted brutally when a familiar, soothing voice called out to him. "Are you awake?" What was Steve doing in the room? He'd imagined that they were past the point where the team checked every few minutes to see if he was still breathing.

Well, in this case the interruption was a welcomed one. Clint sighed, trying to pull himself together. Feeling far more fidgety than he would've liked. "Awake enough", he decided and stifled a yawn. "What's up?"

"Why don't you come with us and find out, Old Man?" Wanda teased.

Clint snorted, then began to maneuver himself to a sitting position. Far more easily thought through than executed, but at least he didn't feel like he'd been stabbed to death every time he moved anymore. "Why does that sound like a bad idea?" He sniffed and frowned. "And why do you two smell like a bakery exploded and burned down?"

"Vision decided to try baking." Wanda didn't sound exactly thrilled about the matter. More like the exasperated mother of a hyperactive three-year-old.

"And if he's going to poison us all, we want you to join the party", Tony interjected.

At that point Clint surprised them all with bursting into genuine chuckles. For a moment, just a little bit, he decided to forget about the fact that his life had been turned upside down and pretended that he was just walking with his eyes closed. "If this is a similar fiasco to his lasagna we're all screwed."

Finding the kitchen area was easy enough. Clint counted every step, every turn. For the last twenty steps he could've easily followed the sounds of talking. As he walked in the other chatter stopped and transformed into one chaotic and incredibly warm shout. "Happy Birthday, Feathers!"

Clint jumped, and if he hadn't been surrounded by so many people he cared about he would've shouted from startle. "You guys do know that it isn't actually my birthday, don't you?" That would've been during his capture. He very much preferred believing that he didn't lose his eyesight on that very day.

"Of course we know." Pepper tried to sound annoyed but her tone was closer to fond. "But so what? If anyone deserves two it's you."

Clint didn't know what to say to that, so he uttered nothing. Instead he allowed Laura's familiar hand to guide him towards what smelled suspiciously close to a cake. Well, one that'd been torched, anyway. He inhaled deeply, even if it hurt his still mending lungs, and blew. Based on the hurricane of cheers he got all the candles.

It made sense to have a second birthday, really – because in a lot of ways his life was only just starting.

For several hours to come Clint listened to the others talking, teasing each other and bickering. At some point he even caught soft, murmured words between Tony and Pepper, and hoped that it was the sign of another new beginning. And finally, for the first time in a small forever, he felt at peace.

"So?" Laura whispered into his ear. She placed a kiss to his neck and it sent pleasant tingling all the way through. "Aren't you glad you stayed?"

"Yeah. I am." And Clint meant it, even though he knew that the road onwards would be horribly long and rocky.

* * *

They all ended up having a food poisoning from the cake. Except for Vision. Nonetheless they decided that it was the best birthday party they'd ever been to.

* * *

Clint had been right. The path ahead was far from easy, especially after Laura had to go back to the kids. On several occasions it might've been easier to give up. But he never did, and if he stumbled there was a massive security net of people ready to break his fall.

Natasha sat there with him through the night after Laura's departure. Clint's medication didn't allow alcohol so they opted to an unhealthy number of Sprite shots instead. Pepper found them passed out from the couch in the morning, and woke them up with announcing that they were too old to look like a couple of college students on a Saturday morning. Both still waking up former assassins burst into laughter. And Clint pointed out that Pepper should take a shower unless she wanted to spend the day with the scent of Tony's cologne hanging around her.

Wanda was there when it was confirmed that he'd never regain his eyesight, even partially. Neither of them spoke much as they stood high up on the Tower, wind brushing their faces and a deathly fall right in front of them. Rain fell incredibly heavily as they remained deep in thought. Hand in hand, holding on so tightly that their knuckles turned white. Eventually they headed inside in a comfortable silence, a small part of their sorrows' weight washed away by the rain. It was the anniversary of Pietro's death.

Steve was there with him when anger set in. Telling him to harness it, to use it as fuel to push him through. Clint ended up destroying several punching bags and half a training room.

"Feel better?" Steve inquired.

"Much."

Later, much later, Clint asked how long his outburst took. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or wince at Steve's reply. "About three hours."

Vision… wasn't entirely suave when it came to understanding and approaching humans. Especially when humans were feeling hurt and vulnerable. Or maybe Vision understood more than anyone gave him credit for.

There was a constant presence when a _bad day_ rolled in and the temptation to throw in the towel whispered in the back of Clint's head. Whenever the echo of Stryker's words and Clint's own thoughts nearly became too much. On the _worst days_ , such as when Clint said goodbye to his bow.

He couldn't bring himself to destroy such a beloved item. Instead he locked it up into one of the Tower's vaults, left it behind as he said farewell to a piece of himself. They stood there in a silence for a long time.

Vision spoke first. "Regardless of what happens… It will be an honor to continue fighting beside you."

Clint's eyebrow bounced up. "You think I'll still be up to it?" He wished that he'd been as sure…

"Of course." Vision's voice held nothing but confidence. "You are far too stubborn to cease fighting like this."

On one of the most horrific days of his life Clint smiled, just a little.

* * *

It took eight full weeks before Clint was finally able to return to the Farm. And he was… absolutely terrified, if he was honest with himself. How would the kids react? Would they be afraid of him? Angry?

Laura's steady hand in his was a great comfort. As were Nate's soft, sleepy sounds. "I've told them that you're still recovering. They know that you look a little different. So stop that frowning. You're making _me_ nervous."

Clint smirked sheepishly. "Sorry. I just…" He trailed off, not quite knowing what to say.

"I know." Laura gave his hand a squeeze. "But stop worrying. They'll be just as happy to have you back as I am."

And then it was already too late to back down, anyway. Because they'd been spotted. Clint heard the running steps long before Lila's voice. "Daddy!"

Before he knew it Clint had his arms full of Lila and Cooper. Both held him as though intending to never let go. He swallowed thickly, holding them back and inhaling their familiar scent. "Hey", he whispered hoarsely. "I'm home."

* * *

They all spent the night in Clint and Laura's bed. Even Cooper, who'd long since declared himself too old for such. They fell asleep to Lila reading Narnia.

* * *

A couple of months later Nick Fury led a very suspicious Clint towards a meeting room. "I'm… not sure what I'm doing here", Clint admitted. "I resigned…"

"… under significant stress, and to someone who had no authorization to accept your report of resignation." Fury definitely sounded determined. "You're still an Avenger, despite your… disability. I've invited over someone who may be able to help you adapt."

"And you're late", a new, unfamiliar male voice pointed out, irritated. Steps approached him, accompanied by a curious sound Clint recognized in a flash. A cane. "You must be Clint Barton? Fury's… told a lot about you." A second ticked by while they got used to one another's presence. "I'm Matt Murdock."

* * *

End of short story

* * *

A/N: A/N: HOORAY to a happy ending to a bleak story! (BEAMS) Clint'll ALWAYS have both his families there to support him, just like they've got him.

SOOOOO… Thoughts? Comments? Requests? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you makes my day.

GAH, I really have to go! Until next time. I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: Heartbreaking it was! Gosh, poor Clint. (whimpers) I absolutely adore the bond the movies have shown between Wanda and Vision! (BEAMS)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	64. A Hawk Watching Over You (WANDA CENTRIC)

A/N: After some hours of wrestling, this was the one of my MANY ideas which agreed to pop out first. (grins) We'll see what trouble our Hawk will face this time…

FIRST! THAK YOU, so very much, for your ABSOLUTELY AMAZING reviews! GOSH. I still can't believe how many other friends Clint Barton has! (starts purring) You can't even imagine how happy your making me.

Awkay, because I've been stalling long enough… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Hawk Watching Over You (WANDA CENTRIC)

* * *

The mission was handed to Clint out of the blue, when he was on his way to get some pizzas for the entire team. 'Check out a potential terrorist organization's cell, there's been suspicious activity', Fury said. 'It'll be quick job.' After having taken down ten hostiles the archer felt fully ready to strangle the one eyed man.

To hell with quick…!

Since Fury wasn't there to receive a well-deserved beating Clint gave all his attention to the remaining hostiles. He'd just knocked out a one more when his phone began to ring. It was Wanda. "Hey." He sounded breathless. Great, he was officially getting old… "Sorry that it's taking me this long…"

" _Never mind, I'll get the pizzas. You can tell the whole story when you get back._ " Wanda did her best to keep her tone light but he could tell that she was worried. Even if she would've never admitted it. " _Just get back soon or I'll order you some with anchovies._ "

Clint chuckled. He was barely quick enough to spot a man with a knife approaching. A spin, a punch and a stone hard kick, and the threat was down. He winced, his body aching uncomfortably. "I'll be back…" That was when he heard it. A catch in her breath that sent chills through him. "Wanda?" He lost his focus. The next attacker almost got him.

" _There's… I think five guys, approaching me._ " Wanda did a remarkable job at trying to stay calm. Still her voice was unnaturally tense. " _I've gotta go._ " And before he got the chance to object the call was over.

Adrenaline sped through Clint's body. Gave him more stamina and determination. He beat up a couple of more men and tossed one out a window before contacting Fury through his earpiece. "Get a cleaning up crew here. I've got another mission to attend to." Without waiting for a response he was already calling Tony.

" _Where are the pizzas?_ "

Clint's eyes narrowed, his mind and body preparing for another fight. "I need you to track down Wanda's phone. I think she's in a trouble."

By the time Clint made it to the scene he only found Wanda's phone. Along with a completely out cold young man and a moaning one. He grabbed the still semi-conscious one's collar and glared into the hazy, terrified eyes. "Tell me where the others took her or I'll give you something to be scared of", he growled.

* * *

Wanda's ears were ringing as she began to regain consciousness, slowly and painfully. She groaned, her nose wrinkling against the thought of returning awareness, and she curled up instinctively. Trying to figure out what was going on.

Her head hurt, so bad…!

A harsh kick, aimed right at her ribs, was effective to pull her thoughts elsewhere. She gasped, pain almost making her slip away once more. It was harder than it should've been to focus on the make voice talking to her. "You waking up now, you little freak?" a man sneered with audible disgust. "Good, good! Now open your goddamn eyes so we can have some fun."

Wanda knew, on a level of reason, that she probably shouldn't have obeyed. But she wanted to see, desperately. So, using up all her stubbornness, she cracked her eyes halfway open. At first the dimly lit, reeking room spun nauseatingly. Then, slowly, she was able to distinguish a young man of her age with overgrown, ash colored hair and tiny pig's eyes. Eyes which, at the moment, were looking at her like she was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen.

"Freak", he spat again, leaving his voice echoing in her aching head.

* * *

/ _She remembered, now. That same voice called out to her in a very different tone. "Well, well. Evening, gorgeous." Before she saw it coming he stood in front of her, blocking her path. No one had looked at her the way he did and it made her feel very uncomfortable._

 _Wanda tensed up, her fists balling. "I'm sorry. But I'm not interested."_

 _The man only grinned as a response. "Now where does that beautiful accent come from?" He tilted his head. "Looks like we found ourselves some real treat."_

 _Fear and rage took over. Rushed through her veins like lava. Her powers activated before she got the chance to think about it._ /

* * *

The haze threatening to take over eased when the man leaned closer. Too close. The expression on his face was absolutely chilling. "You landed two of my friends into a hospital, freak", he growled. "I'll have to teach you a valuable lesson for it."

It was one of Wanda's worst nightmares. To just lay there, helpless. Unable to do a thing and knowing that something very, very unpleasant was about to happen to her.

But she refused to crack. Wouldn't show a trace of how terrified she was. When his hand moved she actually growled.

He rewarded her bravery with a punch.

His idiocy was rewarded with the blessedly familiar sound of a bow's string tightening. "Touch her again…", Clint snarled like a wolf about to attack. "… and I'll make sure that you have a brand new hole where the sun doesn't shine."

Obviously the moron wasn't planning on taking the hint. He hissed in return, shifting. "Who the fuck are you? A freak like her? Her guard dog?"

Clint chuckled very, very darkly and menacingly. "Oh yeah… I'm a freak like her alright." Without any further warning an arrow flew, finding a home from between the attacker's butt cheeks.

When she was a little girl Wanda heard a pig being slaughtered, once, and the sound her assailant emitted re-summoned that unpleasant memory.

Clint wasn't satisfied yet. With a few strides he reached the still screaming attacker and grabbed the man's hair. Three stone hard punches later the lousy excuse of a human being was tossed to the floor, nose bloodied and unconscious. The Hawk glared at the knocked out man for a while, obviously making sure that he wouldn't be getting up again. Then, mindful to approach slowly enough to not appear threatening, he made his way to her, worry loud and clear in his eyes. "Are you alright?" He was already inspecting her head injury.

His touch made Wanda tense up for a moment until she relaxed slowly, welcoming the comfort. She tried to nod but wasn't sure if she managed to. "Yeah…" She was still dizzy and incredibly shook-up. And she probably had a concussion. But she'd be okay, like always. If she hadn't been broken by what life threw at her so far…

"… he touch you?" Clint's voice echoed uncomfortably. The words sounded unnaturally loud. The unvoiced ones. _Were you sexually assaulted?_

Wanda stilled, completely and utterly. Then shook her head barely visibly. And for the first time since the death of her brother she burst into tears.

"Shh… Shh…" Slowly and gently Clint gathered her into his arms, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. When she didn't protest he pulled her so close that she felt his slightly elevated heartbeat and held her, filling her with the kind of warmth and comfort she hadn't felt since her parents… "It'll be okay", he murmured. "You're okay, you're safe."

She pressed her face against his shoulder, shielding her eyes from the room's painful light and herself from the world, and tried to breathe while she trembled to the core of her being.

* * *

When Clint got Wanda's call… It was like one of his own kids had been attacked. It'd been a great pleasure to teach those bastards a valuable lesson. With the help of Fury's connections he'd ensure that all five of them would pay for what they'd done in front of court.

But right now Wanda was his main concern. The three attackers wouldn't wake up before the police and ambulance would get there. So he took Wanda into his arms, close and protectively, and walked out of the nauseating house that smelled like a drug den without looking back.

Wanda didn't utter a word as he took her to a hospital, too far gone into a shock. She clung to him like he was her sole lifeline and wouldn't let go even when a doctor attempted to pry her away to examine her. Clint sighed, confused to discover that it hurt. "She wasn't raped", he murmured, almost choking on the last word. "She's bruised, concussed and in a shock."

The doctor nodded, understanding clearly visible in her comforting brown eyes. "I see. I'll give her something that'll help her calm down."

Clint nodded gratefully. Usually he wasn't a fan of sedatives. But Wanda needed some rest before she could even begin to try and recover from this.

"Sir?" There was a frown on the doctor's face. "Are you… sure that she didn't sustain any further injuries?"

Clint's eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah. Why?" He followed her gaze and felt something twist uncomfortably in his stomach.

At some point a tiny puddle of blood had formed on the floor, and more of it kept dropping slowly yet steadily.

Around then Clint came to think that his side… felt strangely damp. Careful not to jostle Wanda he grabbed his coat and shifted it ever so slightly. He found a knife, which had been plunged so deep into his side that only the haft was visible.

It must've happened before he headed to help Wanda. Worry and adrenaline had numbed him. But now… Now he began to feel it.

"…crap…"

* * *

Wanda drifted in and out of awareness. And wondered if it was all some sort of a twisted nightmare. At some point the police appeared. So did Nick Fury. A few sharp words from the one eyed man were enough to make the officers leave her alone.

Where was Clint? Wasn't he supposed to be there? They hadn't arrested him, right? No, Fury wouldn't have allowed that.

She wished that she would've been able to think clearly.

Apparently she said as much out loud. "Don't worry, it's just the concussion and medication." Natasha's voice was suspiciously soothing. "Have some water, okay?"

/ ' _You're okay, you're safe._ ' /

Wanda took a couple of cautious sips. Her head was still whirring and hurt like hell but at least her thoughts were becoming clearer. "… Clint? …" He'd been there with her. Where was he?

Natasha was quiet for a long moment. Too long. "Get some more rest."

Wanda didn't exactly have any choice over the matter.

* * *

In the hallway Steve and Tony listened to a doctor's report with grim expressions.

Somewhere along the excitement the knife had shifted and ended up causing a significant amount of damage. Along with a long emergency surgery Clint had needed several blood transfusions and there was still a high chance that they'd lose him. The surgeon didn't seem to quite understand how the archer was still alive, much less how he'd managed to carry Wanda all the way to the hospital.

"Because it's Clint", Tony muttered and wasn't ashamed to admit that he had to wipe his eyes.

The doctor gave them a look of confusion but made no further comment. She sighed heavily, clearly preparing herself for a long dawning day. "I'll make sure that you'll have the news as soon as there's development", she promised and walked away like that was enough.

The heavy silence which followed could've been cut by a knife. Eventually Tony couldn't stand it. "He's gonna make it, Steve." It sounded almost like a child looking for a reassurance. "Feathers… He wouldn't be an idiot enough to check out on us like this."

Steve commented nothing. Instead the Captain took a deep breath and began to march away. "I'm calling Fury. He told me to give updates", the man answered before Tony had the time to ask. "And then I have to call Laura." In moments like that one it was easy to see how heavily the position of a team leader weighed on Steve's shoulders.

Tony himself… He felt helpless, and he _hated_ feeling helpless. All he could do was wait uselessly while one of his friends tried to overcome a vicious attack and another fought for his life.

So, with nothing else to do he slumped down to an extremely uncomfortable chair and started his fifteenth mug of coffee in four hours because it was better than the alternative.

* * *

Breaking the news to Laura… wasn't a pleasant experience. But still Steve insisted that he'd do it, as he had since finding out about Clint's family. He felt that it was his responsibility, even if he wasn't with Clint when the man got hurt – or maybe that was the very reason why he felt responsible.

Laura took the news about as well as could be expected. She listened quietly, asked a few questions. Fought audibly to digest the information.

In the end Steve sighed heavily. It felt like there was a ton's weight on his shoulders. "Laura… I'm sorry…"

" _Stop that. Right now. I… I had this conversation with Phil once, and now I'll have it with you._ " Laura breathed hard. " _You can't feel responsible for every injury that big idiot sustains. Those things… Sometimes they just happen._ " _Too often_ , they both mused darkly. " _Just… Be there with him. Make sure that he'll be alright so I can yell at him later._ "

"I will." It occurred to Steve that sometimes it couldn't be easy to be Clint's wife. Always kept in the sidelines, a secret, constantly dreading one of these phone calls or worse…

" _And look after Wanda, too._ " Laura sounded genuinely worried. Clearly Clint wasn't the only Barton with a soft spot for the last Maximoff. " _She's going to have a hard time with this._ "

About an hour later Steve approached Wanda's hospital room to find Natasha and Tony from the hallway. He frowned at the looks on their faces. "What's wrong?"

Natasha gritted her teeth. Her usually remarkably flawless self-control came dangerously close to slipping. "I had to tell her about Clint. She wouldn't stop asking about him."

Well. That didn't sound good. A doctor approached, getting all their attention, but passed by. "Any updates on Barton?" It was always back to surnames when emotions threatened to get out of control. He couldn't afford to lose control, not here, not like this.

Tony and Natasha shook their heads, clearly as unhappy about the answer as he was.

Deciding that perhaps he'd be more useful there, Steve slipped into Wanda's room. In the dim light he saw that she had her back towards the door. The way she'd curled up and how she was shaking spoke out her emotional state. "You should be resting", he pointed out.

"Any news?" she demanded, blatantly ignoring her.

Steve sighed. "No. They're still working on him." His heart broke when her trembling intensified, barely visibly but still. "Wanda…"

"If… If I hadn't called him, when I did… Then maybe…"

"… you might've been killed." Steve knew that he was being harsh but perhaps blunt honesty was the best way to get through to her. He couldn't bring himself to utter the word 'raped'. "There was no way you could've known that he was hurt. He chose to help you and I'm glad he did, despite all this. And if he got the chance to choose he'd do it all over again."

"He shouldn't."

Steve shrugged. "He's a family man. He probably shouldn't be doing any of this. But as far as he's concerned we're his family, too, and there's nothing he wouldn't do for family."

"He's insane." Well. At least she wasn't shivering anymore.

"I'll be sure to tell him as much when he wakes up", Steve assured her. Because of course Clint would wake up. There was no alternative.

"Was that a joke?"

"Maybe." A few moments of thoughtful silence passed by until Steve spoke. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm drugged pretty heavily and concussed, Steve. I'll tell you when I know." Wanda shifted, still not turning to face him. "I think I'll try to get some sleep, now." _GET OUT_ , wouldn't have been even the slightest bit clearer of a message.

Steve admitted defeat, albeit reluctantly, and began to take his leave. "We'll be right outside, if you need anything." They both knew that she wouldn't be calling out to them.

Steve left slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind. He left the door slightly ajar, so that they'd hear if anything was wrong. (Well, like _everything_ wasn't already wrong…) He found himself wishing that Clint was able to help. The Hawk always seemed to know what to say to her.

* * *

Wanda couldn't sleep. The environment… Her thoughts… The hazy memories of the attack… Clint… Everything was a massive mess, and her aching head wasn't able to handle it.

During the lonely, dark hours of that first night she curled up even more tightly and wished, from the bottom of her aching heart, that Pietro would've been there to comfort her.

She didn't have any broken bones but because of the concussion they wanted to keep her for a while, just to be sure. Wanda was shocked to realize that she didn't mind too much. Because as soon as she could stand up without seeing double she began to sneak towards Clint's room.

Technically he wasn't allowed visitors just yet, but apparently they made an exception this time. Fury probably had something to do with it. And technically Wanda wasn't allowed to leave her room yet. At first the team and medical personnel attempted to stop her. But when – after a long, frantic search – they found her sleeping soundly beside him they no longer had the heart to keep them apart. Especially when his vitals seemed slightly more stable in her presence. The rest of the team waited anxiously as the two recovered.

Clint's internal injuries seemed to refuse to stop bleeding.

Wanda had persistent nightmares.

Just when all was supposed to headed towards the better Clint developed a nasty infection and a sky-high fever.

On that day Wanda, who'd been discharged long since, lost control of her powers again and destroyed one of the Tower's training rooms. Half an hour later she stared at the devastation with wide, disbelieving eyes. When Vision appeared and wrapped his arms around her for an awkward, clumsy hug she clung to him as though to a lifeline and finally cried the tears she'd wanted to shed since _then_.

They came very, very close to losing Clint during the two days which followed. Wanda couldn't bring herself to enter his room and hated herself for it. It was just… She'd lost far too many people. The thought of losing Clint, too, just because he'd tried to keep her safe…

Her resolve finally failed on the night when Clint's fever began to break. Aside the machinery the room was eerily quiet as she snuck in. Clint looked horribly pale and fragile. Far more so than the previous time she saw him. It took a while before she found the courage to grab his hand. It was unnaturally warm and clammy from fever, but solid and real. She anchored herself on the comforting feel.

"Wake up soon", she murmured. It didn't matter if she sounded a little choked up. "Because… I can't sleep. Or control my powers. And I… I need you, to help me." She hadn't admitted to needing anyone or anything aside Pietro since their parents died. The fact that she couldn't help it now was almost as terrifying as the possibility of a yet another loss.

Clint didn't wake up magically at that moment. But she could've sworn that his fingers tightened around hers. She held back as tightly as she dared to.

* * *

It was dark for a very long time. Too long. And then Clint started dreaming.

Of his family at the Farm.

Of the team. At times he could've sworn that he heard their voices. Natasha warning him against checking out, Tony spouting far more bad jokes than he would've been able to handle even on a good day, and Steve's simple, uncharacteristically emotional request that he'd be alright. Yes. Definitely a dream.

And then he was certain that he was watching Wanda's attack. How all those thugs came on to her, hurt her. How she tried, so very hard, to stand her ground against them alone. He wanted to roar from helpless rage but couldn't find the breath for such.

(Once again someone seemed to be talking. He couldn't really focus on it. " _… intubated … right now! …_ ")

And then Wanda's plea filled all of his consciousness. Was she using her powers or…? "… _help_ _me_ …"

Considering the vivid, horrific dreams waking up was a strangely anticlimactic affair. The first thing he experienced was a disturbing numbness. It took far too long before he realized that it was most likely the pain medication working its magic. Then he heard soft humming. Curious, he soldiered his eyelids to part a crack. It was probably the drugs that made him grin at what he discovered.

Wanda was too pale for comfort and he could tell that she hadn't been sleeping properly. But she seemed serene as she hummed, her powers toying around with three apples. That alone felt so right that warmth flowed through his bloodstream.

Still, he needed to make sure… "… okay?" His voice sounded absolutely horrible.

Wanda was startled but didn't lose control over the apples. The smile which appeared lit up her entire face. "Welcome back, Old Man."

Clint went to sleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

Half an hour later Tony and Natasha peered into the room to find the duo sleeping calmly. It was the deep, dreamless slumber of someone recovering. "You know what?" Tony whispered with a grin. He felt light for the first time since… Well, _before_. "I think those two will be okay."

Natasha nodded her agreement, a tiny smile threatening to become visible.

"Come on", Tony commanded as loudly as he dared to. "Those two can have a tiny nap before we start messing with them. I'll treat you to some cafeteria food."

"Are you trying to kill me?"

* * *

Clint was only able to relax when he had Wanda nearby, when he could see that she was safe and okay. Wanda was best in tune with her powers when Clint was nearby. So it made sense that those two should recover together. In a place that was far away from the whole nightmare. It was Laura's idea that they'd spend some time at the Farm.

On most days it was a great idea. Seeing those two begin to regain their footing was a rather incredible experience and the kids, especially Lila, welcomed Wanda like she was their big sister. And then there were days when it was a horrible idea. Both Wanda and Clint had nightmares. Sometimes Clint's presence and the guilt over what happened to him seemed to be almost too much on Wanda.

One night Laura woke up to discover Clint's side of the bed empty. She sighed heavily and got up as well, putting on a dressing gown. After searching for a few minutes she followed the sounds of quiet chatter to the porch. Her husband sat there with Wanda, both looking at the starlit sky. She stood a subtle distance away, unwilling to disturb them.

"The nightmares will stop eventually. I know they will. Sometimes I just…" Wanda gulped loudly and wiped her eyes. "On nights like this, I just wish Pietro was there."

Only someone who knew Clint as well as Laura did noticed the way he tensed up. Pietro was still a touchy topic. She was okay with the thought of not telling their kids how the boy died. How were they supposed to explain that daddy came home only because someone else's beloved didn't? But Laura wished, from the bottom of her heat, that Clint would've been able to talk about Pietro with her. Especially when every mention of the late speedster's name still seemed to feel like a stab.

"He'd be very proud of how well you're doing", Clint murmured softly.

A comfortable silence lingered until Wanda went on. "Mom… She used to tell us that when someone we love dies they're not really gone. They become stars that keep watching over us." She pulled her knees to her chest. "It's comforting to imagine that they're all there. Mom… Dad… Pietro…"

"Pietro was your brother, wasn't he?" They all jumped a little at the new voice, not having noticed Lila coming. She must've been up to get a drink and heard them. The child took a seat beside Wanda, also looking at the sky. "Which star is he?" the little girl asked quietly, despite her age seeming to understand that this was a painful topic.

Without hesitation Wanda lifted a finger and pointed. "See that one? No, no, two stars to the right."

"It's twinkling, like he's winking at us", Lila exclaimed with a child's excitement and innocence.

Clint's eyes softened. Some of the earlier weight and ache seemed to ease as he kissed his daughter's hair. "You know what, sweetie? I'll bet he's doing just that."

"What was he like?" Lila studied Wanda's face. "It's okay, if you don't wanna talk about it."

Wanda took a deep breath, her facial features softening as she lost herself to the memories. And although they had to hurt the edges of her lips curled upwards while her eyes filled with moisture. "Loud. Annoying. Funny. The fastest person this world has ever seen." The young Sokovian took Clint's hand. "Too brave for his own good. And he could eat twice as much as Cooper."

While Lila's nose wrinkled from disgust and Wanda kept talking Clint glanced towards Laura. They exchanged a fond, knowing smile. There was still a lot of healing to be done, but everything would be alright. The night around them was calm and quiet.

* * *

End of story.

* * *

A/N: D'awww! Of course Wanda will be okay with the help of the Barton-clan. And Clint will be just fine, too. (smiles fondly)

Soooo… Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! AND REMEMBER THAT REQUESTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED.

 **STILL OH SO MUCH TO COME!** A tragic accident, illness, a horrific attack AND even an unexpected animal attack. Poor Clint Barton's troubles are far from over!

Awkay, I've gotta get going. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: (BEAMS) I'm OVERJOYED that you think so! Thank gosh he got that happiness in the end, after such a bleak tale. (sighs happily) I really hope that you'll have an awesome time with the next one as well!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	65. Don't Move!

A/N: That's right, folks! It's updating time. (BEAMS) But, before getting that far…

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, so very much, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings and LOVE for our Hawk! It makes me heart swell with joy that such an underrated hero has so many friends. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, because it's REALLY late (or early…?)… Let's go! Three… Two… One… Time to start the flight!

* * *

Don't Move!

* * *

Clint opened his eyes. Simple as that. And as he stared at the ridiculously blue sky above him he realized that he had absolutely no idea what was going on. The last thing he could remember with absolute certainty was taking a jog with Steve. _Never_ a great idea, but hardly bad enough to lead him to… whatever the hell was going on at the moment.

Clint didn't like being down. Especially when he didn't know what was going on, when he couldn't be sure that he wasn't surrounded by enemies. So he did what came instinctively. Attempted to get up.

" _Don't move!_ " Steve sounded so uncharacteristically scared that it froze him instantly. " _I… I know that you're in pain, but don't move._ "

Clint swallowed thickly. "I… don't feel pretty much anything." Now that he was able to think, at least a little, he was chillingly numb. "Am I… Am I supposed to be in pain, Cap?" He was slurring, too. Never good news.

What was going on?!

" _Don't worry. Just stay nice and still._ " Tony was clearly aiming for a light tone but couldn't quite nail it. " _You're really good at getting your feathery ass into a trouble._ "

Clint blinked slowly, sluggishly, trying to remember just what he'd done. This wasn't his fault, right? He hadn't been jumping from windows, getting himself shot or running after criminals – all he'd been doing was running after Steve… Right?

" _Hey!_ " Tony's voice reached him, although it sounded far more distant than before. " _No going quiet on me, Clint. Nat's already itching to beat you up for this one._ "

 _Tasha…_ Suddenly he was far more aware. "'she okay?"

" _Really, really pissed off. And a little bruised. But she's fine._ "

Bruised? She wasn't supposed to be bruised. It'd been two weeks from their latest mission – she'd been going crazy with boredom. He was definitely missing something. What was he missing? And why? What was going on?

That final thought kept spinning around in his head madly.

" _Don't move!_ " Steve basically pleaded. Most definitely scared. Why?

But Clint couldn't hold still! Not when something was wrong. Not when he couldn't see a single member of the team. So he began to move the best as he could, determined and confused.

Where… was that crackling sound coming from?

" _… Clint! ..._ "

"Need a hand?"

That voice froze Clint's blood. And his body. His eyes darted to side, blazing with such rage that echoed from the bottom of his heart and soul. "… the hell away!...", he sneered.

Loki, whose face and upper body loomed threateningly above him, rolled his eyes. "And Thor calls me dramatic…" The trickster looked up, and they both saw that snow had begun to fall. "I wouldn't wish to be you. It looks like a snowstorm is at hand."

A snowstorm? In New York? It didn't sound right. Clint didn't like it when things didn't sound right, especially with Loki nearby. He still remembered the feeling of his head being taken over, all too vividly. "Leave!" he snarled, desperate to have this unwanted presence gone. To regain control, because he felt like he was slipping…

Loki began to laugh, the sinister sound mixing with the howling wind.

"Nope." A new voice… "I'm not going anywhere."

Clint shivered at how close the voice came from. He wanted to move his head, to get a look and find out whether it was all real, but couldn't quite manage it. He groaned out of frustration, noticing distantly that the crackling he'd heard before continued and intensified ever so slightly.

"Tony, don't!"

"He's hallucinating and bleeding out, I'm done waiting!" Steps approached him, so very slowly and carefully. "You okay down there, Pigeon?"

Clint's eyelids fluttered. He was fading, and it was alarming how little that succeeded in bothering him. "I, ah… I'm getting sort of dizzy, here…" He licked his lips. "But… I'm good, Tin Can." If only he hadn't been slurring. "Just… Gotta move… Gotta get up… Loki… Where's Loki?" Couldn't they see the problem? Had they been tricked? Had he?

"Clint." Tony sounded uncharacteristically serious. He still couldn't see the man. "I have no idea what your mind's been up to, but Loki… isn't here. The guy's…" The billionaire was interrupted by remembering that Thor was also listening. "… gone. It's just our insane bunch."

Clint's eyes kept trying to flutter closed. His lips opened but even a breath wouldn't carry past them. He stared at the slowly and calmly falling snow, wondering if this was all a dream.

All of a sudden the crackling from before was like thunder, and then he fell into a world of ice and darkness.

* * *

For Tony the whole thing was one big, never-ending nightmare. They were all there. And none of them could stop it from happening.

The Big Guy was… otherwise engaged, and wouldn't have been able to help anyway. Steve and Thor were busily destroying the enemy base. Tony… Tony was right there, able to see it all yet unable to help because five particularly annoying hostiles were keeping him occupied.

He saw how a man took Natasha down and began to strangle her with a terrifying amount of force. She fought back like a tiger, of course she did, but there was only so much she could do against a guy who matched Thor in size. Far too soon she was fading out.

And then, just before it would've been too late, Clint appeared as though out of thin air. He was their sniper, their watcher. The Hawk had the element of surprise, and his blitz attack tackled the much larger man down with a deeply annoyed grunt. Natasha slumped down as well, gasping like someone who'd been about to drown.

Tony had handled two of his five problems while Clint and the enemy clashed violently. The wind wiped away the heated words exchanged between the two. It was impossible to tell what, exactly, happened. Especially when Tony was forced to look away at a critical moment. When he looked back his heart skipped a beat at what greeted him.

The cliff's edge gave way, sending the two men down. Natasha was there quickly, reaching out a hand with a horrible, wounded howl. But it was too late.

The enemy hit his head on the way down and was dead before ever hitting the ice-covered lake underneath, much too far down. Clint's eyes… They remained wide and open the whole way. Until he finally landed to the ice with a sickening sound. And then it was too quiet, despite Hulk and the fight Tony was engaged in.

Clint's eyes closed as the man began to fall sickeningly pale. A trail of blood started to meander from the archer's nose, signaling how hard he'd hit his head. And far too quickly a pool of dark red blood was forming under the Hawk. Belatedly Tony realized that Clint just landed on a case that still had several arrows. One of them must've bent under the violent impact and punctured something. For much too long it was impossible to tell if Clint was even breathing.

Tony finished his own battle with a roar of helpless rage, his eyes stinging uncomfortably. He never found out about the moisture on his cheeks. Because just as his battle ceased two new sounds could be heard. Clint's gasp as the man somehow, impossibly, regained a little of his consciousness. And crackling as the ice underneath the archer began to give way. Breaks appearing and growing like a spider's web.

Tony waited until he couldn't. Watching the puddle of blood and the cracks grow. Listening to Clint's gasping, nauseatingly moist breaths and the man's muffled, barely comprehensible words. Then he was approaching, mindful to be as careful as possible and blatantly ignoring Steve's pleas for him to stop.

What the hell was he supposed to do, wait for Clint to either bleed out or drown?

Clint's eyes fell closed just as he was two steps away from the prone man. A chilling, peaceful expression appeared at the exact second the ice gave way, sending them both into the depths below. Into cold that didn't seem to belong to the real world.

Tony fought with all his might against the reflexive need to exhale. Instead he looked around frantically, knowing that time was an issue. He wouldn't remain functional for long in those frosty temperatures.

Spotting Clint in the murky depths was a real challenge. But eventually he saw his friend, grabbed desperately and pulled the unresponsive man close, beginning to haul both of them upwards. Tony wasn't the praying kind but at moment he pleaded in his head, as hard as he could, that he wasn't too late.

As soon as he hit the surface Tony breathed, loudly and hungrily although it made his lungs _burn_. Clint didn't do the same. Tony knew that he should've checked, should've made sure… But he couldn't bring himself to. Adrenaline flowed through his veins like wildfire so getting them to the ice was no challenge. He dragged and pulled until the nightmarish crackling sound stopped entirely. And then he stopped, down on his knees with Clint held tightly against him. The other's head rested against his shoulder, the angle such that he didn't feel a breath. He refused to accept that there might not be a breath. Tony inhaled and exhaled, fighting a war to keep himself from slipping into a panic attack. He held on as firmly as he dared to, ignoring the fact that he could smell Clint's blood.

"It's okay…", he murmured in a voice he couldn't recognize. "It's… It's okay… Just hold nice and still, yeah? Just rest… I've got this. Just hang in there and hold still."

Clint was cold and unmoving in his arms.

* * *

Steve approached very slowly, dreading and his knees uncomfortably unsteady. Snow was falling heavily and some of it had gathered to Tony and Clint's hair. Tony was trembling miserably, fast on his way to shock and hypothermia, and babbling constantly, those words atypically quiet and frantic. Clint… wasn't making a sound, didn't give a twitch. The serene looking archer's face held almost the same color as the snow, save a little blood under the man's nose.

Steve swallowed thickly, feeling sick. He didn't like the way his eyes felt. "Tony", he called out softly. Wondering how in the world to set his words. "We need to get you both out of here, alright?"

Tony didn't react in a very long time. Then, barely traceably, the inventor nodded. "'K."

Steve waited for more. Expected his friend to move. When nothing happened he was the one who approached. "I'll carry him", he offered. At a violent flash of protest in the Iron Man's eyes he went on. "You wouldn't manage to drag him all the way to the shore. Let me help, will you? I'll be careful."

It was obvious that Tony didn't like it, but there was little choice. Carefully as though handling fragile china the billionaire surrendered the still completely unresponsive Hawk to his care. Steve cradled Clint carefully, forcing himself into not wondering whether the man was even breathing.

Steve wanted to offer Tony words of comfort but found none. Besides, if there was any hope at all anymore time was an issue. So he turned around and walked away, willing himself to believe that it wasn't dead weight in his suddenly unsteady arms.

* * *

Tony stared as Steve and Clint disappeared from view. Then surrendered to the panic-attack that'd been circling inside him greedily. He had no idea how long he sat there, gasping unhealthily, until he managed to get a hold of himself. As he began to make his way towards where his friends just went his legs were barely in the condition to support his weight.

Bruce was there waiting for him. If he'd been braver he might've wondered what the somber look on his science buddy's face meant. "Are you okay?"

Tony blinked once, twice. Of course he wasn't. "Yeah. Why?"

Bruce nodded towards his clothes, eyes full of concern and alarm. Tony followed the gaze and felt sick to his stomach. Blood covered a huge part of his shirt and pants.

How long did it take to find his voice? A minute? A month? He couldn't bring himself to face Bruce. "It's… It's not mine… It's not mine…"

* * *

Hypothermia. Skull fracture. A couple of hairline fractures to spine. Two broken ribs. A punctured… the team couldn't remember what anymore. Heavy internal bleeding. The doctor who first treated Clint didn't seem to quite understand how the archer was still alive. And didn't give them any false hopes. It was highly unlikely that the Hawk would live until the following morning.

Thor walked out to blow off some steam. Steve and Bruce remained in the waiting room, talking quietly with grim looks on their faces. Tony didn't feel like he could stand to be there.

Tony had no idea where he was headed until he'd stumbled into the room where a group of three incredibly brave medical professionals had ordered Natasha to stay in. Just until the morning, to ensure that the strangulation wouldn't cause any further issues. At the moment she sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space and her fists balled so tightly that it had to hurt. She was unnaturally pale, which made the quickly forming bruises around her neck stand out.

Without saying a word Tony went as close as he dared to, then slumped to a chair and wrapped the blanket draped over his shoulders even more tightly around himself. Like a kid seeking comfort. "So… This was a pretty horrible day."

Natasha's only response was gritting her teeth.

"Look…" Tony sighed heavily, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted. "What happened to Cl…"

"He should've stayed the hell out of it."

For exactly ten seconds Tony was shocked speechless. Then his eyes narrowed. "And let that guy kill you? You think he would've been able to live with that, that it would've been fair to make him live with that?" He took a breath, the memories still far too fresh and painful. "Clint interferes when someone's in a trouble. It's what he does. Especially for a family." A bitter taste filled his mouth. "I just… I wish that he wasn't so unlucky all the time."

Natasha bounced up at such speed that it startled him, then stormed into the room's toilet before he could utter a word. When she emerged twenty minutes later she was the picture of perfect composure. Even though her eyes were suspiciously red and puffy. Tony didn't ask or comment. They sat in a silence, both deep in thought and miserable, and waited.

So deep in thought Tony was, that he nearly missed Natasha's whispered words. Maybe he imagined them. "I've already had too many people die because of me."

* * *

At dawn Clint was still, against all odds, alive. Over the day which followed he faltered a couple of times but never left them. Never once let go.

They took turns in watching over him, one at a time because more people weren't allowed into the room. None of them felt comfortable with leaving him alone. No matter how hard it was to see him so feeble and close to the edge.

Thor paced, haunted by the way Clint's voice sounded as it spoke Loki's name. Haunted by the thought that if he'd been a better brother… If he'd been stronger, done something differently… The intensifying sounds of Clint's heart monitor interrupted his chaotic thoughts. As did the twitching fingers. It lasted only for seconds but was enough to chase away some of the immense weight on his broad shoulders.

He wasn't a good enough brother to save Loki from himself and whatever the trickster had gone through in his… absence before New York. But perhaps he'd learned his lesson, and would be a better brother for Clint. So he kept watch as the bleeps calmed, leaving the horribly injured archer resting calmly.

Steve had lost far too many comrades and would remember each one's date of death for the rest of his own life. And Clint… He'd never, ever forget how the man's nearly lifeless body looked and felt. It didn't help matters that for several endless days it was only with the help of extensive surgeries, medication, blood transfusions and machinery that archer stayed alive. Seeing someone as lively and stubborn as Clint like that, for such a long time… It was a rattling experience.

But he was there when they dared to take Clint off the ventilator. When they announced, cautiously, that there was a good chance that the archer might make it. When Clint took his first independent breaths, aided only by oxygen whiskers, Steve himself could finally breathe properly.

Bruce didn't feel comfortable with being in a hospital, especially when Big Guy was begging his attention constantly. He ended up reading out loud a lot to distract himself. To drown out the beast roaring in the back of his head.

Apparently Clint enjoyed it, too. Because the archer's vitals stabilized whenever he read. As he murmured through a scientific article only he, and possibly Tony, could've found interesting the Hawk's dangerously high fever began to break.

It took a while before Tony dared to approach Clint's room. A new panic-attack wouldn't have helped either of them, and he wasn't sure he could trust himself. And he almost did lose control the first time he entered the room. The only thing keeping him rooted was the fact that Clint looked like he'd been only sleeping. Like all it'd take to rouse him was a gentle shake.

Tony didn't dare to touch, however. Refused to break the illusion. Instead he sat as close to his friend as he could convince himself to accept and fell into a calm, dreamless slumber.

It was amusing, really, how a gravely injured, heavily unconscious man somehow managed to calm down all of them. _Almost_ all of them, anyway. Because there was one face which remained absent stubbornly.

Natasha didn't set her foot into the room.

* * *

Time passed by. So much that the team had trouble keeping track. Tony had grown well used to coping with ridiculously little sleep but even he had his limits. He was in the middle of sketching his newest invention when he fell asleep, sitting on an uncomfortable chair with his legs lifted to Clint's bed.

He woke up to a strange sensation of… poking.

Startled, Tony shivered violently and opened his eyes, prepared for absolutely anything. Just about anything, at least. Because the sight of bleary, half open eyes shocked him enough to paralyze him. For a while they simply stared at each other, Tony wanting to talk but not quite daring to.

Clint's doctor had explained quite grimly that there was no telling what the Hawk's ordeal had done to his brain, how much damage there might be.

Recognition, however, dawned in Clint's eyes. The voice which eventually spoke was hoarse and quiet but familiar. "… your feet … 'ing heavy."

Tony stared. Then began to laugh hysterically. If Clint noticed the unshed tears filling his eyes the archer didn't call him out on it. "Watch your language, Birdie, or I'll tell Steve."

* * *

It'd been weeks. Natasha had taken several missions, much to Nick Fury's irritation. The man kept giving her non too subtle hints that running around and away wasn't the answer.

What did he know, anyway, she mused angrily and bitterly.

But can anyone ever really run away forever? Natasha was back from a fairly infuriating mission in Stockholm when she learned that Clint had vanished from his hospital room.

Of course she knew where he'd go, where he'd aim for even when he was barely in the condition to walk for longer than five steps, even when it was a miracle that he could walk at all.

It was shockingly warm at the hospital's rooftop, and she wondered with genuine confusion when late May had arrived. That question lost all importance when she noticed her friend, sitting uncomfortably close to the edge with his face turned greedily towards the sun. For a very long time she felt tempted to walk away.

"You do realize that you're being creepy, don't you, just standing there staring at me."

Natasha didn't dignify him with an answer. Instead she walked closer and sat beside him. "You've worried the nurses, idiot. They don't like their patients having adventures their bodies aren't ready for."

Clint smirked, his eyes still closed. He had to be in pain but was doing a marvelous job at hiding it. Then again, his pain tolerance had always been unhealthily good. "Their fault for expecting me to just lay around uselessly." He shifted slightly. "Besides, I'm not the one who's been running around for…" He frowned. "I'm not sure, honestly. The past… while is a bit blurry."

That surprised Natasha. The updates she demanded as often as she could bear mentioned that there was supposed to be no brain damage, but she'd should've known to anticipate a degree of memory loss. "What's the last thing you remember clearly?"

Clint thought about it for a moment. "A jog with Steve." He sighed, and hid a wince. "I… guess it's been a while."

"Yeah." Natasha swallowed, looking at the sky. "It's been a while." She hadn't realized just how long.

Finally Clint looked at her. His eyes were worried, not accusative. "I think I'm done running around for the day. How about you?" It was painfully obvious how much he wanted her to stay.

Natasha… had no idea what to say, what to do. In the end she did the only thing she could. She nodded, and stayed beside him. Deciding fiercely that this time she'd be the one watching over him.

"What are you doing up here, anyway?"

Clint grinned in a way she recognized well. In a way which promised that all would be okay, eventually. "I just wanted to feel warm again."

Natasha nodded. The sky was cloudless, beautiful. "I'd like to feel warm, too." Because she hadn't since that horrible day.

So the two friends remained in a companionable silence. Keeping an eye on each other and enjoying the sun. And they felt warm.

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: DANG, that stubborn man – trouble just seems to find him! And we came REALLY close this time. (shudders) But awww, he'll be okay. They all will be.

Sooooo… Hit, miss? Any good at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you absolutely makes my day.

Until next time, folks – I really hope that you'll join in for more feathery adventures!

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: HOORAH! I'm overjoyed to hear that. (BEAMS) I totally get where you're coming! Sometimes it's nice to have Clint share the whump-spotlight.

I REEEEEEEEALLY hope that you'll enjoy the flights to come!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: It's SO GOOD to hear that you enjoyed it, and especially that dynamic. I LOVE those two and their special bond. (grins)

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	66. Dying With Every Breath

A/N: DAAAANG, it's late, again! BUT, at least I finally get this chapter out. (BEAMS) Yay…?

First, though… Thank you SO, SO MUCH for your incredible reviews, listings and support! Let's keep this collection alive for a thousand more adventures to come. (HUGS)

Awkay, because the clock isn't a friend… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy this.

 **Takes place before 'The Age of Ultron'.**

 **Brief mentions of Laura and mini-Hawks.**

* * *

Dying With Every Breath

* * *

Waking up wasn't a nice experience. Bruce's head hurt, and it took a considerable number of gulps to avoid throwing up. It felt like a really, really bad hangover. Too bad he knew better.

"Bruce." Clint's voice… It didn't sound quite right. "I need you to stay very calm right now, okay?"

Why did Bruce get the feeling that soon he'd be in a huge trouble with Big Green…?

Bruce opened his eyes, anyway. Because he needed to find out what was going on. The first thing he saw was a plexiglass, which had a very thin crack that went from the floor to the ceiling. It didn't go all the way through but would if the surface would be disturbed. On the other side was Clint, sitting with his knees brought against his chest. Very pale, and incredibly bruised.

Bruce swallowed thickly, a horrible dread rising. "What did I do?" he whispered in a choked voice. Because in moments like this, when someone from the team was clearly injured, he couldn't quite make a difference between himself and the Big Guy.

Clint, however, shook his head immediately. "No, no, Bruce, this… This isn't Big Green's handiwork, okay? They got me. Hulk… I think he tried to help, so they attempted to gas him, too." The archer nodded towards the crack. "Big Guy didn't like." The next gesture was towards something behind the scientist.

Bruce peered over his shoulder slowly, reluctantly. His eyes widened, although with his 'other side' he'd learned to expect pretty much anything. There was a massive hole on the stone wall, opening a at least ten stories high fall.

After several seconds of shocked marvel something Clint just said struck Bruce. Made his blood run cold. ' _… gas him, too …_ ' His eyes widened as they turned towards the Hawk. The slowly building understanding was painful. Especially when a faint hissing sound reached his ears.

They were both imprisoned. Poisonous gas had been pumped into both their cells. The difference was that his side had a gigantic airway to ensure his safety, while Clint had no other choice but to breathe it in.

Bruce's head began to whir, analyzing, calculating frantically. How long had passed? How much time had been wasted?

"Bruce, stay calm!" Clint's voice was surprisingly firm for someone who had a split lip and whose every inhale was deadly. "Big Guy can't join us now, okay? This building… It's still standing, somehow, but it's really unstable. Steve and Nat are evacuating but some of the kids are still inside." This was a HYDRA research center. The amount of child test subjects they'd learned of was sickening. The kids were also a risk they just couldn't afford to take. Nor did Bruce have any intention of risking the building collapsing on his friends.

Bruce gritted his teeth, so hard that it hurt. One breath. Two. In. Out. "You didn't tell them about our… situation, did you?" It wasn't really a question.

Clint shook his head. "Since half of this building went down twenty kids have been trapped inside. And there are still hostiles lurking around. So… The others have their hands full without having us to worry about. As far as they know we're just a little stuck."

It was so ridiculously absurd that Bruce almost wanted to laugh. Almost. It took all his willpower to keep himself together. To keep Big Guy from joining in to make a bad situation even worse.

"Bruce." Clint tone was firm. Stubborn. "They're gonna be here soon, okay? We'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know." Of course he would be. And he'd make sure that Clint would be as well. He gave his friend a critical glance. Doctor's instincts wiping away the distress of a worried friend which would've done neither of them any good. "Any symptoms?"

Clint mused for a moment. "I'm… just a little dizzy. Could be because of the blow to the head." Seeing the look on his face, the archer sighed. "Stop that. Right now."

"Stop what?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Clint groaned, trying to find a more comfortable position on the floor while looking around. "Not even a chess set or paper for some tick-tack-toe? These guys are horrible hosts."

* * *

Time dragged by horribly slowly. As it often happens to do when one is feeling unwell and vulnerable. It didn't help that inevitably Clint began to feel the gas' impact.

Breathing _hurt_ , and he was fairly sure that he had a fever. His head was killing him, and he had no idea if the poisonous air or his injuries was the cause. His mood wasn't improved by the fact that his body seemed to have morphed into a gigantic bruise.

Suddenly he was sadistically glad that he bit off that HYDRA agent's ear as a 'thank you'.

He didn't realize that he'd said as much out loud until he heard Bruce's voice. It seemed to come through several walls. "… you really bite off someone's ear?"

Clint shrugged, all of a sudden feeling uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with physical ailments. "I hate to break it to you, Banner, but I've done a lot worse." If he told Bruce exactly what he'd done in the past the scientist wouldn't wonder which one of them was the real monster. "I used to be an assassin and… Well, look at what we do now. We do 'worse' for a living." He shrugged, leaning his back more heavily against the wall. "At least it's for the good guys, now." At least now the blood coating his hands – figuratively and sometimes literally – had a noble cause.

Natasha wasn't the only member of the team with red on her ledger and there, half-delirious from fever, Clint mused philosophically if that bitter shared trait was one driving purpose for every member of the Avengers.

* * *

Bruce sat still for a while, deep in thought.

He'd never been able to talk about this with… well, anyone. For Steve the time of war was a far too sore memory – like yesterday, although it'd been decades for the rest of the world. He wouldn't have dared to even think out loud in Tony's presence what destruction certain weaponry ending up to the wrong hands had caused. And Thor… Thor was from a different realm, an enigma. But now, at last…

"Do you know exactly how many deaths you've caused?" he murmured. Because he did. Enemies and innocent casualties… He could've given the exact number.

And obviously he wasn't the only one with such a number on his mind. Clint nodded, a distant look in his eyes. "Yeah."

"Do you think we'll ever manage to make up for it?"

"I have no idea", Clint admitted. "But… I sure as hell will do my best until I check out." The archer then looked at him, more worried than hurt or defensive. "Wanna share with Dr. Barton what brought this on?"

Bruce looked towards the hole Hulk had caused and shivered. It took a few seconds before he managed to speak out. "You… said that twenty kids were trapped inside. HYDRA had twenty-five test subjects."

Clint sighed heavily. It didn't sound right. "Bruce, don't."

Guilt and ache… They transformed into rage far too easily. Bruce gritted his teeth and struck his fist against the plexiglass, so hard that it hurt. The physical discomfort only fed his anger. "At least let me face what I've done! Give me at least that control, that choice!" he growled.

"Not when it's not your fault." Clint's voice was so firm and free of all fear that he couldn't help but listen. "I would've died today if it wasn't for the Big Guy. And… If I die of this, I need you to get into your thick skull that there was nothing you could've done to stop it."

"You're not going to die", Bruce snapped, unable to let go of the chillingly comforting, familiar anger.

"Of course I'm not." Clint's voice was far softer than usual. "Our little rescue crew will be here soon. Tony's gonna have a field day with us getting stuck like this." The Hawk mused for a moment. "Don't worry, I'll shoot an arrow at him if he gets too annoying."

Bruce actually smiled at that, just a little bit.

There was a loud crash from the outside which startled them both. Bruce peered down to see a rather large piece of debris getting tossed aside, out of the way. Sensing his stare, Steve looked up and gave a firm nod. The Captain's voice barely carried to his ears. "The children are safe, Widow's watching over them. Iron Man and Thor are handling the last of the hostiles. Are you two alright?"

For a few moments Bruce felt tempted to spout out the truth about Clint's condition. To demand the other to hurry. "Yeah, just get here", he shouted instead, not recognizing his voice. Help would be there soon. They'd be okay.

"Did you hear that?" Bruce began to turn his head. "Steve's coming. He'll…" All words froze into his throat.

Clint was still sitting, but far more unsteady and pale than before. The man was gasping through already bluish lips, one hand brought tightly against his chest. Small black spots had started appearing to the archer's skin. And as they stared at each other a trail of blood began to seep from Clint's nose.

Did they run out of time?

* * *

Steve had a nagging bad feeling in his gut as he sped on, looking around constantly for signs of a threat. Something was wrong. That feeling got a confirmation as soon as he stumbled to where his two friends were trapped.

Steve made it there just in time to see Clint succumb to a horrible coughing fit. Each gasping breath brought a trace of blood to the man's lips. Each breath was a greater struggle than the previous. Time was running out.

"Steve." Bruce's eyes were sharp with a dangerous amount of fear and anger. "We… We need to get him out of there!"

Steve felt like snapping that he'd figured out as much. Instead he let his gaze wander until it locked on the crack that'd formed to the plexiglass. His head performed frantic calculations.

How hard would he be able to strike without bringing harm on what was left of the building? How quickly would the poisonous gas take affect? How much time did Clint have?

Well, Steve wasn't planning on waiting for it to run out.

"Steve." It was surprising, really, how effectively Clint's voice managed to catch all his attention, despite how frail it was. There was nothing frail about the look in those hazy and exhausted but battle-ready eyes. "Behind… that metal door… at your right… a switch… saw them turn it… before they knocked… me out…"

Steve nodded. Right, yes, good – now he had something to do. With determined steps he approached the mentioned, tiny door and opened it. Ten different switches greeted him. Along with Cyrillic alphabets.

In that very moment Steve really, truly wanted to curse, loudly.

"Steve?" Bruce sounded dangerously close to losing control. "What's going on?"

Steve's lips opened but he was saved from having to deliver bleak news. He had no idea when Natasha got there but all of a sudden she half hissed at him. "Take three steps to the left." She was pointing a gun, a fierce look in her eyes. "Now."

Steve needed no further coaxing. As soon as he'd obeyed Natasha fired. The sound of the bullet meeting metal echoed uncomfortably loudly, filling up the whole tiny space. As soon as the potentially deadly piece of metal had bounced harmlessly to a nearby wall all lights went out from the switches. Reacting to the bullet which hit exactly the center of the space that opened from behind the metal door. They could hear that all air circulation to the small cells stopped. As did the flow of poison.

Steve blinked once, twice. And looked at Natasha. "What…?"

She shrugged. "Recalibration. It's my specialty."

The sound was almost inaudible but made both of them turn. Doors that'd been invisible before slid open. Setting free both Clint and Bruce. And then everything was a chaos.

Clint looked at them with a heart shattering amount of relief and gratitude. "… thanks …" The last syllable was barely out before the archer's eyes rolled back and he slumped fully to the floor, faster than anyone would've been able to catch him.

"CLINT!"

It took them exactly fifteen seconds – which felt like hours to Steve – to realize that Clint had stopped breathing.

* * *

It was losing control in a manner that had nothing to do with Big Guy. Bruce did whatever he could to help Clint, despite the fact that he had the absolutely minimum amount of supplies and he could barely keep Hulk from taking over. It was mania, immense concentration, hysteria and determination all rolled into one. Later Bruce could only remember the sound of his own, thunderous heartbeat. And Clint.

The entire time the archer was completely, utterly still. There wasn't even a twitch. Just that surreally serene expression.

Clint trusted them to help him out, to have his back, to bring him back…

There was a lot of shouting. And then Clint was whisked away. Was the Hawk breathing? Was there any hope left anymore?

Bruce wanted to go to the hospital. Of course he did. But when it would've been the time to move he couldn't bring himself to get up from the floor. Instead he sat frozen, staring at a tiny pool of blood.

The beast inside of him was roaring, demanding to be unleashed. Yet somehow, even in the middle of that hellish pressure, he was dimly aware of Natasha approaching. She sat right next to him without making much of a sound, far closer to him that he would've ever expected her to be comfortable with. He didn't ask her why she wasn't at the hospital, partially because he was barely aware of her, partially because he understood.

Sun had been high up when the whole nightmare began. They were still sitting there when it set. Drawing strength and comfort from one another. Helping keep each other's inner monsters at bay.

* * *

Steve never talked about it with anyone. Mainly because the people around him wouldn't have understood. But there were far too many days when he hated being a team-leader. Such as that very day, along with the few which followed.

He was trying desperately to keep the team together. But Bruce and Natasha remained stubbornly absent most of the time. Tony was drinking heavily and lashed out at anyone trying to communicate with him. And Clint…

Tony found the cure. Somehow. Impossibly. But Clint was without oxygen for a very long time and there was no telling what that, along with the gas, did to the Hawk's body. If he'd ever be the same. Or if the man would even wake up.

Steve fought to keep the team together, but it was becoming impossible when everyone was slipping away one way or another.

While everyone else seemed to be avoiding the hospital at all costs Steve stretched himself thin trying to keep an eye on them all. Endless loud… _conversations_ with a drunken Tony at the city's Stark Industries' headquarters… Checking up on Bruce, who refused to leave the destroyed enemy base's laboratory because there might be something important, something that might help… (' _If this place comes down Big Guy will keep me safe. Until then I'm going to keep researching._ ' Steve doubted that even the scientist himself knew what, exactly, he was supposedly researching.) Natasha interrogated those of the hostiles who'd survived. More than a dozen times Steve had to butt in upon receiving news that her methods were harboring ethically unacceptable. Which led to several unpleasant exchanges of opinion with her. Whenever he wasn't busy with everyone else falling apart Steve was at the hospital, struggling desperately to keep his own head together when worry and guilt rendered him so stressed out that he couldn't eat or sleep.

He was failing himself and the team.

Things were far beyond hectic and Steve's emotions were barely in control. That was why it took him longer than it should've to realize that he wasn't entirely alone in it all, after all. Because somehow Thor seemed to always be there.

"You don't have to do this", Steve pointed out softly a couple of days after his discovery. At the time they were sitting in the waiting room, sipping horrible coffee. "I know that Asgard needs you and…"

"I am where I am supposed to be", Thor announced firmly. With finality. It occurred to Steve that perhaps the future ruler of Asgard was someone who understood.

Later that day a smiling doctor announced that soon they'd try and see if Clint was ready to breathe on his own.

* * *

Steve sent the whole team a message about the development. And no matter how badly everyone and everything had been crumbling they were all there to face the rollercoaster which followed. They went through it together, as a team.

At first Clint did breathe on his own, for a little while, the breaths horribly raspy but independent.

Then the archer started struggling, and collapsed into seizures which took the man's barely won breaths away entirely.

Thor stood beside Tony as the billionaire screamed at the top of his lungs on the hospital's rooftop, rain washing away whatever other traces of emotions there might've been. Steve kept watch on the doorway of Clint's hospital room, pretending that he didn't see anything while Natasha held Clint's hand and murmured something in Russian. They all sat beside Bruce in the waiting room, willing the threat of Hulk to pass by.

Clint's lungs needed some more time and help. So the archer slumbered on peacefully, as though knowing that he was kept an eye on by medical personnel and the whole team. Until he was finally given a second chance to fight.

Clint kept them in suspense for several agonizing moments. Until the inhales and exhales eventually steadied, grew stronger. Oxygen whiskers were still needed, and would be for a while. But the slightly labored up and down motions of the man's chest were his own doing.

It was two in the morning and the team celebrated with Shawarma. Halfway through the meal they looked at each other like waking up from long sleep. Thor was the one who broke the silence. "This food… is actually rather terrible."

The rest of them looked at each other, and burst into a slightly hysterical storm of laughter. Thor stared at them as though questioning their mental wellbeing. It only made them laugh harder.

* * *

It took three more endless days until Clint finally managed to wake up.

The last thing Clint remembered was inhaling air which stung like knives as it made contact with his respiratory system. So, it wasn't that much of a surprise to wake up in a hospital. It was unpleasant, of course, but hardly a surprise.

Tony was there beside his best. Looking like death warmed up and reeking of old alcohol. Nonetheless a megawatt grin appeared to the genius' lips as soon as the man realized that he was awake. "Welcome back, Feathers."

Clint frowned. His lips felt numb and his throat was parched but he pressed on to talk, anyway. "How long was I out? Because you look worse than I feel."

Far too long later – and much too soon – Clint discovered that the look of alarm on Tony's face was caused by the fact that the billionaire couldn't understand a single word the archer said.

* * *

A prolonged lack of oxygen can do funny things to a human brain. In Clint's case, it meant that he had to learn to talk and walk again. It was a long, incredibly frustrating process. The team helped him to a start, until Natasha took him to a place where she announced he'd get to recover in peace and quiet.

(The rest of the team didn't know that Clint took his first proper, strong steps with his wife on one side and son on the other, and his daughter on a piggy bag ride. Clint imagined that no one would ever hear his first comprehensible words. He sat on his daughter's bedside in a darkened room, watching her sleeping and frowning in the aftermath of a nightmare. Eventually he made up his mind, gathered his courage and began to sing softly. For the sake of his daughter. The smile which appeared to her lips in her far more peaceful slumber was more than enough of a reward. Clint didn't know that Laura stood by the room's doorway, filming the whole thing with her phone while tears gathered into her eyes.)

Months later Clint was back at the Tower but not quite ready for missions. The latest mission… hadn't been easy on Bruce. A building Hulk brought down killed three civilians. True, the Avengers were successful, but those unnecessary losses…

It was four in the morning when Clint hobbled to the main common space, where Bruce was sitting on a couch. The archer didn't say a word. Only handed him a paper which had a number written on it.

Bruce frowned and looked at his friend.

"That's the amount of battles I've entered as one of the good guys." Clint's eyes were stern, warm, pained and understanding all at once. "It helps, when it feels like there's too much red on my ledger to ever atone for."

Bruce nodded slowly as he handed back the note, understanding.

Apparently Clint was satisfied with that answer. The man looked towards the TV-screen and arched an eyebrow. "'Vampire Diaries'?"

Bruce shrugged. It was stupid, really, to feel embarrassed over something like that. "I just needed a distraction and it was the first thing I stumbled upon."

Clint grinned. "I'm not judging. A few days ago I caught Steve watching 'Days of Our Lives'." The Hawk poked at his leg with two fingers, almost gently. "Now budge a bit, yeah? If I don't rest my feet a bit by tomorrow and Natasha notices that I've overdone it again she'll yell at me."

Bruce obeyed. He wasn't aware of the tiny smile ghosting on his lips. As from the following day he carried around a note of his own.

Maybe one day it'd help him remember that he was more than a monster.

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: Thank gosh Bruce and Clint were able to help each other. (smiles) So much pain and darkness, in both their past…

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? Back to the drawing board? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know! Hearing from you ALWAYS makes my day.

 **STILL TO COME (in which order, remains to be seen):**

we'll see one of those dramatic tales from the innocent perspective of Lila Barton

Mother Nature isn't at her kindest towards poor Clint

the whole team is captured and the captor makes the mistake of imagining that Clint's a weak link

remember Lucky the dog, which Tony gave Clint? he'll be there to support Clint through a painful horror story

How do those sound? (grins)

Awkay, I REALLY have to get to bed. Until next time, ya all! I hope I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: So… many… juicy options! (grins) I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed these tales!

LOL, we're only sadists because we care.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: I'm OVER THE MOON that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) Poor Natasha, right? (sighs)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	67. A Brief Tale of a Mini-Hawk

A/N: Pheeeeeeeew, it's late around here (or early…)! BUT, I couldn't go to bed without updating. (chuckles) First, though…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all the reviews, love and affection you've given this collection! It never fails to make me happy beyond reason that our Feather Head has so many friends. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, before this turns into a syrup-fest… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll have a great flight.

 **CLINT X LAURA, AND LOTS AND LOTS OF LILA!**

* * *

A Brief Tale of a Mini-Hawk

* * *

Lila had been told, several times over, that her daddy had to be away so much because he saved people. It was a very important job. Sometimes he even helped save the world. Her mommy told her so, whenever Lila was sad, so it had to be true.

It didn't make him being away any less painful. Any fairer. Lila could handle that ache most of the time, because she could see how sad being away made her daddy, too. But she was only a little girl and sometimes it just got too much.

Whenever Lila was unhappy and hurting she hid under her bed with a coloring book and her favorite stuffed animal. It was a hawk she'd named Huggy. Her daddy gave it to her once, when he came back after having been away for a very long time. She hugged it to her tightly when he was away, finding a hint of comfort from how it made her feel closer to him.

She was under her bed when steps entered the room. When she peered to the side she saw the boots of her daddy's mission gear and shivered. "Lila?" His voice was soft, held an echo of her hurt. When she didn't respond, couldn't bring herself to, he sighed. "Sweetie…"

"It's almost Christmas, daddy", she whimpered, finally finding her voice.

"I know, and I'm sorry." He was. Even a child could tell. "I wouldn't go if I didn't have to."

A part of Lila understood. But still, a far more selfish part of her wondered why she and the rest of the family always seemed to come second. She wished that there was a day, just once, when he would've chosen to stay.

She was feeling selfish and miserable. Which was why she wanted to say some really bad things, and ended up biting her lip painfully to keep them at bay. She wanted to plead him to stay but knew that it'd be of no use. So she stayed still, only dimly aware of the big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

She couldn't quite identify the sound her daddy emitted. "I love you, sweetie. And I'll be home as soon as I can, I promise."

Lila opened her mouth to talk. But it was too late. The room's door closed softly and he was gone.

* * *

By the time Lila left her room her mommy was baking. She always did a lot of that when her daddy was away. Cooper was watching cartoons. She sat down as close to him as she could without feeling silly. "Daddy's not gonna be home for Christmas, is he?" she whispered.

"Probably not." Cooper was just as quiet. There was a pause. "He asked me to help you put a star to the Christmas tree."

Lila's heart clenched. That was always daddy's job, always. She wiped her eyes, hard and angrily. "I… I didn't tell him…"

"He knows." Cooper sounded sure of the matter. "Dad's pretty good at knowing stuff like that."

Those words offered Lila a hint of much needed comfort, and soon her tears dried.

* * *

On the evening before Christmas Eve Laura watched how Lila sat on her brother's shoulders, grinning widely as the star was finally in place. Laura exhaled a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes quickly, before they'd notice. Her hand was holding a cell phone so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

A few hours later Lila sat on the porch, staring intently at the direction from which anyone coming to the Farm would approach. Hoping that any moment her daddy would show up to give her a Christmas miracle. At some point her mommy came and urged her to bed. She returned as soon as she could do so unnoticed, and waited until the morning.

No matter how disappointed and betrayed she felt, Lila was lucky for not knowing that at the same time – far away from home – her daddy was fighting a desperate battle to stay alive on an operating table.

* * *

That Christmas didn't feel anything like those before. How could it have when one member of their family was missing? But they made the most out of it.

There weren't many presents. For as long as Lila could remember her parents had told her and Cooper that those weren't supposed to be the most important thing about Christmas. The gifts she had she adored. Especially the artist's set.

Lila knew that her parents had agreed to exchange only one gift each year. Her mommy slipped hers, a very tiny package, to her pocket with an expression the child was a little too young to read. She would've liked to know what it was about but didn't want to pry.

One of Cooper's presents was nothing but a notebook. At first Lila couldn't figure out what brought the strange expression to her brother's face. Until she realized that it was something she'd seen before.

It was one of their very few Christmas traditions, and just like with the star their daddy wasn't there to do it.

Only a couple of words were needed as they gathered around their piano. Cooper took a seat slowly, as though testing it. Then opened the notebook and began to play. At first slowly and a little clumsily, then getting lost into the melody.

It was magical. Lila had no other word to describe it. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding, breaking and fluttering with joy all at once. And she could've sworn that her daddy was there, too, playing just like he did every Christmas.

Then it was over. The magic disappeared. Lila opened her eyes to see their mommy looking at Cooper with surprise even a child recognized. Then their mommy got up without saying a word, made her way to Cooper and kissed his hair gently, affectionately. As soon as the tender little moment was over she looked towards Lila and beckoned her to come closer. Lila got up without hesitation, her eyes moist and her throat uncomfortably tight.

"Mom, I'm too old for this!" Cooper objected with a groan but was ignored.

And soon they were both in their mommy's arms. Held securely, almost too tightly. She gave them both kisses before whispering in a quiet, choked voice. "Merry Christmas, you two."

Both children murmured their response. And silently Lila wished her daddy a Merry Christmas, too. Wherever he was.

* * *

Hours later Lila was about to steal some gingerbread cookies from the kitchen when she froze, safely out of sight. Her mommy was already there in the darkened room, her face illuminated only by moonlight. The wrappings from the gift the woman hid earlier were on the floor. And there, in her mommy's unsteady hand, was a beautiful silver pocket watch.

What truly scared the child was that the woman's face had been buried to the other hand. It the first time ever she saw her mommy cry. It scared Lila enough to leave her breathless, because even a child understood that something was horribly wrong.

The Farm felt strangely quiet and cold for the couple of days which followed. Like they were all waiting for a storm to erupt. And then it crashed down on them.

It was still so early that it was almost dark when her mommy came to her room to wake her up gently. She could see that her mommy had been crying but there were no tears left anymore. "I'm so sorry to wake you, sweetie. But…" A phone was offered towards her. "It's daddy. He… He wanted to hear your voice."

Lila didn't care about the reasons. It was daddy. She grabbed the phone hungrily and squeezed it with all her might. "Daddy? Are you coming home?"

It took torturously long before she got a response. His voice was quiet and sounded wrong, but it was his. " _Sorry, sweetie… But… Not yet._ " There was a bizarre sound, a mixture of a hiss and a moan. " _Sorry I missed Christmas._ "

"It's okay", she swore readily. At the moment Lila would've forgiven him pretty much anything, just to hear his voice for a little bit longer. "I drew Pumpkin yesterday, with the new pens. Mommy said that it was so good I deserved two extra cookies." It wasn't quite what she wanted to say. But she was proud of how the sketch of her pet-hamster turned out.

Her daddy hummed softly, appreciatively. " _It must've been a really good one, then._ " His voice sounded stronger, almost relieved. Like he was waking up from a bad dream.

Lila frowned. "Daddy? Are you okay?"

" _Not yet_ ", he admitted. Now the words were barely comprehensible. " _But I will be. So don't worry._ "

Lila swallowed hard. When her mommy wrapped a comforting arm around her she leaned to it eagerly. "But I worry, anyway." Her grasp on the phone tightened still, desperately. "Please, daddy, come home." Something was wrong, and she just wanted him home, wanted to have things the way they belonged.

" _I will, as soon as I can_ ", he swore, and even someone of her age could tell that he was in pain.

"Where are you? Can I come there?" Maybe she'd be able to keep it from hurting so much.

Lila didn't mean anything bad to happen, she honestly didn't. But her daddy gasped, no longer able to talk. There was a terrifying beeping sound, along with a lot of shouting and overall chaos.

Lila's eyes widened and her heart was beating so fast that she wasn't sure she could take it. "Daddy!" The chaos continued. She didn't notice her tears, or how tight her mommy's hold on her had become. "DADDY!"

It seemed to take forever before she heard Natasha's voice. It didn't sound right. " _Lila, shh, it's okay, it's okay. He just went to sleep, alright? That's all._ "

Lila whimpered. Still gasping, her chest feeling painfully tight. "I… I didn't mean to make it worse, I swear!"

" _You didn't, I promise._ " Natasha sounded serious. And she'd never lied to her before. " _I'm sorry that you got scared._ "

Lila didn't know what to say, so she commented nothing. Instead she wiped her eyes and swallowed again. "Please bring him home, aunt Tasha."

" _I will, I swear._ " And if Natasha promised something… It held.

Nonetheless Lila was in tears again when the call ended. She tried to wipe away the moisture, feeling stupid, until her mother wrapped her into a warm embrace. And finally she allowed herself to break down.

* * *

That night Laura peered into Lila's room and was surprised to discover that her daughter wasn't alone. Cooper had long since declared that he was too old to share his bed with his sister. Yet there they were, arms wrapped around each other and Huggy the teddy bear sandwiched between them. Both children had tracks of dried tears on their cheeks but at the moment they were sleeping soundly, emitting adorable snuffling noises. Similar to those Clint produced whenever the man slept properly.

Laura fled as quickly as she could and made her way to the porch, then to a safe distance from the Farm. And there, finally, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Mad at Clint. Mad at the Avengers. Mad at Fury. Mad at the whole world and fate itself.

Laura kept screaming until her voice was raw. Then, when she no longer had a voice, she continued to gasp. She stayed there, shaking to her core from cold and so much more, for a very long time. By the time she went back inside her feet were unsteady but she felt in control.

There was nothing she could do for her husband, and it was killing her. But he hadn't given up and neither would she. Their world was right there inside and she'd continue to fight tooth and nail for it while Clint fought his own battle painfully far away.

All three remaining Bartons spent that night in Lila's far too small bed with Huggy.

* * *

Two weeks later her mommy brought a phone to Lila once more. This time smiling, small as the gesture was. "I've told you to go to bed at least twice, now. Maybe you'll listen to someone else better."

Lila's heart thudded once too many as she took the item. Barely daring to hope. "Daddy?"

She wasn't disappointed. " _Hey, sweetie._ " His voice was a lot stronger. He sounded like himself. It was a great comfort. " _What's wrong? Usually it's your brother trying to stay up too late, not you._ "

Lila looked down towards her squirming hand. "I… I miss you, daddy."

He sighed. " _I know. I miss you, too._ " He mused for a moment. " _You know what? I can't sleep, either. Do you remember that song about stars?_ "

Lila nodded. Of course she did, he sang it to her every evening when he was home. "Yeah."

" _What do you say if we sing each other to sleep?_ "

So they did. They sang of stars, their eyes closed as they lulled each other to sleep from the opposite sides of the world. When Laura entered the room ten minutes later she found Lila fast asleep. Lifting the phone to her ear she heard Clint breathing softly and deeply, far gone into a peaceful slumber.

Laura couldn't help but smile. "Goodnight", she whispered. To both her beloved.

* * *

It took two months until her daddy finally came home. It happened in the middle of the night, and Lila probably wasn't even supposed to see it. But by a twist of fate she felt thirsty and was getting a glass of water when she heard quiet talking. The shuffling steps. Curious and more than a little alarmed, she peered towards the house's door from her hiding place.

Her mom was there, talking to Natasha so quietly that the little girl couldn't hear the words. Not that they would've even registered. Because with the two women was her daddy. Leaning heavily to Natasha's support, one half of him hidden by the shadows. The pallor of his skin reminded her of a ghost and he appeared… sick. But he was there. Alive and standing.

Lila's heart jumped with joy. And she couldn't hold herself back anymore. "Daddy!" She dashed forward, blind to the expressions on the adults' faces. Until she froze, her lips opened for a soundless scream.

The side of her daddy's face she'd been unable to see… It was covered pretty much entirely by a horribly nasty burn mark. More of such marks spread down his neck, like the tentacles of an octopus.

The eye on the healthy side of her daddy's face widened. He took a step forward, only to get stopped by Natasha. "Lila…"

Lila took a step backwards. Stared at the marks on his face. She tried to tell herself not to panic, that he was there, alive, and it was supposed to be enough. But… That was her daddy. Her daddy, who looked like half of him was missing. Stolen away. It was more than her young mind could handle. And that was why she turned and ran, as fast as her legs carried her.

* * *

Lila didn't go under her bed this time. Instead she hid under the bedcovers with Huggy. Imagined a world of her own. Unfortunately reality was bound to catch up with her.

The room's door opened after a quick knock. Slightly hesitant steps entered. "I… I just talked to dad." Cooper was clearly as upset as she was, but tried to hold it together. "He looks pretty bad."

Lila curled up more tightly. Fought to maintain whatever little control she had over herself. "I don't wanna talk about it", she whispered. She got scared. She ran. When her daddy was hurting and needed her. She didn't want to talk about that.

"We don't have to." Cooper sat to the edge of the bed. "I stole cookies. Do you want some?"

While the adults struggled to get Clint settled the children tried to keep themselves together with the comfort cookies, and all of them wished from the bottom of their hearts that the night would pass by quickly.

* * *

It was noon in the following day when Lila found herself tiptoeing towards her parents' bedroom. She knew that her mommy and Cooper were at a grocery store and Natasha was training outside, so there were no prying eyes. She peered into the room to find her daddy sitting on the bed with his good side towards her, face buried into his hands.

Lila frowned. "Daddy? Did you have a bad dream?"

He shivered before looking towards her just enough to not reveal the damaged side of his face. His nod was barely visible. "Don't worry, it's all gone, now." He seemed to sense her hesitation. "I could use a hug, though."

This was the daddy Lila remembered and recognized. And so she dashed to him without a thought, clung to his good side with all her might. He pulled her closer with one arm just as determinedly, clearly having needed the contact as much.

"I shouldn't have run", Lila whispered after a long silence, her voice full of remorse.

Her daddy kissed the top of her head. "This will take some time to get used to, sweetie. For all of us. Sometimes I want to run away, too."

Lila nuzzled her face against his shoulder. Took in his familiar presence. "I don't wanna run away anymore", she sighed.

"Then what do you wanna do?"

Lila shrugged. Slowly becoming aware of how poorly she'd slept for a while, of how exhausted she was. She'd had nightmares lately, too. "I'm tired", she confessed.

Her daddy mused for a moment. "You know what? A nap sounds like a plan."

* * *

Recovery took a considerable amount of time, and from the beginning Lila's parents let her know that her daddy would never be quite the same again.

There were a lot of nights when her daddy barely slept. She knew, because she woke up sometimes and heard him walking around the house with barely audible steps. Her mommy explained that her daddy's skin needed a lot of special care. At times she heard his groans of discomfort. The sixth time it happened Lila surprised her parents as well as herself with sneaking in to see what was going on. She considered turning away at the sight which met her.

Her daddy stood in the bedroom in his boxers, trembling horribly while Laura treated the skin. She had no visual to his back, which was the treatment's main focus. She did see his side, arms and legs. And realized that nothing of the other side had been spared from harm.

Even at that age Lila could tell that the adults were aware of her presence. But they didn't speak out. Instead they allowed her to make up her own mind. Which she did.

Slowly and a little hesitantly Lila made her way to her daddy. For the first time choosing his injured side. She took his hand and held on tight.

And while Laura handled wound care a different kind of healing took place for both Clint and Lila.

* * *

Two more months flew by. Clint's wound and the burned side's eye would never be quite the same again. But he healed. With a lot of scar tissue, inside and out, but as stubborn and resilient as he'd always been.

Cooper watched over his dad like a hawk, especially at first. Barely let the man out of his sight. Lila had nightmares and getting used to the idea of her daddy's wounds was clearly a horribly long process. In the end the parents arranged a therapist for them both. Slowly yet surely Cooper remembered that he wasn't supposed to be one of the household's adults. Just as gradually Lila learned to relax and giggle again.

Laura herself… At first she kept herself sane with focusing on Clint's physical health. While he'd been discharged from the hospital by an extremely reluctant doctor the archer still needed a lot of help. But of course the whole nightmare began to take its toll. She could barely sleep, because she feared that whenever she closed her eyes her husband might be taken away from her. Sometimes she was angry, as much as she knew that Clint didn't mean to get injured, and on occasion she couldn't hide it. Sometimes she broke down to tears for no apparent reason.

But the Barton family was tough built. They endured, healed. The entire time Laura held the gift pocket watch close at hand. The words engraved on silver echoing in her head like a lullaby.

' _Yours until the end of time._ '

* * *

End of oneshot

* * *

A/N: Heh! Now who could resist a little Barton-fluff? (grins) Poor Clint, though! That WAS a nightmare. (shudders)

Sooooooo… Thoughts? Comments? Requests? The box down below is a very, very hungry fella. (smirks)

 **UP NEXT (we'll see in which order…):**

Mother Nature isn't at her kindest towards poor Clint

the whole team is captured and the captor makes the mistake of imagining that Clint's a weak link

remember Lucky the dog, which Tony gave Clint? he'll be there to support Clint through a painful horror story

Awkay, I REALLY need to go and get some sleep. Until our next feathery adventure! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): I'm ABSOLUTELY OVERJOYED that you're so excited about what's to come! (BEAMS) I really hope that it'll meet your expectations.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: Awwww, you're making me feel all warm and fuzzy! (beams) I really hope that you won't be disappointed by what's to come.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (2): I LOVE Bruce, so it means a lot that you think I did him justice! (sighs happily)

Massive thank yous for the review!


	68. Choose a Number

A/N: Pheeeeeeew! So, this week's been INSANE. Absolutely insane! BUT FINALLY, I got a chapter added to this collection. (BEAMS) Yay…?

DEAR GOSH, you guys… Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews and love! It makes me INSANELY happy that so many of you are taking this mad ride with me. (HUGS)

Awkay, it's high time we get going! Just… **Beware!** This chapter… introduces something… new. Prepare for a hurricane! (Torture will be mentioned, but not described.)

 **TAKES PLACE before 'Age of Ultron'.**

* * *

Choose a Number

* * *

Natasha regained consciousness to a scream. To a much too familiar scream. It seemed to echo from everywhere.

Her eyes flew open, darting around and analyzing with almost a lifetime of experience. Calmly, clinically, even if a huge piece of her wanted to be anything but. Useless, really, because it was pitch-black. At first she imagined that she was blindfolded but as her eyes grew adjusted to the lack of light she was just able to distinguish the outline of a tiny room.

Left into the dark, then, barely able to see a thing.

The scream echoed again. Longer this time, outraged and agonized all at once. Natasha had no idea where it came from and she absolutely hated not knowing such things. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain absolutely still.

She wasn't alone in the dark.

It took infuriatingly long before a rough, heavily accented voice spoke. "Do you wish us to break him? Or will you tell me where it is?"

Natasha knew that there was only one answer. And hated it. "No." It was easy to sound ice-cold when she was feeling too much to process everything. "Even if I knew… No."

"Alright, then." Her companion didn't even feign surprise. "In that case… Choose a number, something between one and nine."

Natasha clenched her jaw and remained quiet, stubborn to the last.

Too bad she wasn't given that choice, either. "Choose… a number." The accent was heavier, now, as aggression rose. "Or I'll choose two."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. Rage flowed through her veins like lava, filling all of her. It was safer than plenty of other options. "Six." She swore to herself that she'd tear this woman to pieces, with her own bare hands if she had to.

Clint's howl of sheer agony would haunt her for the rest of her days.

* * *

Thor wasn't a fan of small, closed spaces. At all. They were inconvenient because of his size. And then there was the incident of a spectacularly failed, stupid little game when he and Loki were children…

So, when Thor woke up in a tiny cell after receiving a hit to the head by something nearly as hard as his own hammer … He wasn't pleased. At all. He was even less so upon discovering that he wasn't alone.

A girl who couldn't be older than ten sat on the other side of the tiny space, staring at him with wide and tear filled, horrified blue eyes. She'd brought her knees to her chest and was hugging them tightly, but he could still see that she was shivering. No wonder. Because a man, almost as tall as Thor himself, stood beside her with a gun held at her head. "Tell me where it is…", the man urged him, blue eyes devoid of all emotion. "… and nothing bad has to happen."

Thor stiffened, contemplating his options. Alone, he would've taken his chances and he would've without a doubt succeeded. But there was no way he'd be able to get away quickly enough to avoid that little girl getting hurt. He gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing. "I cannot tell you, because I don't know", he announced firmly and honestly, his voice booming and echoing like thunder in the minimum space.

The man shivered, but soon recovered. Whatever hint of emotion there'd been faded away. "Is that your final answer?"

Thor lifted his chin. "It is the only answer I have." He had a very vivid fantasy of ramming his fist at the man's face. That someone would threaten a child's life in such a manner…!

The man shrugged. "Alright. In that case… Choose a number." When Thor's only response was narrowing his eyes the gun was pressed more tightly against the girl's head. "Choose… a number. Or I'll count to three and choose for you."

Thor's blood boiled, and he had to use all his willpower to not lose control over himself. "Five." If he'd had the chance… If it wasn't for the child…

The man smiled. "It wasn't hard, now was it?" He put away the gun and stroked the girl's hair affectionately. "Go on now, sweetheart. You did well. The grownups have some talking to do."

She nodded obediently and smiled without a care in the world. Most likely imagining that this was some sort of a game. "Okay, daddy." She gave him a small wave. "Bye, Mister." With that she walked away.

As soon as they were alone the other man's whole demeanor changed once more. Became something truly chilling. "I really do wish that you'd had a different answer for me. But not as badly as someone else."

All of a sudden Clint's anguish filled scream seemed to echo absolutely everywhere, shattering Thor's heart.

* * *

Tony and not being able to do anything didn't mix well. Locked up into a tiny cell, walking rounds in it like a caged tiger, the billionaire felt like he'd there were fire-ants under his skin. Helpless fury wasn't eased at all by the facts that he had no idea what happened to the others, and… unfortunate memories kept trying to resurface.

He was _not_ going to have a panic attack in front of these people!

The thing was, he knew that there were people around. Most likely several of them. He was no idiot – he knew that it took more than one person to trap the Avengers like this, and he saw the security cameras. Chances were that those people were having a lot of fun on their, or at least his expense. He didn't actually get the chance to see anyone. All he had to keep him company was a note written to the wall in red. He fought, very hard, to convince himself that it wasn't blood.

 _These bastards seriously know how to create a dramatic atmosphere…_

' _TELL US WHERE IT IS_ ', the text demanded.

Tony's heart jumped once, twice, the panic from before rearing its head again at a nearly suffocating force. He shook his head, using a considerable amount of concentration to keeping his breathing even. "I can't, okay?" He didn't sound like himself. It didn't matter. Nor did the fact that his eyes felt suspiciously watery. "I have no idea. So… Whatever you're gonna do to me… Just get to it. Because… I can't tell you, okay? I can't."

The text changed. And suddenly he realized that he was staring at a massive screen instead of a wall. ' _CHOOSE A NUMBER_ '

Tony's mouth went dry. He didn't know where the others were, but he hoped dearly that they'd hurry up. Because whatever was about to come… It'd _suck_. "Four", he hissed through his teeth. Guessing that if he hadn't given his answer willingly, these people would've had fun digging it from him.

Tony expected something hellishly painful. For someone to walk in, perhaps. For the room to fill up with something… unpleasant. But a second – then two, three, four, five – passed by and nothing happened.

Until a much too familiar, horribly pained scream met his ears, and Tony felt like someone had shot _him_ as he realized what he'd done. "Stop it!" he shouted hoarsely, unable to stop himself. He stared directly at one of the security cameras, wondering if there was anyone actually watching anymore. "Please, just… Just stop it! Leave him alone!"

But the screams continued, for what felt like a small eternity, each new one shattering a piece of Tony.

* * *

Steve was the Captain, the leader of their team. It was his responsibility to ensure that their missions were successful. That they all got home safely. Every failure weighed heavily on his shoulders.

This time they'd almost succeeded until they were ambushed. Steve fought a remarkably brave battle. But when the rest of the team was captured… What was he supposed to do? Leave them behind?

Of course he didn't. Didn't consider it for even a moment. So he played along, hoping desperately that he'd be able to figure out how to get all of them out of the mess.

To his surprise Steve wasn't led into a cell. Instead an undeniably attractive woman who looked a little too much Peggy Carter led him to the building's control room. Seeing his confusion, the woman smiled. "Do sit down. You're supposed to be a soldier and you're standing there looking like a scared child."

Pulling himself together, Steve approached and actually took a seat. His eyes were on the several monitors showing security footage from all over the building. He saw Tony, Thor and Natasha, all of them relatively unharmed. He didn't see Bruce, and focused on the desperate hope that perhaps these people hadn't succeeded in trapping Big Green.

It was far more pleasant to focus on than the chilling fact that he couldn't see Clint, either.

"We have no desire to hurt your team." She… actually sounded sincere. "You know what we want. Tell us where to find it, then stay out of our way… and soon this will all be nothing but a bad dream."

Steve's heart sunk and became heavy. He wished, so badly…! "You know that I can't." It was incredible how calm he managed to sound.

She nodded. "Oh yes, I do. But I'm tempted to test just how far you're willing to go to prove it." She nodded towards something beside him. "Go on, take a look. I want to play a little game with you."

"And if I don't want to… play?"

She shrugged. "It's your choice. You press the buttons. Or someone else will ensure that the game is seen through. Something tells me that you're the kinder option." She folded her arms and tilted her head. "Patience isn't my strongest virtue, Captain. So go on, take a look."

Steve did, despite knowing better. Ice flowed through him and it took his all not to let it show. Because there, almost directly next to his hand, was a small keyboard with numbers on it. He had a nasty guess of what was to come. "What do you expect me to do?" He was about to stall the inevitable for as long as possible.

Her smile widened while a dangerous look appeared to her eyes. "Don't worry. They'll tell you."

And they did. One by one the others chose a number, and he had no other choice but to play along until he'd see a way out. Every little bit of hesitation from him ensured that the sounds of a brutal beating echoed in the room. Clint remained shockingly quiet, until the archer couldn't help himself. Each scream of agony tore at Steve like a knife.

"Are you still certain that you don't wish to tell me what I want to know?" the woman inquired after Thor's decision and the howl of pain which followed.

"I can't, alright?" Steve snapped. Unlike Tony once assumed he did have a darker side, and it was fast on its way to bursting to life. "Because I… don't have any idea."

She looked at him for a while. Evaluating. Mocked pity appeared to her face. "You mean it, don't you? You poor thing… You really have no clue." She sighed heavily. "Then what use are either of you two me?"

Steve glared at her, breathing hard. The thoughts he had in that very moment… "Why him? Of all of us… Why did you choose him?" _To torment. To use as a tool to sway us._

"Because every team has a weak link. The most fragile one, easiest to break." Her eyes flashed. "How much longer do you reckon he can hold on?"

" _Hey… Sorry to interrupt, but… I wasn't just a weak link, here._ " Clint's voice was raspy, and it sounded like he was barely conscious. " _I was… also a distraction._ "

Suddenly the roar of Hulk seemed to be everywhere.

* * *

/ _One by one they were captured. Clint, the assassin and the one always keeping watch from above, couldn't do anything but observe while HYDRA got a hold of all his friends. Save one._

 _His hand was perfectly steady while he reached out towards his ear comm, even if his heart was racing. "Bruce? This is getting ugly. Are you safe?"_

 _Bruce's response took a couple of seconds too long. "Yeah. What…?"_

 _"I'm about to do something really stupid." Clint took a breath, bracing himself. "Make sure that you've got everything covered. Then stand by. If we're lucky this HYDRA-cell will be down in a matter of hours."_

 _"And if we're not…?"_

 _"Then make sure that Big Guy has a lot of fun."_

 _He took a one more deep breath. Then abandoned his perch. If he was about to let himself get captured, he'd do it with style._ /

* * *

Stark technology was terrifyingly advanced. The HYDRA-agents didn't spot Clint's ear comm. Through the whole nauseating audio – of Clint's battle and the ensuing capture, of the first frustrated blows, and finally of the more sinister torment – Bruce kept listening. Fighting with all his might to keep Big Green at bay until the moment was right. And finally, as soon as he had everyone's location, it was.

It was chaos and madness. Like it always was with Hulk. Walls, people and even parts of the building went down.

Until Bruce snapped out of it to Natasha's lullaby.

It took him a while to become coherent, as it always did. For a long time everything spun and swayed, until he was able to distinguish Natasha's badly bruised face. Quite a bit of blood covered her. He frowned. "… okay?"

Natasha nodded. And seemed to mean it. "I just had to teach someone a lesson." She nodded towards the room's exit. "Now let's go. I'm done with this place."

Bruce nodded, more than happy to leave. He brought a hand to his ear. "Is everyone ready to go?"

" _Yes, quite ready_ ", Thor agreed quickly.

" _Definitely_ ", Steve sighed, sounding like someone who'd finished a marathon.

Tony… was uncharacteristically quiet. Bruce swallowed thickly, his stomach knotting. "Iron Man?"

What was that sound? " _I, ah… I found Hawkeye. You should get here. Now._ " There was sheer despair in the billionaire's voice.

* * *

It was Hulk bringing down a wall which set Tony free from his prison. He watched with a great deal of satisfaction how the offending screen shattered to pieces, then ran. He had friends trapped into the mess, after all.

Tony wasn't sure how long he hurried on. So long that it made him gasp in a very embarrassing manner. He made a mental note to consider Steve and Clint's training offers.

Everything froze to a gunshot.

What Tony found was a small, oval shaped room. The equipment gathered there… was nauseating. Electrocution… Needles… Blades… Enough of sickening stuff to have anyone begging for mercy. Yet Clint never did, did he?

 _Clint…!_

The archer lay on the floor, gasping. There was a horrible gunshot wound on the man's stomach, and a dazed look in his eyes. The man who shot him, and without a doubt carried out HYDRA's orders after each forced number, lay beside the Hawk, dead. It was little comfort.

Tony's heart leapt all the way to his throat, and then he ran. "Clint!" Screw codenames…! He fell to his knees at a painful amount of force but the discomfort barely registered. He stared at the wound, tried to stop the bleeding with his hands when there was nothing better. He winced when his friend groaned and writhed as a response. "Sorry, sorry…! But I've gotta stop the bleeding. You'll be okay, but I've gotta stop the bleeding." He was babbling, fast in his way to hysteria. Somehow he was also sound enough to plead Bruce to appear.

"Bruce…" Clint's voice, no matter how feeble, managed to snatch all his attention. The archer blinked sluggishly and for a while Tony truly feared that those eyes wouldn't open again. "If Bruce… is here… she's safe…" The amount of relief on the Hawk's face would've shattered anyone's heart.

Tony nodded, uncharacteristically speechless. "Yeah… She's safe, Feathers. You'll be, too. We've got you." Which one of them was he trying to convince? Blood soaked his hands, but at least the flow was slowing down.

Grief replaced a great deal of the relief in Clint's hazy eyes. "Tony… 's okay…" Somehow the archer managed to place his hand on top of Tony's. At first the inventor imagined that it was to help stop the bleeding. Then, in a sickening moment of realization, he knew better.

Tony shook his head, terror, rage and bottomless sorrow all swelling in his chest. "No. NO, do you hear me, Clint? You're not…" He gasped once. "You're not doing this to me!"

But Clint was already too far gone. They both knew it. The blood loss and the abdominal aorta's pulsating under Tony's desperate hand became slower and slower. Clint tried to talk, but all that came out was a wheezing sigh. Tony was almost certain that he read a name from his friend's lips.

' _Laura_ '

For a moment, just one, Clint seemed scared, absolutely terrified, and so very pained that Tony could barely stand it. Then it all faded away, leaving nothing but the kind of peace only one thing brought. Clint looked at him, as though trying to say something. Tony had no other choice but to watch life leave his friend's eyes.

Tony _hated_ not having a choice. He didn't notice the tears in his eyes as he shook the archer's shoulder with his free hand. "Clint? CLINT!"

The exact second all life left Clint Bruce's steps thundered into the room.

* * *

Bruce led the team to their newest hideout, because he was the only one who knew where it was. (The secrecy wasn't that of mistrust but necessity. The less people knew where they hid what they saved from HYDRA, the better. ' _It was one of Clint's favorites_ ', the scientist revealed reluctantly when they demanded how the two found the place, his voice thick with emotion.) The journey there was long and solemn. Full of such grief and ache none of them was sure they could overcome. Such grief after which life would never, ever be the same again.

They failed, and as a result one of their own was dead in Steve's still protective arms.

None of them said a word, because what good would any words have done? Words wouldn't have changed the fact that they were forced to play a game. And Clint lost.

Steve had his head bowed as he carried the precious cargo, whatever little they saw of his expression unreadable. Thor was so tense that it had to hurt, his posture unnaturally straight as he fought to maintain control over himself. Tony had folded his arms with the expression of a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. There were tears in his eyes but they didn't spill. Natasha… She looked so angry, so very angry, that it was a miracle she didn't simply explode. Bruce would've given a lot if he'd been able to comfort her but there wasn't much he could do with how little they both liked touching, and how close to the edge he was.

It was shock, denial and anger all rolled into one.

They entered the safe house in a silence. Still they were heard. "Clint? Bruce?" a heavily accented child's voice called out. "Is it safe?" And then she was visible. A small, pale girl of seven, with huge dark brown eyes and long black hair.

She was Hanna. One of HYDRA's few successful test subjects; the most valuable thus far, possibly ever. The second they found out about her they knew that they'd have to save her before she'd be lost into that hell forever. HYDRA didn't appreciate their rescue, which led to this whole mess.

As soon as she saw them Hanna frowned, startled. "What's wrong?" Then her eyes fell on Clint, and filled with tears. "No…!" she wailed. "No, no…"

Steve gulped loudly. "Hanna… This…"

Hanna wasn't listening. Grief made room for such determination only a child could experience. "Lay him down. I can help."

They should've told her 'no'. She was a child who'd already been put through far more than anyone should ever have to endure. And this… This was far too traumatizing. But it was too late, now.

And if there was even the faintest of chances…

Steve lay Clint on a couch, slowly, gently, hesitantly. The archer looked like he was merely sleeping as he lay absolutely still in his eternal slumber. Steve stared at his friend's chest and immediately received a brutal reminder.

And then Hanna's hands were there, so suddenly that he shivered. Steve frowned, torn and conflicted. "You…"

Hanna shook her head stubbornly, still crying. "Don't tell me what to do", she demanded, quietly but firmly. "He… He was the first nice person I met since mommy died. I wanna help him." With those words her hands were already glowing in a bizarre mixture of gold and ruby.

The adults could do nothing but stare in disbelief. Wondering what, exactly, was going on. Hanna's trembling worsened to near convulsions as the procedure advanced, and when it was over she burst into loud sobs of agony. She latched onto Bruce, the second member of their team she met, and clearly didn't notice his shock while she clung to him as tightly as she could. "It hurt…", she whimpered. "It hurts so much…!" That was when they noticed that one strand of her had turned blood red from the effort. It was her seventh stripe of that kind.

But they didn't have the time to focus on her for long. Because all of a sudden there was a loud, hungry gasp. And just as they looked Clint's horrified eyes flew open while his whole body convulsed upon coming back to life.

As others stood frozen Tony moved. The billionaire still couldn't find his voice, not yet. But the way he pulled Clint into a tight, demanding hug spoke everything necessary. Just like the eventual, tentative hug back Clint delivered was enough of a response.

On that cold, endless night their Hawk became a Phoenix Bird.

"What happened?" Clint rasped at last. None of them knew how long had gone by. He sounded confused and shell-shocked. "What… What happened? How…?"

Hanna, who seemed to be overcoming the whole ordeal little by little, smiled tentatively. "You… You saved me. So… I saved you."

* * *

The whole team would've needed some rest. But there was no way they could've relaxed. Not with how fresh and sore the mental image of Cint's dead body still was. Clint insisted that they'd get some sleep because he'd definitely do so. Instead they kept checking up on him.

Not that getting rest would've been easy on Clint, either. He actually died, after all. He refused to talk about what he experienced and saw. Or didn't. But the memory obviously haunted him, because every time he nearly dozed off he almost had a panic attack. Natasha was there when he finally succumbed to much needed sleep. She didn't hold his hand but she was right there beside him. And kept watch for half an hour after he was out. Not because she would've been worried, of course. But because she wanted to make sure that he wouldn't be a moron again.

Steve kept rotating around the house, checking up on everyone and taking count. He already lost one teammember. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Even if it meant staying up the whole night.

Bruce was also a common visitor. It was only reasonable, since despite being alive Clint needed to be monitored closely and there was no telling how much injury remained. Bruce had no objections, even if he was denied of sleep. Having his friend right there, actually being able to do something… It helped him believe that even if he'd been too late once, he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

It was three in the morning when Tony caught Thor stood by the room's doorway with a grim expression and a mug of hot chocolate. Despite the horror story they just went through one corner of the billionaire's mouth twitched. "You do know that he isn't going to disappear, don't you?"

"You do not seem convinced, either", Thor quipped, taking a new sip of his beverage.

Tony couldn't find anything witty to say so instead he stood beside the Asgardian and peered in. What he discovered made him grin like a loon. Only common sense kept him for making unnecessarily loud noises.

At some point Hanna had slipped into the room. At the moment she was cuddled as close to Clint as humanly possible, still trembling but calmer than they'd seen her. One of Clint's arms was wrapped protectively around her. Neither seemed to have bad dreams.

"Where are you going?" Thor inquired as Tony began to tiptoe away.

"To get a camera." He smirked at his friend. "A free tip, Goldilocks? Wipe away those hot chocolate whiskers or I'll take a picture of you, too."

* * *

Four weeks later the team knew, little as they liked it, that Hanna couldn't stay at the Tower anymore. HYDRA continued to circle around, searching, and it was only a matter of time before they'd try to capture her. With her powers she was far too valuable, irresistible. And as time passed by it became apparent that she needed something more to recover properly, to feel comfortable with herself.

"Where are we supposed to send her?" Clint asked. The same protectiveness he felt towards his children rising its head. "HYDRA won't give up on looking for her. There's no place on this planet where she'd be safe enough."

A thoughtful expression appeared to Bruce's face. "Actually… I think I know a place."

* * *

It was a ridiculously sunny day when Hanna left. After her departure Clint locked himself into his room for two excruciatingly long hours. Natasha, Thor and Tony all looked at him when he finally emerged and marched into the main common space. "You good, Feathers?" Tony inquired.

Clint nodded as he flopped to the couch, trying to hide a wince upon landing. "Yup, Tin Can. All good." The archer sighed. "It's just… gonna feel a bit quiet, without Hanna."

"She… was a very lively child." It was impossible to tell if Thor was amused or annoyed. Maybe a little bit of both. "She kept wishing to braid my hair."

"She seemed pretty fond of you", Natasha pointed out to Clint. Uncharacteristically gently. "I thought that Bruce would have to get a crowbar to break that goodbye hug she gave you."

Clint smiled, although he had a feeling that it didn't come out right. The nightmares he'd had since… _the event_ , as he preferred to call it, were absolutely horrible. And if he thought about what happened – that he was basically a dead man walking – too much it threatened to drive him insane. How did one cope with such? Hanna's presence had helped make things at least bearable. Served as a reminder that something very good came out of that horror story. And she was a really sweet, bubbly young girl, underneath all the emotional trauma. They didn't talk much during their brief friendship but they reached a deeper, wordless understanding. She took a great fascination towards archery. The Tower would feel strange without her. And her absence made him miss his family so much that it hurt, even more than usual.

But Hanna was safe, now. At last. And in a couple of days, after giving the team a moment to get used to the idea, he'd go home and hug his family as tightly as he could.

Tony's gentle fist hitting his shoulder brought him back to the present. "Hey, enough with that face. Don't worry. One day you'll get mini-Hawks of your own."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look that made it hard for him to hold his tongue and composure.

That was when Clint finally registered that someone was missing. He frowned. "Where's Steve?"

Natasha sighed heavily. "Where do you think he is? Running. Again."

Clint's jawline tightened. Steve was running away from what happened and his feelings towards it, literally. For a while the archer had been too unwell, physically and especially emotionally, to do anything about it. But now… "That's it. I'm going after that idiot."

Thor frowned. "Did Bruce not say that you should continue to avoid…?"

Clint smirked. "Yup, he did. So Steve will have to listen, or risk making Bruce mad about putting unnecessary strain on me."

* * *

The others would never know what words were exchanged. But when Steve and Clint finally returned after several hours they were both a little calmer than before. Exhausted and still overwhelmed, but on their way towards the better.

Things couldn't be quite the same again. Let alone normal, because they were talking about a team with a man out of his time and a man who died. But they were more than a team. And after everything they'd already been through… They'd make it through this, too.

That afternoon Steve cooked, and later they all suffered from a food poisoning.

* * *

Hanna fell asleep somewhere along the way. She began to wake up to two voices talking. Bruce, whose voice rumbled in the chest she'd pressed her head against. And a man she'd never met before.

"… extraordinary girl", the stranger murmured. "But her gift comes with a price. Do you see those red strands in her hair?"

Bruce sighed heavily. "I know. Several doctors and I have been running tests…" The scientist trailed off when she twitched involuntarily.

"Ah, I believe that Hanna is ready to join us."

Hanna opened her eyes to find a bald man sitting in a wheelchair. There was a genuine, kind smile on his face. "Hello, Hanna. My name is Charles Xavier."

Hanna frowned, looking around. She'd never seen as luxurious of a place as she did now. "Where are we?" she murmured, leaning closer to Bruce for comfort.

"This is my school. It's for special children like you." Although Charles' lips weren't moving she continued to hear his voice. ' _And I'm hoping that you'll like it here, if you choose to stay._ '

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: Yup, guys. I actually went there. For a moment. But hey, it counts as 'almost', since he came back…! (smirks sheepishly) Poor Hanna! But at least it looks like she'll have a shot at happiness, now.

Soooo… That was VERY different. BUT, was it any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from you.

 **BEFORE I FORGET, SOME ANNOUNCEMENTS!**

 **HALLOWEEN IS APPROACHING. AND NEXT WEEK MIGHT HAVE THE CHANCE TO HAVE TWO ENTRIES. ONE ON WEDNESDAY, AND NOTHER ON SUNDAY. THE SUNDAY ONE WOULD BE A HALLOWEEN-SPECIAL. (Aka an actual ghost story!) WOULD YOU LIKE THAT?**

Awkay, because it's WAY too late… I've gotta go. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you there!

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): (BEAMS, and blushes) GOSH! That you think so highly of this collection and my talent… It means more than you could imagine! I REALLY hope that you'll have as good time with what's to come.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: (offers tissues) I'm REALLY, REALLY happy and humbled that it moved you so! Gosh, I hope that this collection will offer you many more favorites. (smiles)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I'm OVERJOYED that you had a good time with the mini-Hawk-special! (BEAMS) We'll see just what's to come.

And that prompt? I LOVE it!

HUGE thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (2): Mais oui! (grins) Gosh, I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	69. A Hawk and a Puppy

A/N: THAT'S RIGHT, FOLKS! It's time for the special update I promised. (BEAMS) BUT, before getting to the actual business…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart and soul, for all your reviews, love and affection! This is pretty much my own favorite of… anything I've typed, and it means THE WORLD to me that so many have joined me on this feathery adventure. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy.. Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **ABOUT PREVIOUS CHAPTER!** Because a couple of people have asked… Hanna is actually my original character! It makes me INSANELY happy that so many of your seemed to like her. (BEAMS)

 **AS FOR THIS ONE…**

 **REMEMBER LUCKY THE SECOND, THE PUPPY FROM CHAPTER 'LUCKY'? He's BAAACK, as the star of this adventure. (grins)**

 **VERY LOOSELY INSPIRED BY the tale of a dog named Hachiko.**

* * *

A Hawk and a Puppy

* * *

For a creature named Lucky, one puppy which was given that name certainly wasn't very lucky. He was born to a street-dog in a city where such weren't shown much kindness. He became an orphan when he was barely able to survive on his own. He was the only survivor of his litter, the smallest of them all but a tiny fighter who made it through with sheer stubbornness. The black arrow-mark on his snow-white forehead was a sign of his willpower.

Then he was nearly ran over by a man called Tony Stark, who brought him to a man who gave him a home.

His new Master introduced him to his Mistress, Little Master, Little Mistress and Baby Master. The Farm became the first home he'd ever had. Lucky loved running through the woods with Master, the effortless understanding he had with the man. They guarded their pack together, and whenever Master had to go away Lucky felt like he'd been left in charge. He bonded with the rest of the pack as well. He slept most nights beside Little Master, snuggled firmly against the boy's side and soaking in the warmth. He enjoyed the special treats and hugs Little Mistress gave him when they were alone. And he was absolutely crazy about the pizza-slices Mistress kept treating him with when they imagined that no one was looking. They were his family, and for the first time in his life Lucky was happy. He kept a keen watch on them all every single day, afraid that his world would shatter yet again. Nothing good ever seemed to last.

Watching over Master was ridiculously difficult, because far too often the man left and wouldn't let him come along, no matter how loudly and sorrowfully he whined. For a long time Lucky tried every trick he could think of; hiding a boot (because surely Master wouldn't leave barefooted?), laying in front of the door, laying on top of Master's bag (surely that was a loud enough message?), hiding the bag… But it always ended to Master leaving, abandoning him to wait and worry.

Lucky hated it when Master left. While those of his family left behind did their best to continue with their daily lives as usual, something always seemed to be missing when Master was away. The little ones had loud, unpleasant dreams. Mistress didn't sleep at all on most nights.

But Master always came back, Lucky reminded himself. It was a promise, or perhaps rather a silent agreement. People had always failed him but Master was different.

So every time Master left Lucky waited. Stared at the door, expecting it to open at any given moment. And it always did eventually. That day, when Master walked in and gave him one of those incredibly warm hugs, then ruffled his fur, was always a good day.

* * *

After one such chaotic and wonderful return Master took Lucky along for a ride. It was snowing heavily but neither noticed as Master sang loudly and Lucky howled along the best as he could. They grabbed several bags of something that smelled heavenly before heading towards the car. They never made it there.

They looked to the side simultaneously when there was a loud, pained scream. In a flash they were running. Incapable of looking the other way.

In a tiny alleyway they saw five people. A woman who'd fallen down. And five men attacking her.

Master shouted something, loudly and angrily. The woman wasn't making a sound, wasn't even moving anymore. The men who'd been attacking her began to approach Master, their tones low and threatening. Lucky growled, revealing his fangs.

It was absolute madness from there. There was so much fighting and shouting that it made Lucky's ears ring. Something shone menacingly in the moonlight, several times over. They kept on fighting until the last remaining attacker was running away, stumbling as he went.

They both stared at the man's disappearing back. Eyes smoldering. Until all of a sudden Master slumped down and lay as still as the woman. Red stained the white snow.

Horribly scared, Lucky whined and approached the motionless figure. First he pawed at the man, then nuzzled a cheek. The skin felt colder than it was supposed to. He kept trying to rouse Master for a very long time but nothing happened. Eventually Lucky didn't have any strength left so he lay down, his head rested on Master's shoulder and snuggled as close to the man as he could, trying to provide some warmth. Helpless and even more scared than before, Lucky continued to whine and attempt to protect although it was too late.

* * *

Lucky drifted. Then was roused to horribly loud noise. On first instinct he growled, fearing that the attacker had returned. Instead, however, he encountered several people in dark uniforms. He tried to continue to protect Master but they pushed him away, and eventually Lucky realized that these people were trying to help. Relieved and feeble, he lay down with an exhausted moan.

Until suddenly they were taking Master away. Startled once again, Lucky barked and pushed himself up, following loyally on unsteady feet. But they wouldn't let him into the massive, entirely too loud vehicle. And before Lucky got the chance to protest the car was already speeding away.

Not knowing what else to do Lucky lay down. Whining in sorrow and pain he rested his head on his paws and waited. Wished that Master would come back and get him soon. It was getting so very cold.

* * *

Lucky drifted again. This time he was roused by a gentle hand petting his head. He moaned, opening his eyes to meet Mistress. There was moisture on her cheeks and she smelled strangely salty. Lucky didn't mind. His tail began to wag, no matter how much pain he was in.

Everything would be okay, he'd get to go home, now.

* * *

Lucky wasn't taken home that night.

* * *

That night, and for several days afterwards, Laura Barton was sure that she'd lose them both. Her husband, and that silly, ridiculously brave dog which had become unreasonably precious to her. The medical personnel wasn't giving her a lot of hope. Clint had been stabbed five times. A couple of organs had been nicked. Lucky had been stabbed twice. How the dog survived until she got there, Laura would never know.

Through those endless days Clint's condition didn't allow visitors. So instead Laura visited Lucky. Despite being critically injured and at death's door the dog wagged his tail excitedly at the sight of her. The reaction brought a brand-new set of tears to Laura's eyes, although she'd sworn herself to not cry.

"You stupid, brave animal…", she murmured affectionately while scratching the canine from behind the ear. "Thank you, for helping him. If… If he makes it… It'll be thanks to you. So…" She swallowed, choking on her words. "So… Don't you dare…!" She trailed off entirely.

As though sensing her need for comfort, Lucky whined. Then licked her cheek. The gesture made Laura cry even harder.

* * *

Lucky had to be in that unpleasant place, away from his family and in agony, for far too long. Until one sunny day Mistress showed up yet again, with a leash. Lucky was almost as happy as he was the first time he was taken home.

Unlike he expected Master wasn't there waiting for him. He looked at Mistress with confusion. She seemed to understand and sighed heavily, petting him gently. "I know, boy", she murmured. "I miss him, too."

Lucky wasn't about to give up on waiting, though. He hadn't thus far. Master wasn't going to let him down. Trusting that promise from the bottom of his dog's heart, Lucky sat in front of the house's door every day, waiting. Wishing with every new day that today was would be _the day_. Never giving up. As stubborn as Master.

Time passed by. One day it was raining incredibly loudly when Mistress sat to the floor beside Lucky. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her hand was unsteady as she stroked his fur. "I… I'm sorry, Lucky", she whispered, her voice breaking. She wiped her eyes with the hand that was petting him, even though more tears leaked instantly. "But he… he isn't going to come home."

Lucky licked away her tears, confused. Why was she so sad? Of course Master was coming back home.

Lucky kept waiting. Some time later Little Mistress sat beside him and hugged him so tightly that it hurt his injuries. She was crying heavily but silently, not managing to utter even a single word. He licked away her tears as well. Trusting faithfully.

More time passed by. The whole remaining family tried to coax him away from the door. Lucky didn't budge. Of course he didn't.

One day Lucky heard music. Curious and hopeful, he followed the sound to find Little Master playing. Just like Master. At first the canine only watched, a little unsure. Then approached and rested his head to the child's lap. The boy faltered for a few seconds, surprised, then continued. The familiar melody soothed them both. Gave them some much needed faith.

Time continued to slip away. One season changed to another. Lucky continued to wait.

* * *

Lucky was just about to fall asleep when he heard familiar steps. His head rose, ears perking up to listen intently. His tail began to wag as the familiar steps were followed by a just as recognizable scent.

Mistress ran past him and opened the door to find Master with his hand raised for a knock.

It was a chaos. While Lucky whined and barked with excitement Mistress hugged Master tightly, then kissed the man until the little ones were there. Then they were all hugging, murmuring softly.

Lucky waited impatiently until Master finally looked at him. The man's face held a soft expression. "Come here, boy."

Lucky didn't need to be told twice. "Careful…!" Mistress tried to caution them. Her words fell on deaf ears while the man and dog embraced and rejoiced the best as they could.

Lucky's family was finally whole again.

* * *

Lucky was still in pain every now and then. And he could tell that it was the same for Master. It would also take a while before either of them would feel perfectly safe. What they went through… was a horror story.

One night they nearly bumped into each other in the dark, as they were both doing a round at the Farm. Checking that everyone was safe and unharmed. Unable to unwind.

They stared at each other for a while. Eventually Master melted to a smile. "C'mon, boy. Let's go and get some sleep."

* * *

As soon as Lucky moved in Clint and Laura made a rule that they'd never let the dog into their bed. The following morning, however, Laura woke up to discover that rule broken. Lucky slept sandwiched between her and Clint. Both males snoring softly, lay on their backs.

Perhaps Laura could've been irritated. Instead she smiled. It was the first time since… _the day_ her husband slept soundly.

* * *

Two weeks later Laura and Nick Fury sat on the Farm's porch, baby Nate asleep in a basket between them. Their watchful eyes observed how Clint and Lucky ran around with the two older kids.

"According to all probability those two should be dead", Fury mused out loud. To most he would've sounded harsh. Laura knew better.

Laura shrugged, silently thanking her lucky stars. "You know those two. They defy all statistics." She glanced towards the one-eyed man. "I'm surprised that you came all the way here to make that discovery", she teased.

Fury shrugged. The look on his face was nothing but composure. "I was bored."

Laura hid her smile with taking a sip of coffee. "I can tell. You finally stayed long enough to have coffee."

* * *

Two years later the woman Clint and Lucky saved published a book. She never shared her experience with the public, wishing to respect the privacy of everyone involved. That's why few people knew the meaning behind her words of dedication.

' _to my heroes who didn't wear masks or have other superpowers than their courage_ '

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: D'awwwwwww! So… Yeah… I have a HUGE soft spot for animals, furry and feathery alike. (winks and smirks)

Sooooooo… Was that any good, at all? A worthy special edition? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you ALWAYS makes me happy.

 **And remember, this Sunday you'll also receive a Halloween-special! We'll see just what kind of trouble Clint gets into when he catches the attention of ghosts…**

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there!

Take better care of yourselves than Clint Barton!

* * *

Guest: I'm INSANELY happy that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) Gosh, I truly hope that the next one succeeds in pleasing you as well.

Poor Clint, right? (shudders) Actually, Hanna was an entirely original character! (grins)

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	70. A Very Hawkeye Halloween (FEAT Wanda)

A/N: That's right, folks! I nailed it. (BEAMS) Now, before we get to this special chapter…

THANK YOU, so very much, for you reviews and love! DAAANG, I seriously can't believe that this collection has THAT amount of friends. (HUGS)

Awkay, because it's getting late… Let's go! I REALLY hope that 'SOS's first official Halloween-special turns out worth the wait!

* * *

A Very Hawkeye Halloween (FEAT Wanda)

* * *

The first time he felt it Clint was target practicing. His hands were already tensed up to release an arrow when something brushed his cheek. Light and taunting.

Clint released the arrow with a growl, not liking the bizarre intrusion. A quick yet careful inspection assured that he was alone. Wasn't he?

The skin on his cheek itched and he'd just reached out a hand to scratch it when Tony showed up. The billionaire arched an eyebrow, taking a sip of whatever the brown liquid was in the man's glass. "Any particular reason you're here at two in the morning? I thought that all sane people would be asleep by now."

"You're still up, too", Clint pointed out.

"I did say all sane people." Tony then winced, looking at his cheek. "You really should get that checked. What is it, anyway? Some sort of a weird archery accident?"

Clint frowned, feeling very cold all of a sudden. "What are you talking about?" There was a small mirror on a nearby wall. He made his way to it to get a look and shivered.

Going down his entire cheek were five still bleeding gashes. Deep scratch marks. Such he definitely hadn't caused on himself. So… what did?

* * *

Five weeks passed by. The marks on Clint's face began to heal, and while he still had no idea where they came from there was so much going on that he forgot them. Eventually he came back from a mission injured and exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep, but a horrific amount of stitches and a new wound on his side didn't make it easy.

Nor did the mental image of Pietro Maximoff's dead body.

Clint would've wanted to go home, to his wife and kids. But there was something he needed to do first, something he'd sworn to himself he'd do. He already failed one of the twins. He was determined to make sure that the other one would be alright. He had to make sure that the team was alright as well, with both Bruce and Thor absent.

So there he was in ridiculous hours of the night, desperately trying to find a position that wouldn't make him feel like he'd been torn to pieces. Eventually he was close to drifting off until the room's air became so cold that he was surprised his breaths couldn't be seen. He tensed up, his eyes darting around in the darkness.

 _What the…?_

For about four seconds it was incredibly quiet. Unnaturally so. Until steps could be heard from the hallway, approaching the room. They were slow and dragging, and every single time they advanced the cold intensified. Clint's whole mind was screaming at him to _do something_ but he couldn't even twitch, was barely able to think. And then it was too late.

It was hard to say how he knew because the door never opened. But there was a presence, he knew with absolute certainty although he couldn't see anyone. Clint swallowed hard, tense and dizzy, his entire body tingling with adrenaline. "Stark, if this is one of your pranks I swear…!" He never got the chance to finish.

In a blink of an eye what felt like a pair of ice-cold, stone-hard hands pressed against his throat. So roughly that there was no hope of a proper breath getting in. Reacting instinctively Clint began to trash, desperate to get away from the chokehold. It grew tighter as a response, and soon black spots were dancing in his line of vision.

Was this some kind of a sick nightmare?

Clint was fast on his way to losing consciousness. For a few heart stilling moments he was _sure_ that he was going to die. Until there was a clearly distinguishable shove, harsh enough to break the stranglehold and to push him violently to the floor.

Disoriented and still struggling for breath, Clint hit his head harshly on the floor. But nonetheless he could've sworn that he heard Pietro Maximoff's voice. ' _STOP!_ '

* * *

' _STOP!_ '

Wanda bolted to a sitting position with a gasp, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. It wouldn't have been the first time she dreamt of her brother after his death. But this… Something about this felt different. "Pietro?" she whispered.

Wanda wasn't entirely sure what it was leading her. But before she had the time to process it she was up and on her way, almost running as she dashed towards an unknown location. She wondered why she was headed towards Clint's room until she froze, her blood running cold.

Bloodied footprints – large, most likely those of a man – led the way. There were a few more stains on the wall. Handprints.

Wanda moved without a thought, dashed into the room. Hoping that she hadn't appeared too late. "Clint!"

Clint lay on his side on the floor, gasping and groaning. He'd pressed one hand gently against his injured side, which had already been healing. She saw a slowly growing stain of blood and figured that some stitches had been popped. Despite the lack of light she also noticed fast appearing bruising on his neck. "Are you alright?" she asked as she began to help him up. Of course he wasn't but she knew that he'd never admit it. She just needed to hear him talk.

Clint nodded. He was blinking sluggishly, as though waking up or fighting to stay awake. "Yeah." That tone wasn't exactly convincing.

Wanda went on once he was up and she could be sure that he'd stay up. "What happened?" Obviously someone or something attacked him. But where was the threat now?

Clint shook his head slowly and winced as he did. "I don't know… I don't know."

* * *

Once Clint's newly opened wound had been stitched back together it became apparent that the rest of the team would have to know. Something sinister was lurking around. They had to be prepared.

"So…" It was impossible to tell if Tony was simply thinking hard or trying to keep himself from laughing. "Something… invisible attacked you?"

Clint nodded and fought the urge to roll his eyes. "For the third time, yeah." He still sounded absolutely horrible, which didn't improve his spirits. "It was a funny joke until I almost got strangled to death."

Tony seemed to ignore his words. Instead the inventor pursed his lips, a focused look in his eyes. "This definitely sounds like the plot of some cheap, stupid horror movie." A small bag of chamomile tea – courtesy to Pepper – hit the billionaire right in the middle of his forehead. "Ow!"

Pepper pointed a cautioning finger at the Iron Man. "I know that the connection between your brain and your mouth breaks when you're worried, but zip it." She then took a deep breath before focusing on Clint. "We've gotta figure out what's going on here, before it gets any worse."

"And how, exactly, are we gonna do that?" Clint inquired. Almost dreading the answer. He also decided against wondering just how much _worse_ this could get.

"I'm going to get my Ouija Board", Pepper announced, already on the move.

Everyone's eyes were on her all of a sudden. Tony was the one to speak up. "You… seriously have a Ouija Board?"

Pepper shrugged. "I was a bored fifteen-year-old. It felt like a good idea at the time."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later they were all sitting around the said board. A very skeptical looking Steve, Natasha who seemed ready to punch someone, Tony who was clearly fighting to keep himself from laughing, a frowning Wanda and Clint who appeared to be wondering if he was completely out of his mind to go through with the affair.

"Now what?" the archer demanded at last. "In the horror movies they always grab… whatever that arrow-shaped thing is."

"Yeah, and then all hell breaks loose", Tony supplied unhelpfully.

Natasha shot a glare at the inventor. "Look at Clint's neck. All hell's already broken loose." She groaned, irritation masking whatever it was she really felt. "Now let's just get this idiocy over with." Her hand was already reaching out but never quite made it there.

There was a bizarre, almost angry breath in the air. Then such cold that chilled them all to their bones. All of a sudden Wanda gasped, her face falling unhealthily pale. "There's… I feel someone…"

Before she got the chance to complete the sentence the wooden piece was already flying across the letters. At first they had hard time keeping up with the pace. But eventually the message coming out was clearer than clear.

' _I'M NOT LETTING YOU GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY CHILD_ '

This time it was Clint who appeared deathly pale. In fact, he seemed to be barely breathing, and now it wasn't because of a chokehold. He pushed himself up, obviously faster than his head would've approved. "Trent Tanner", was all he managed. And then he was out of the room, before anyone got the chance to ask a thing.

* * *

Back when he was on a much darker path – a assassin for hire – Clint had a single code of honor. He never, ever accepted child victims. Too bad there was a single occasion when fate made that decision for him.

He was on his perch, keeping watch on an arms dealer named Trent Tanner who made the mistake of upsetting the wrong people. When the man sat to the backseat of a luxury car Clint prepared to take his aim, knowing that in just a few moments it'd be too late. For the grand total of three seconds the sun blinded him and he froze, knowing well that he couldn't take his shot without seeing properly. When his sight returned, Tanner was leaning over what appeared to be a bag of merchandise. The vehicle was already moving away while Clint ensured his target, then allowed an arrow to fly.

Hawkeye never misses and he didn't on that day, either. Unfortunately he couldn't possibly know that Tanner wasn't alone in the car, that the man wasn't leaning towards a bag. There beside him, hidden from the archer's view, was Tanner's five years old daughter Stella. When the arrow plunged through the criminal it also hit the child he'd been embracing, piercing her heart. Stella died instantly. Becoming the one and only child Clint ever killed, no matter how accidentally. Tanner passed away three weeks later, after fighting his injury, an infection and other complications far longer than should've been humanly possible.

Right there, in the present, Clint remembered that horrific day so well that it _hurt_ physically. The car stopping… Watching Tanner stumbling out of it… With his little girl's body in his arms…

Clint was barely fast enough to lean over a toilet before he threw up for the third time.

Clint was just rinsing his mouth when there was a knock on the door. " _Clint?_ " Steve's familiar voice was almost a comfort. Almost. " _Are you okay?_ "

Clint sighed heavily, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. "Depends on the definition", he muttered. Which was about as close to 'no' as he could get. "No new paranormal attacks so far, though, so I'm cautiously optimistic." He took a breath and swallowed, staring at his reflection on the mirror. He definitely looked as crappy as he felt. "Look, Cap…"

" _Was it an accident?_ " Steve didn't have to clarify. They both knew all too well what he meant.

Clint's stomach twisted and turned uncomfortably. "Of course it was." He sounded tired and frustrated. "But it still happened, didn't it? And now I'm facing the consequences."

" _It sounds like you've been facing those since that day._ "

Clint shivered. Since that day he'd dreamt of Stella's ghost pretty much every night, especially after having his own baby girl. Sometimes, when he was injured and confused, he wondered if the Stella in his dreams had come to drag him to hell. Now, apparently, her father's ghost had appeared to do just that. Shakespearean justice, really. "How would you know?" he murmured, just loud enough to be heard through the door.

Steve hesitated for a moment. Two. Three. " _Because… Because you're not the only one who's made such a mistake._ "

That… was definitely a surprise. One that made Clint's eyes widen a little. He was just about to ask when he was interrupted.

The lights flickered in a sinister manner. Soon after he heard heavy, loud breathing, such that wasn't his own. A flash later Trent Tanner's face could be seen on the mirror, right behind his shoulder.

Clint's heart was pounding and he felt so dizzy that it was a miracle he could stand. His lips opened several times. Nothing came out.

The lips of Tanner's ghost opened as well. There was a screech, so loud that it shattered the mirror and the room's lightbulbs. Leaving them into utter darkness.

* * *

Steve was absolutely certain that he'd never, ever heard anything so terrifying. That scream… It didn't belong to this world. All hair in the back of his neck stood up and his eyes grew to a comical size.

"Clint!" There was no response. Instead loud noises that he couldn't quite identify. Something definitely broke, several somethings. He banged on the door desperately. "Clint, what's going on in there?" There was a very ominous thud, accompanied by a sickening squishing sound. The soldier decided that he'd heard enough.

The door gave in pathetically easily, opening a view to a pitch-black room. In the light illuminated from the main hallway Steve saw that a huge chunk of a sink had fallen to the floor. It lay shattered amongst shards of the utterly destroyed mirror. And several unnervingly large puddles of blood. There were some red stains on the walls as well. Along with long, deep nail marks.

As Steve's shocked gaze shifted he discovered Clint. The archer had been thrown against the opposite wall but was just getting up, stubbornly pushing himself to all fours. Was that blood coating the back of the man's head?

Steve gulped, a bad feeling striking through like a bolt of lightning. "Clint?" he asked almost cautiously. "Are you…?"

Clint stood up, faster than should've been humanly possible. Then sped past Steve with enough force to knock the soldier down. And disappeared.

* * *

Ten minutes later Natasha stared at the very same sight with a grim expression, her fists balled so tightly that nails almost dug through skin. "So you're telling me that a guy who's still recovering from a few weeks old gunshot wound and a recent strangulation faced… whatever it is that happened here, knocked you down and ran?" Only Clint Barton…!

"I don't know what happened." Steve appeared as frustrated as she felt. "There was a horrible amount of noise and then…" He gestured vaguely with his hand.

Natasha took a breath, forcing herself to appear calmer than she felt. This was all going way over her head and she hated it. "Keep pressing the ice-pack to your head", she advised a little more harshly than she'd intended.

She was in the middle of trying to figure out where to start looking when Tony's tense voice carried through her ear comm. " _Uh, guys, the system just spotted Clint. We've gotta hurry…!_ "

* * *

It was like in one of his many, many nightmares.

Clint walked through a balcony at one of the Tower's highest spots. Completely unable to stop himself. His mind was still dimly aware but his body was no longer his. With each new, agonizing step Tanner's memories and emotions from _that day_ kept bombarding him mercilessly. He didn't notice that he was approaching the railing by the edge, he'd already been steered over it in so many ways.

' _YOUR FAULT!_ ' the voice in his head boomed.

Clint's gaze fell to his trembling hands, to discover the pale skin coated in blood.

' _YOUR DOING!_ '

Clint's legs felt like they'd been made of lead. He gasped twice, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "I know", he muttered, because no amount of apologies would've done.

Somehow he was still moving forward. The railing's metal felt unforgivingly cool and hard under his touch while his fingers curled convulsively around it. Along with the rest of his body his head hurt, so much that there was barely any reason in it. He couldn't focus, couldn't think, hardly understood what was happening. He just knew that soon this would be over.

No more nightmares of dead children.

Clint was shaking to his core from shock and strain. That's why he barely registered the touch at first. No wonder, really, since it didn't exactly belong to his world. It was a hand, grabbing his wrist with a desperate force. A new voice echoed, loud and clear. ' _LEAVE HIM ALONE!_ '

* * *

Wanda was the first one to reach the correct spot. Seeing Clint there, almost over the edge with that dazed look in his eyes, was bad enough. Worse was knowing that whatever she did, she wouldn't be able to prevent the disaster.

But then… Then she felt something, or perhaps someone, familiar. Sensed him, like from some different world. Her knees went weak as her hand found its way to her chest, and her eyes water. The longing… It was overwhelming. "Pietro…!"

Wanda would never know what, exactly, happened. Clint was yanked away from the railing, with such speed and force that the archer slid almost all the way to her. At first she felt the presences of two spirit like people. Then a thrust, as though a psychic backlash, such bound to leave her with a headache for days. Then… nothing. Whatever was there, or wasn't… It was gone.

Pietro was gone, again, leaving her all alone into the world for the second time.

Or… Perhaps not entirely alone, anymore. Through the crushing, soul consuming feeling of having been abandoned Clint's groan of pain broke through to Wanda. He was barely conscious but fought visibly to hang on, just a little longer. "Pietro… What…?"

"He… He was here." Wanda's accent was thicker than usual, as it always was when emotions threatened to take over. She decided that this time it didn't matter. She tried to smile, even if she had no idea whether it came out right. "He's always here."

It seemed like Clint wanted to say something more but he lost consciousness before he got the chance to.

* * *

Clint heard the voices like through several walls. They seemed barely real. "… hairline fracture to skull … strangulation … multiple lacerations … three broken ribs … conscious less than an hour ago?"

A hand squeezed around his. Grounding him, providing comfort. "… one tough bird …", a voice that sounded a lot like Tony quipped, a little too relieved.

Clint didn't know why his friends chose to stand by him. Despite knowing what he was, what he'd done, when on far too many days even he found it difficult to handle those things. But there they were. The dead and the living united. And no, he didn't know why, didn't believe that he deserved it. But they seemed to disagree.

As Clint slipped into the dark he decided that he owed them all his best shot.

* * *

In a tiny apartment, a woman with heavy scarring on her face opened her eyes with a growl of frustration. Her first attempt didn't work, then. No matter. She'd open the portal again, when they wouldn't know to expect it.

She'd already reached a tiny alleyway no one in their right mind would've stepped on. She would've slipped away unnoticed if it wasn't for a low male-voice she didn't remember hearing before. "Are you sure that it's a good idea to play with the dead?"

She peered over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow at the man stood nearby. She didn't manage to hide the still glowing, tear shaped locket quite quickly enough to fool his careful eye. It was a key to one of the most dangerous and unpredictable of portals. "And what would you know about that?" She looked at his outfit, some amusement flickering in her eyes. "Are you looking for a Halloween party, Mr…?"

"Doctor, actually." The man took a few steps closer. "I'm Doctor Strange. And you… have something that definitely doesn't belong to you."

* * *

According to several medical professionals it was a miracle that Clint survived the pummeling. Apparently his skull and bones were made of concrete, at least according to Tony's assessment. He'd recover to fight more foes. Hopefully the living, not ghosts.

Clint had no idea what happened to the ghost haunting him, and several blows to the head had erased most of the ordeal. He remembered the shove. Something protecting him, and attacking Tanner's spirit.

Afterwards he was only willing to talk about it once. With Wanda, about a week after the attack. They sat on his bed, waiting for a doctor to clear him for a trip to the Farm and his family. "I'm, ah… pretty sure that Pietro was there." He knew that he wouldn't have to clarify.

Wanda nodded slowly. "I felt him, too. I don't know how but he was protecting you, just like on the day he died." It wasn't an accusation, merely stating a fact, no matter how sad one. Something they'd both have to accept and live with.

"I know", Clint admitted. He sighed and winced at how it hurt his injuries. "Though I still don't understand why."

Wanda gave him a sad little smile. "Because you're worth it, no matter what you may have done in the past. Maybe one day you'll look into a mirror and see what the rest of us do."

Clint blinked twice. What was he supposed to say to that, when he wasn't sure if he'd ever believe her? "Where do you think that ghost came from all of a sudden?" he asked instead, eager to switch to another topic. Why now? After all this time?

Wanda frowned, looking towards the room's window. "Who knows." Clearly she didn't like not knowing. "But if it happens again… We'll be ready."

Just then there was an unnaturally loud bang as the room's door slammed closed all of a sudden. They looked towards it with alarm, then at each other. And burst into slightly hysterical chuckles.

"Happy Halloween, old man."

"Happy Halloween, kid."

Perhaps it was a ghost they encountered. Perhaps it was something else entirely. But now it was all in the past. Right?

The room's door creaked as it opened once more, on its own.

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: I've got the 'Ghostbusters' theme playing in my head right now… (grins) Poor Clint! Even the dead won't leave him alone.

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do leave a note before you head off – hearing from you would be the BEST Halloween-treat!

 **NEXT TIME** , mother nature and a grieving man give Clint their worst, with Bruce joining the 'fun'…

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care, and have a Happy Halloween! And to all 'Doctor Who' fans… Remember to not blink, especially at this time of the year!

* * *

Seeker3: Mine, too! And one of the VERY few movies that have made me cry. (smiles)

Heh, if you ever come up with a request, do let me know! Until then… I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	71. Home

A/N: Phew! This took me AGES to complete. But here we are, at last! (BEAMS) We'll see just what my head's cooked up this time…

First, though… Thank you SO MUCH for all your reviews, love and support! It seriously helps me, even to navigate through a hurricane of ideas and plotlines in my head. (chuckles and hugs) You guys are precious!

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Home

* * *

Fury had sent the Avengers to Australia a week earlier, once clear traces of a small but deadly HYDRA-cell activating had been discovered. The mission… It was already over, but Bruce had demanded that he'd stay behind to help the people the organization had experimented on, tortured, starved and tormented. And then the very nature turned on the survivors.

Bruce had never seen a storm quite like it before. It blew for almost two full days, until it settled to leave an eerie quiet no one really dared to trust. As the full extend of the damage began to reveal itself Bruce knew that he couldn't go home yet.

On missions he was expected to be a green ball of fury and destruction but sometimes – for the sake of his sanity – he wanted to and needed to be Dr. Banner instead, especially when Big Green was responsible for so many injuries.

Natasha had ended up slightly banged up during the first week so Steve, the ever responsible team leader, announced that he'd escort her home to ensure that she'd be alright. He also had an official report to deliver. Thor headed to Asgard. Tony had a very important meeting and a fed up Pepper to worry about. Bruce fully expected Clint to leave as well but yet again the Hawk surprised him and stayed, even through the storm. And made a rather good field nurse.

"You're surprised?" Clint appeared genuinely amused. "With Tasha's self-preservation instincts I had to learn a few tricks."

Bruce had to bite his tongue not to utter anything about the Hawk's own self-preservation.

They were tending to a young, barely conscious woman who'd been trapped by a building which collapsed during the worst brunt of the hurricane. The fact that they'd probably fail to save her was bad enough. She was also heavily pregnant.

Their patient clearly felt her impending fate. She shifted the best as she could, summoning what was most likely the last of her strength. "The baby… Save her… Please…"

Clint and Bruce fought the urge to look at each other because they knew the bitter truth. Blood stained her pants and her stone hard stomach was still. The baby had died long since.

Clint swallowed and squeezed her hand. "Shh, calm down. Everything's gonna be okay." She'd follow her baby soon.

They also knew that they couldn't let her die there, in the middle of some street and a horrible natural chaos. Both men took a deep breath before Clint spoke again, his tone soothing and even. "We're going to get you inside, alright? There's…"

All of a sudden she was gesturing animatedly. The last surge of strength and lucidity, before… "Home…" They realized that she was motioning towards a nearby house, which was by some miracle still standing and unharmed. "Home, please…!"

How in the world were they supposed to deny her that? Without saying a word they began to carry her gently towards the building, trying to block out the grunts and whimpers of pain she emitted in the process. The gloomy journey felt endless.

And it didn't get better when they finally entered. A man's horrified voice echoed through the house. "Elise! Lis, are you home?" Which was when a strikingly handsome man with dark brown hair and huge, blue eyes barged to the hallway they just stumbled into. At first he gave the strangers a long look, then focused on the woman in their arms. His eyes widened still and filled with such agony that would've shattered anyone's heart. "Elise, what…?" He trailed off.

"Trent…", the woman murmured back. Softly, gently, only seconds before closing her eyes. Bruce could actually feel how life left her.

Bruce swallowed thickly, his heart heavy and struggling with all his might for control. "I… I'm so sorry… The storm…"

The man, Trent, was obviously blind to the fact that it was too late. He looked at them with desperate hope. "You're doctors?" Before they could respond he was leading them further into the house. "Get her here, you'll have more room to work."

The two Avengers exchanged looks. "Trent", Clint tried as they followed, not knowing what else to do. "Your wife…"

"Fiancée." Trent smiled fondly, looking at the woman. "We'll make it official when the little one's born, church and all." He gestured towards the couch. "Lay her there, I'll get you some supplies. Are the phone lines working? Do you think I could get an ambulance here?"

Bruce couldn't look at the grieving man as he lay Elise down. It took all his self-control to keep his emotions in check, along with Big Green. Even the monster inside felt outraged and agonized over the injustice of... everything.

Bruce was so preoccupied that he wasn't aware of the impeding threat. Clint approached Trent, slowly, as though moving towards an injured wild animal. "Trent… I'm sorry, but Elise… There's nothing we can do for her."

Grief can be a dangerous thing. Unpredictable as fire. The only warning Clint got was a flash in Trent's eyes. "So... You're letting her die, huh? She's not important enough to fight for? Well… I'm not done fighting yet." Less than a breath after those words the knife already reached Clint.

The archer, his reflexes improved by years upon years of fieldwork, reacted incredibly quickly. But it wasn't enough against someone who was desperate and mad from grief. Clint was able to keep the knife from reaching its intended target, but he didn't escape unscratched.

Clint's gasp finally drew Bruce from his gloomy thoughts. He looked to side just in time to see Trent place a knife on his friend's throat, tightly. Which wasn't his primary concern. What truly caught his attention was the blood, seeping down the Hawk's leg in a small but steady stream. An artery had been nicked. Bruce's heart thudded and maintaining control became even harder than it had been.

Trent's eyes were bright from emotion. "Help her… and I'll let your friend go. That's all I'm asking. Just…" His voice broke. "Just help her."

"Clint needs immediate help." Bruce was practically pleading. Desperate to make the man see.

Trent shook his head. The knife was pressed even more tightly, almost hard enough to cause a new wound. "You help her… and then I'll let you help him."

Clint was still standing strongly but paling further with each passing moment and clearly in pain. Just one look revealed that the archer knew exactly how much trouble he was in as one of the Hawk's unsteady hands clutched to the wound in a desperate and futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. Whatever Bruce would do, he'd have to act quickly.

Quickly and subtly he brushed a device around his wrist, activating a soundless but effective alert signal. Someone would be there soon. He just hoped that Clint would hang on until then.

Unable to do anything else Bruce focused on the already dead woman. With nearly cautious hands he lifted the hem of her shirt, trying to make it look like he was treating her wounds. Hulk raged and roared inside, demanding to be unleashed. Testing the capacity of every single mental shield he'd ever created, draining him, chasing him to the edge.

"The baby?" Trent inquired sharply.

"That man you injured… He's Clint. Concentrate on Clint", Bruce responded, sounding far calmer than he actually felt. It helped that he didn't need to see the state his friend was in, didn't have to face the reality of the impossible situation. "He's bleeding heavily. Keep him conscious."

Trent said nothing and Bruce struggled with the urge to peer over his shoulder and see if he'd been listened to. If his plea had any impact at all. If…

That was when his gaze strayed towards a photo placed on a tiny table beside the couch. The smiling, blissed faces of Elise and Trent looked back at him. Full of joy and hopes for the future. No wonder, because they were holding what was likely the very first picture of their baby who'd never be born.

Wiped away by a storm, all of it.

"Bruce…" Clint's voice managed to snatch all his attention, and he wondered just how long he'd been drifting. He peered over his shoulder just in time to see his friend's eyes slip closed. Only Trent's quick arm kept the man from slipping to a pool of his own blood.

It was the sight of blood that finally broke Bruce's steel hard exterior. "Trent, listen to me!" Was he begging or roaring? Did it matter? "Your wife and baby… They're gone, and I'm sorry. But… But you need to let me help my friend! Please…!"

Trent only shook his head, that wild look still in his eyes. The man's lips moved but no actual words came out. Slowly, slowly the Australian's gaze began to stray towards Clint, and a frown appeared at something Clint's other hand had grabbed without either of them noticing. "What the…?"

Although Clint was practically unconscious by that point he held on to his treasure tightly. Trent snatched it roughly from his grasp and gave it a look. Instantly the man's face fell pale. As sun, slowly appearing after the storm, shone through the photograph and Bruce saw some of it he understood the shock. He felt his own body grow unnaturally cold.

It was a snapshot of a family – _Clint's_ family.

Apparently the Hawk wasn't completely out of it, after all. Stubborn to the last, Clint made a feeble, helpless move to snatch back the photo. The archer's eyes opened a crack, revealing a hint of surreal blue which the combination of sunlight and unshed tears made shine. "… home …", Clint uttered, so quietly that Bruce barely heard it.

"He… He has a family, too", Bruce tried. Seeing that this was most likely the only chance he'd get. "They're waiting for him, need him to get back home. So please…" He swallowed convulsively several times, nearly losing the battle against his companion. "Please, let him. Don't make them go through this pain."

Trent attempted to speak but couldn't. It took several torturously long seconds, during which Clint seemed to slip to a distance from which he couldn't be pulled back. But in the end the knife was pulled back. Trent recoiled as though the other man had burned him, stumbling to a corner with eyes that were still impossibly wide, devoid of any touch to the reality.

Bruce decided that for the time being the grieving man didn't matter. No harm would come to him, anyway. So he dashed forward and reached Clint in a flash, hoping that it wasn't too late. "Clint, I'm going to do something that'll hurt a lot but it's for your own good, alright?" There was no real reply and he didn't have the time to wait for one. Instead he attacked the wound with full force.

Which definitely caused a reaction. Clint groaned and writhed, struggling to get away from his hands. The curses that floated out quietly but fiercely weren't in English.

"Sorry", Bruce sighed. Relieved and nearly losing it but hanging on as stubbornly as his friend was. "But I'm doing this to keep you alive. So you can go home."

"Home…", Clint echoed quietly. Unable to open his eyes but latching on to those words, on the promise.

"That's right." Bruce's hands were already soaked in Clint's blood. He wondered how much more his friend could lose, before… "We'll get you home. I promi…" A rule for medical professionals – never give promises you may not be able to keep.

Bruce trailed off when Clint's eyes closed and the archer slipped away, like someone falling asleep.

Bruce gasped, staring at his friend's face. Looking for a sign. Anything…

He was so worked up that he didn't hear Iron Man coming until Tony's voice came from right behind him. "What…?" Tony's gasp was painfully loud. There was a long pause, waste of time that they didn't have. "Is he…?"

Bruce shook his head. Which one of them was he trying to convince? "There's… I think I saw a hospital nearby…"

"Already on it." Tony's motions were almost tender, uncharacteristic, when the inventor approached their friend. "Feathers? You with me?" The archer didn't offer the slightest trace of consciousness. Still the billionaire grinned, oblivious or pretending that he didn't see. "Just… No punches, yeah?"

Clint was barely breathing, and while the bleeding had slowed significantly it hadn't stopped entirely.

Bruce watched as Tony cradled Clint with great care to his chest. He followed them outside, even though he knew that he'd already done all he could. It should've been enough but it wasn't. Not with how few people had actually cared about him.

Bruce didn't know how long he stood there until he remembered Trent. Dreading what he'd find he headed inside. It was too late.

Bruce felt like he was in some strange, horrible dream as he waited until actual emergency personnel was there to look after the family. The only comfort he had was that they'd somehow found each other again. And that although there was nothing he could do for them, maybe he hadn't failed Clint, too.

* * *

It took the medical personnel torturously long to get Clint stabilized. He lost a hazardous amount of blood and the wound itself was nasty. Tony and Bruce waited through that time, spent an annoying amount of time at the hospital's waiting room.

At some point Tony took off all of a sudden, muttering about a toilet. When the inventor came back the man's eyes were suspiciously red and puffy. Bruce didn't ask.

They sat in a heavy, thoughtful silence for almost half an hour until Tony spoke. "You know…" The man pointed towards the opposite wall, his nose wrinkled. "I really hate that tiger-painting."

"Me too", Bruce agreed.

* * *

The first time Clint woke up he had barely enough time to register that he was in a hospital before he lost consciousness again. He was safe. There was someone who felt familiar with him, talking although he couldn't quite grasp on the words. He slipped back under at a single word. "… home …"

The second time he woke up Tony was there. The man looked utterly exhausted but lit up to a radiant grin upon seeing him awake. "Hey, Birdie. You sure know how to get yourself into a trouble, don't you?"

Clint aimed for a sheepish grin. He had no idea if he succeeded. "Sorry, Tin Can."

"Sorry?" Tony snorted. "Wait until Natasha gets here. Then you'll be sorry. Drama Queen."

"Don't make me beat you up with a I.V. pole."

"Like you'd be able to, you're barely awake."

"A nurse will do it for me."

Clint fell asleep once more without hearing Tony's answer.

* * *

The third time Clint woke up he was far more coherent. Bruce stood at the foot of his bed, staring out the window with a thoughtful look on his face. He took a breath. "'know that look… 'won't do you any good…"

Bruce sighed. "I know. I just… I wish that I could've helped them." The man shrugged. "The truth is, I do more harm than good. No matter how hard I try…" The scientist trailed off, but Clint understood.

Clint shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. His leg was pleasantly numb but his back was killing him. "There are days… A lot of them… When I feel the same way. It's why we do what we do, Bruce. To prove ourselves wrong." He rubbed his face with one hand to wake up properly. "I have no idea how, but… Laura understands."

"Laura?" It took Bruce only seconds to click. "Your wife, right?"

Clint nodded. "They have to be a secret to make sure they're safe, but… Thanks to them I also have a lot more to fight for." He nodded towards Bruce's pocket, guessing what was inside. "Keep that picture. And whenever you feel _that_ …" He pointed towards his friend's face. "… way again, remember that there are two kids who got their dad back thanks to you."

(It was only a couple of months later Clint found out that it was _three_ kids.)

* * *

It took Clint four days to irritate the hospital staff into discharging him. The second he entered a very excited little girl filled his arms, no matter how much Laura tried to control the excitement. "Daddy! You're home!"

Clint chuckled, even if his leg felt like it'd been set on fire. "I sure am, sweetie." He kissed her head, then revealed a massive bag. "And guess what? Uncle Bruce sent you and Coop teddy bears."

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: Awww! (grins) So uncles Bruce knows. Thank gosh he was able to bring daddy-Clint home.

Soooo… Any good, at all? PLEASE, do leave a lil' not to let me know your thoughts! I LOVE hearing from you.

Awkay, because I've gotta head towards a flight in just a few hours… Until next time! I really hope that I'll see ya all then!

Take care!

* * *

Seeker3: I've gotta admit that I'm REALLY unaware of the Transformers world. BUT, you never know… (grins) I LOVE the idea of Clint facing another archer, though!

I REALLY hope that you'll be as happy with what's to come.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	72. Attack to the Hawk's Nest

A/N: PHEW! I seriously thought that I wouldn't manage an update, but HERE WE ARE! Yay…?

First, though… THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and support! Even after all this time so many of you are aboard this collection… You can't even imagine how happy it makes me! (HUGS) Pfft, and they say no one loves Hawkeye…!

Awkay, because it's REALLY late… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Attack to the Hawk's Nest

* * *

Once upon a time, Ray Willows was a young man in a huge trouble. He liked certain illegal substances a little too much and ended up owing money to the wrong people. It was a certain pathway to a graveyard or a prison. Instead he ended up meeting his very own Bad Samaritan, who gathered around the likes of him to do stuff the guy himself wasn't keen on getting caught doing. Things like robberies. 'People who deserve it', was all his new boss answered whenever asked who their targets were. Ray wasn't in the position to look at a gift horse into its mouth. All went rather smoothly until the fateful night when he was sent to a yet another gig. In their group of five was a painfully green brat named Clint Barton. A scrawny little thing but smart and fast, and – according to boss – had the eyes of a hawk. Of course the brat screwed up everything. Couldn't finish off the last security guard, Barney. Even seemed to know the guy, if those pathetic 'Barney' whimpers were any indication. Ray spent exactly thirty seconds trying to coax the idiot into coming along until he decided that enough was enough and bolted. Cops found him, too, a day or so later. It didn't take a lot of math skills to figure out who led them to his tracks. Since then, through several endless years in a prison, he dreamt of smashing Barton's face with his bare hands as a punishment. Even after he got out he devoted a couple of years to the hunt. Until the woman he'd been seeing, a sweet little thing called Shona, announced that she was pregnant. On that day he decided that there were more important things in life than revenge.

Until he saw footage from New York, spied a familiar face, and all the good things he'd gained in life paled in comparison to a ghost from the past.

Running steps were barely able to distract him from the emotional turmoil which followed. "Daddy! Daddy!" His little girl Irina, who had the big blue eyes and long blonde hair of her mom, ran towards him with a drawing in hand. "Look, I drew Popsicle!" What was on the paper could just be identified as the child's pitch-black pet-rat. Ray had objected to getting the rodent but Shona had insisted that if their daughter wanted such responsibility she should be granted the opportunity.

Ray looked into her daughter's eyes, which had looked far older than her age since she was born. It was the only thing she ever inherited from him. He wondered if she and her mom would ever forgive him… "That's nice, sweetie", he murmured, his southern accent thicker than usual.

Irina frowned, searching with her gaze. "Daddy? Are you okay?"

"Of course, Princess." He kissed the top of her head, like it was the last time. "Now off to bed you go, it's past your bedtime."

Irina grinned sheepishly and kissed his cheek. "Love you, daddy. See you in the morning."

He didn't answer her, mostly because he didn't know what to say. Lying only ever hurt when it was to her or Shona. He waited until the child had left before taking his phone. "Ian, what's up?" Ian Cullen, another member of the team Barton got jailed after that infuriating day. He rolled his eyes at the list of curses and insults which followed. "I know that it's been a while, but listen… If you still have your old connections, I think we could try and find an old friend. Remember Clint Barton?"

In the middle of the call he sensed Shona nearby, listening. When he made it to bed an hour later she was already there, her back turned towards him and visibly tense. Furious and disappointment. He didn't try to apologize, instead headed to the couch. When the morning dawned he was gone.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Clint dreamt of his brother Barney. And he highly doubted that it would remain the last. He dreamt of his brother's death, of those disbelieving, accusing eyes locking with his.

" _Daddy?_ "

Those feelings, on the face of who was the last member of his birth family left… They hurt more than the arrow which eventually hit him. They'd haunt him for the rest of his life.

" _Daddy?_ "

Barney sneered at him. Blood stained his teeth red. "Look at you… Sleeping when you should be protecting your family… You're gonna lose them…!"

"Daddy!"

Clint bolted to sitting position with a loud gasp, his heart thundering in his chest. It took several long seconds before his head was clear enough to comprehend who'd crawled into the bed. He swallowed, trying to pull himself together. "Lila? Sweetie?"

The child's eyes were wide and he didn't think he'd ever seen her quite so scared. She was shaking hard enough for him to notice it. "Daddy, there's someone in the house", she whispered, her voice tight and almost unfamiliar. "I heard someone, when I went to get water."

A violent, electric jolt went through Clint as adrenaline flooded through his system. His head became almost terrifyingly clear. He nodded and stroked Lila's hair, trying to offer her a little comfort. "Where's Coop?"

"Here, dad." Cooper had always been a brave boy but right at that moment the boy looked terrified. "I… I think I heard someone. What's going on?"

By then Laura was also wide awake. Her eyes revealed only a hint of what she was feeling but her pulse thundered when he grabbed her wrist gently. "Intruders?" she murmured almost inaudibly.

Clint nodded, listening.

By then the adults began to hear the obvious signs, too. Stairs creaked, the noises moving closer and closer. "Take the kids to the secret room, now." He was already getting up, giving his two oldest what he hoped to be a comforting look. "I'll make sure that we're safe and then I'll come to get you, okay?"

Neither child seemed to like the idea but they were still very young and there wasn't much they could've done. Clint and Laura exchanged a one more look ('I'll keep you safe', 'Be careful') before she took baby Nate gently from his crib. Thankfully the baby didn't wake up, and the mother and children disappeared through a secret door on the room's far wall. Clint observed for a couple of more seconds to ensure that they were safe, then braced himself to face the attackers. Without making a sound he entered the hallway outside the bedroom. By then at least two attackers had almost reached the second floor. He hid himself into the shadows to wait.

Very soon two shadows appeared. Almost instantly Clint made his move. With a couple of swift, determined kicks and punches he'd sent the first man flying over the stair-railing and down. The second attacker was harder to take down because the element of surprise had been shattered. As soon as they clashed he got a feeling that they'd met before. While they attacked each other he noticed something that made his stomach clench. A much too familiar crimson scorpion.

Of course it could've been only a coincidence but after having just seen that tattoo in his nightmare of the hours when he lost Barney..

Clint's momentary slip of attention cost him. Before he could do a thing a stone-hard kick smashed against his stomach, sending him at a wall. He hit his head so hard that he saw stars and his mind had barely cleared when a large hand was slammed mercilessly against his throat. Decades of smoking had made the hostile smirk aimed his way yellow. "Thanks to you we spent years in prison", the attacker hissed. "Did you really think that we'd never come to thank you?"

Lack of oxygen was becoming a serious issue. And Clint acted on instinct. Using all his flexibility and training he kicked with all his might, succeeding in catching the other man by surprise. A kick to the head later he had one thing less to worry about.

New steps sneaking closer from downstairs revealed that the commotion had caught attention. Clint braced himself, a little sore but not even slightly slowed down with all the adrenaline in his system. There was a sound of something metallic landing nearby. Followed by the hissing of gas. Clint scowled.

 _Crap…!_

He held his breath and closed his eyes, unwilling to inhale what was most likely teargas. His heart thumped almost painfully while he listened to the approaching steps. Two sets of them. It was the whole gang from _that_ day, then. Uninvited, Barney's menacing cackle from his nightmare began to echo in his head.

"Here, little tweetie…!" a much too familiar voice beckoned. Followed by a mocking whistle. "Come and play with us. Or did a little gas already get you sleepy?"

Sleepy? Oh, no. He wasn't feeling sleepy.

While Clint had always been praised for his nearly superhuman eyesight he'd learned to trust his other senses as well. He struck the second he felt that the steps were close enough.

Unsurprisingly, the second his arm wrapped around attacker number one's throat number two reacted. His hold becoming tighter still, Clint kicked and earned a satisfying grunt for his efforts. He twisted himself, bringing his captive down to the floor with him, and made a sweeping motion with his leg. There was a loud thud as number two crashed to the floor. Down but not out.

Clint breathed in, slowly and carefully. The air still ached his lungs a little but it was tolerable. He made a one more move with his arm, rendering one of his two remaining targets harmless. "For the record… I never reported you to the cops. Because…" His hand reached out towards where he knew a gun to be hidden. "While you were arrested… I was at a hospital, half dead from having an arrow almost piercing my heart. My other shoulder is still stiff." It ached like hell whenever the weather was cold and damp, but it was something he'd learned to live with years ago.

Ray Willows was quiet for a long time. Then snorted. "You're expecting me to believe that?" The criminal clicked his tongue. "Those Avenger buddies of yours… And those kids from the photos I saw downstairs… If only they knew what you really are…"

That really, really hurt. With how long and hard he'd been running to get away from his past, to become a better person… He shook off that ache, though. Because right now whatever person he'd turned into had a family to protect. He was _not_ going to fail them.

"You have no idea what I am, either", he hissed. His hand tightened around metal. "You should've never, ever attacked my home."

* * *

For the family hiding in the safe-room the time passing by felt endless. The door leading there was thick and heavy, so they couldn't hear pretty much a thing. Until they heard several horribly loud gunshots.

Lila was very, very young. But she was also old enough to understand that such sounds meant horrible things. "Daddy!" she screamed, tears rising to her eyes.

Laura, who was trembling to her core, did what little she could to console her child. But those desperate cries continued. And then someone was already working on opening the door. Laura's heart hammered while she moved to shield her children, even if she knew that should there be a threat at the door…

Metal screeched, opening a view to their sanctuary. Cooper gasped, Lila whimpered, pressing herself tightly against her mom's back. Laura herself was barely able to breathe.

Someone stumbled to the doorway. And soon a familiar voice spoke. "Everyone okay?"

Laura actually sobbed from relief, bringing a hand to her lips. She had to try a couple of times before she was able to speak. "Yeah… Yeah, we're okay", she breathed out, feeling a little dizzy. "You?"

"All good. Worrywart." Clint's breath shuddered, and she wanted desperately to believe that it was because of relief. "Now let's get going, yeah? Uncle Fury and auntie Tasha will be here soon. Kids, keep your eyes closed until we get outside, okay?"

"'K", Cooper murmured, sounding shaken and every bit as young as he was. The boy made his way slowly to his dad and took his hand so tightly that the child's knuckles turned white.

A couple of seconds ticked by before Lila beelined to her daddy, unable to utter a word. With some difficulty Clint picked her up and held her with one hand. She whimpered and hid her face to his shoulder, clinging to him as tightly as she could.

Her heart breaking and still beating a little too fast Laura followed them, holding a still sleeping Nate tightly to her chest. As soon as they were out of the bedroom she understood why Clint hadn't wanted the kids to see. Her own stomach twisted as she faced what remained of the people who attacked their home.

Of course she'd known what Clint did for a living, but to actually see the results of his work…

Laura was most definitely in a shock. Because the first thought that came to her head was that it'd take ages to clean up the mess. The ridiculous thought nearly made her want to chuckle. Instead she emitted a sob.

"Mom?" Cooper asked immediately, sounding panicked, and turned his head towards her, eyes still closed obediently.

"I'm okay, sweetie, I'm fine." It was a miracle that Laura managed to sound as calm as she did. Definitely shock. "We're safe, now."

Those words didn't seem to bring Cooper a lot of comfort. Laura couldn't blame her son. She herself had no idea if she'd ever feel safe in her own home again. And she could only wonder what was going through Clint's head.

* * *

By the time Natasha arrived with Fury they found the Barton family sitting on the porch of the Farm. It was a warm summer morning but they were all trembling miserably. Lila and Laura were both incredibly pale, traces of tears were evident on the child's face as she clung to her daddy. Cooper looked shell-shocked as he wrapped his arms more tightly around himself. Nate whimpered softly, clearly displeased with being outside and possibly hungry. And Clint… Her best friend looked nauseous and horribly furious. Mainly with himself, no doubt.

While a carefully selected group of four reliable S.H.I.E.L.D agents, including Sharon Carter and Maria Hill, headed into the building to investigate Natasha and Fury made their way to the family. As soon as they were closer Natasha noticed a still growing stain of blood on Clint's dark shirt. She felt cold. How bad was the damage?

She exchanged a look and a nod with Fury before she stepped forward. "Look… I know that you guys had a long night. We're going to take you to a safe place to rest for a bit, okay?"

"No more bad guys?" Lila ensured quietly, her eyes wide.

"No more bad guys", Natasha swore, her supposedly nonexistent heart breaking a little.

"Do you think you could keep an eye on the kids for a while?" Laura appeared a little unsteady on her feet as she stood but there was no missing the determination on her face. She nodded towards Clint. "I'm giving Feathers a look."

Clint rolled his eyes and muttered something about 'too much time with Stark'. But he didn't protest when Laura nudged him along. Which was a clear indication that something was wrong.

Natasha wasn't fully sure what she planned on doing. She felt tempted to follow her friend, because for some reason that idiot had succeeded in making her care so much that seeing him like this was… uncomfortable. But all of a sudden she had her arms full of Lila, and when the girl broke into soundless sobs there was no wondering what to do. Carefully, moving as though handling a still active bomb, she sat down beside Cooper and gave the boy a look. "You okay there, buddy?"

"Of course." And of course he wasn't. Seeing the look on her face he frowned. "What?"

Natasha shook her head. Had the situation been different she would've smiled. As it was she settled for rolling her eyes. "You're too much like your dad."

She didn't miss the flash of pride her words brought to Cooper's eyes.

Nate's cries had stopped. Curious, Natasha turned her head to discover that the baby had been dumped to a visibly horrified Fury's arms. The man held the baby as far from himself as he could while the two stared at each other, one with interest, the other with sheer terror. Natasha had to bite her lip not to grin, her own discomfort at the prospect of holding a child momentarily forgotten. "He's a baby, not a hand grenade. He's not going to explode."

Cooper wrinkled his nose. "You know, aunt Tasha… Nate does smell like he just exploded."

The mortified expression on Fury's face would've been worth a picture.

* * *

Not far away, but firmly out of the kids' sight, Laura sat Clint down and began to rummage through the Farm's impressive emergency kit. "Take off your shirt. Let's see where all that blood is coming from."

Heartbreakingly hesitantly Clint did as he'd been told. He refused to meet her eyes. "It's, ah… It's not all mine", he confessed quietly. Audibly ashamed.

Laura wished that she could've just held him, right there and then. But at the moment looking after his physical injuries was a priority. "More than enough of it is", she pointed out. With gentle, experienced hands, a frown and a heavy heart she inspected the gunshot wound at his side. Definitely more than just a scratch, but still within her skill-level. Desperately trying to ignore the sad fact that she had nothing to numb the area with she began to sew him back together.

Clint didn't flinch or shiver. He was terrifyingly still, in fact, didn't react in any way although everything she did had to hurt. Like he felt he deserved it.

She was almost finished and absorbed by her work. Which was why she shuddered when Clint spoke all of a sudden. "Look… After… this… If you want nothing to do with me… If you never trust me with the kids again…"

Laura's temper rose. "Clint, you're going to stop that right now!" she hissed, her eyes narrowing. She grabbed his chin and forced him to meet her gaze. "I've known what you are and what you do from the start. And I knew the risks. And I also knew that I couldn't have asked for a better father to my children."

Clint swallowed thickly. Bringing attention to the fast appearing bruising on his throat. "They came to our home, threatened you…"

"… and you kept us safe." She kissed his forehead, then his lips, then his bruised throat. Under a little less stress she would've smirked at how he shivered from pleasure. "Yes, it scared me half to death. And it'll take a while for us to overcome this. But we will. I swear. I'm _not_ walking away from you, not after this, not ever. And you… are not walking away from us, either. Got that?"

Clint blinked twice, slowly. Staring at her mesmerized. "Got that", he murmured, then shook his head. "I don't… I don't deserv…"

She silenced him with a kiss. And even after having seen what he was capable off… Even though she knew that a lot of the blood which coated his shirt wasn't his… She finally felt safe when he wrapped his arms around her. First tentatively, then holding on tight.

Someone clearing their throat cut the tender moment. Sharon was looking at them with amusement and… was that fondness? "Time to go, you two. Before you get any more… intimate."

Clint smirked cheekily. Laura rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder gently. "Oh, stop that, Casanova. No such thoughts until I've given you a more throughout checkup."

Clint's eyebrow rose. While they got up he whispered to her ear. "What kind of a… checkup is Mrs. Barton talking about?"

"Don't make me smack you, Barton."

* * *

Cooper fell asleep on the ride to whatever safe house Fury had in mind. He began to wake up when the car pulled to a stop and opened his eyes halfway. Lila was still sleeping soundly, albeit with a frown, in Natasha's arms while the redhead left the car with the child. Nate had been fed and was just about to fall asleep on his mom's shoulder.

As his mom left the car it finally occurred to Cooper that the Barton men should move, too. He nudged at his dad's shoulder after noticing that he was still sleeping. Strange… "C'mon, we're here", he mumbled around a yawn.

His dad didn't wake up. Didn't even twitch. His dad, who never, ever, slept deeply, especially when one of his kids needed him.

Cooper's heart jumped painfully. A surge of panic shot through him and shook the man again, this time with more force. "Dad?" Another nudge, then a one more. Still nothing.

"DAD!"

* * *

It was something torn from a nightmare.

So the attack to their home wasn't bad enough. Wasn't traumatizing enough for the children. Apparently Clint hit his head at some point, very, very hard. Enough to cause significant bleeding and swelling.

Laura would've wanted to be at the hospital with her husband, so badly that it hurt. But their kids needed her and there was little she could've done for him, anyway. So she remained at the safe house, watched over her two youngest as they slept restlessly and held on to her older son long after Cooper had cried himself to sleep.

Laura wanted to cry, too. Badly. But apparently she was still too much in a shock. So, instead, she lay her finally sleeping son gently to the bed, made her way to the house's porch and screamed at the top of her lungs. Relieved that there were no neighbors to hear.

"Laura?" Steve Rogers frowned, inspecting her with his gaze for any injuries. "Are you okay?"

Laura almost smiled. She should've known that Clint's team would come as soon as they heard… "No, I'm not", she admitted honestly. She wanted to usher him to get some rest but knew that he probably wasn't any more able to do so than she was. "Coffee?" she offered instead.

Steve nodded eagerly and, ever the gentleman, ensured that she got through the door before following. "I might've already made some, but… Stark kicked me out of the kitchen when I started baking."

Laura shivered, sending a silent 'thank you' to Tony. The stories of what Steve's cookings had caused were legendary. "How about I make us some pineapple muffins? The kids and Clint…" She nearly choked on her husband's name and had to wipe her eyes. "They're all crazy about those. Why don't you take over the coffee?"

"I'm already on it", Tony announced when they entered the kitchen. The inventor appeared exhausted and his smile… It didn't seem right. After pushing two steaming mugs towards them he took a long, greedy sip of his own.

Laura tasted hers suspiciously. It was much stronger than she would've preferred but at the moment she didn't mind. "Are these spiked?"

Tony snorted. "You're kidding me, right? Feathers would skin me alive if I brought anything stronger than beer into his house."

Laura's heart lurched at that, and she realized yet again that her family had expanded a lot. After that they sat in a heavy but comfortable silence, preparing for a long night. They all stared at the phone placed to the kitchen table, willing it to ring with news.

* * *

At the hospital Natasha sat beside Clint's bed, waiting for someone to bring news. Usually a patient in such a delicate condition wouldn't have been allowed visitors but so far no one had attempted to throw her out. Natasha had a distinct feeling that Fury might have something to do with it.

Natasha glared at her friend. "The messes you get yourself into…!" she hissed. "Trouble just keeps finding you, doesn't it?" She shook her head, hating the way her eyes stung. The anger sharpened her tongue. "When you're awake, I swear…!"

Natasha never got the chance to finish her possibly empty threat. Because just then the machines surrounding Clint went wild. It was all the warning she got before he started seizing.

* * *

When Lila woke up she imagined, for a long moment of bliss, that the whole thing was nothing more than a nightmare. Until all the memories came flooding back. She whimpered and curled up the best as she could, pulling the blanket all the way over her. As though it would've made those scary events go away.

"Daddy?" she whispered. There was no response, which made the panic gnawing at her grow tenfold. "Mommy?"

Was that a sob? She forgot to wonder when, in a few moments, she heard her mom's voice. "Right here, sweetie, I'm right here."

Which was all the encouragement she needed. In a blink she was in a safe pair of arms, listening to the familiar beat of her mom's heart. And the equally soothing words. "It's okay, sweetie… It'll all be okay…"

Thankfully she was too young to notice that her mom was still crying.

* * *

Clint dreamt again. But this time it wasn't about Barney. About anyone accusing him, blaming him on things he knew – on a level of reason – he had no real control over.

It was his mom. Just like she was before her death, only without any bruises marring her beautiful face. She kissed his hair. "Don't look so worried, sweetheart. Mom's got you, I promise."

Everything faded away.

* * *

The medical personnel wasn't able to predict whether Clint might have brain damage. The hit he took… It was bad. They'd have to wait for him to wake up until they'd know for sure.

If he'd wake up at all.

In the end Clint kept them in a horrific suspense for six days. Tony was pacing around the hospital room, working constantly on his smart phone, when he felt someone staring at him. He turned his head with a shiver to find Clint's eyes halfway open.

Tony gave a silly little wave, already on his way to his friend. "Well how about that. The Sleeping Beauty awakens."

And when recognition dawned in Clint's eyes… Well, Tony would never, ever admit to a living soul how ridiculously happy it made him feel. "Hey, Tin Can", the archer rasped.

"Morning, Pigeon." Tony ruffled what was left of his friend's hair in the aftermath of a surgery. "Do us all a favor and don't scare us like that again, yeah? Or next time I'll give that thick skull of yours a crack."

* * *

Making his way tentatively towards his dad's hospital room, firmly behind his mom, Cooper had no idea how to feel. The previous time he saw his dad he couldn't wake up the man. And no matter how much everyone had been telling him that everything would be okay…

He didn't realize that they were already in the room until his mom spoke. "Hey, sleepyhead. I brought you a special guest."

Slowly, hesitantly, Cooper stepped away from behind his mom's back. His dad looked terrifyingly unwell but nonetheless pushed himself to a half sitting position at the sight of him. That smile, no matter how slowly it appeared, no matter how tired his dad still looked… It lit up the entire room. "Hey, buddy!"

That was all it took. Before Cooper even realized what he was doing he was running, and hugged his dad with all his might. No matter how his own reason and his mom tried to tell him that his dad couldn't quite handle such roughness yet.

And if his dad's arms wrapping around him in a response, pulling him to a hug, wasn't one of the best things he'd ever felt he didn't know what was.

* * *

The road to recovery was far from easy, for any member of the Barton clan.

Lila and Laura both had violent nightmares. Cooper and Clint barely slept, one keeping a constant eye on his dad and the other carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. None of them could even think about going back to the Farm, even after Fury announced that it was perfectly safe and throughoutly cleaned up.

A month and a half passed in such a manner. Until one night none of them could really sleep and they decided to stay up too late to watch a film. Lila was the first one to fall asleep, curled up comfortably to the side of the sofa. Cooper followed soon after. Laura was half asleep herself when Clint entered the room, having done the evening's tenth inspection around the house.

Laura gave her husband a halfhearted glare. "You're pale and swaying on your feet. Get here and get some rest right now, or you're looking forward to three more months of bedrest with no benefits."

Clint pouted, reminding her of their children. "You're a cruel woman, Mrs. Barton."

She smiled sweetly. When he finally slumped down, the way he sagged revealing how much he'd over-taxed himself, she kissed his brow. "And you're stuck with me for the rest of your life." Which, she prayed, would continue for a long, long time.

Clint smiled as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against her shoulder. "Yeah. I am." His hand grabbed hers and squeezed gently. A sign of promise.

After a few moments of listening to his steady, even breaths Laura also closed her eyes. For the first time since those events she didn't feel the need to make sure constantly that he was still breathing, that he'd actually wake up. That once again fate hadn't managed to steal him from her.

Laura didn't know if they'd ever be able to return to the Farm. But their family was still whole. They were all alive and together. Far from okay but healing. For now that was enough.

* * *

An hour later Tony showed up to take over nightshift. None of them was still quite ready to stop keeping an eye on the family, not with how close they came to losing them. He found Natasha leaning against the living room's doorway with a look on her face he'd never seen before.

Tony arched a curious eyebrow. "What are you up to?" He peered in as well and grinned at the sight greeting him. "Awww!"

The entire Barton family was asleep. Clint still leaning against Laura's shoulder, their hands joined determinedly. Nate in Laura's lap, curled up like a kitten. Lila somehow sandwiched between the adults, a serene look on her face. And Cooper, who clung to his dad with all his might, smiling in his sleep. It was the first time Tony saw the entirely too serious boy smile.

"How long have you been staring at them? Because… No offense, but it's a little creepy."

Natasha shrugged. "Not long." Which translated to at least ten minutes.

"You're just a big softie deep down, aren't you?" Tony smirked, unable to resist even at the risk of his health. "Black Widow, a Care Bear."

"Call me that again and you'll lose teeth."

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: Awww! If only everyone would have a daddy like Clint. (smiles fondly)

NEXT TIME, Tony will play a VERY important role! And then it's Thor's turn. I feel like I've been neglecting those poor things!

Awkay, I REALLY need some sleep. Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Me too! They're absolutely precious. (BEAMS) Lila deserves all the hugs in the world!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: WELCOME ABOARD! (BEAMS) I'm insanely happy that you've enjoyed the flight thus far so much. We'll see what's up next…

Massive thank yous for the review!


	73. Safe

A/N: It took a lil' bit longer than I expected, but here I am! Hooray?

Before getting to the actual business, credit where it's due. THANK YOU, a million times, for your absolutely baffling reviews, listings and love! For far too long I imagined that there wasn't anyone out there who adored Hawkeye as much as I do. THANK YOU, for proving me wrong! (HUGS) Let's continue to prove the world wrong!

Awkay, before I fall asleep in front of my laptop… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Safe

* * *

Tony had always been a very, very light sleeper. When he wasn't passed out, anyway. There were a lot of nights when he didn't go to bed at all, the temptation to complete a yet another scientific project getting too much.

That night of midway November, however, he was for once fast asleep beside Pepper. Until without any explanation, without any obvious distractions, he opened his eyes and was wide awake. Listening intently, his stomach knotting.

The Tower's surveillance system was beyond compare. There was absolutely no way a hostile intruder could've come unnoticed. Right…?

Tony made sure that Pepper was sleeping soundly and safe, then – with renewed determination – pushed himself out of the bed and left the room as silently as a shadow. The hallways were dark and empty, as they were supposed to be in that corner of the building and especially at such hour. Tony frowned. "Any signs of an intruder?" he inquired tensely.

" _None, sir_ ", a computer voice reported loyally. " _But agent Barton just arrived. And he appears to be in some sort of a distress._ "

Tony swore under his breath, his fists balling. One of these days Clint was going to cause him a heart attack…! "Where is that feathery idiot? I'm going to ensure that he's in one piece before scolding him for disturbing my beauty sleep." If it really was worry, squirming in the pit of his stomach, no one would never have to know.

Tony headed towards the given direction, trying to keep his steps and composure more confident than he felt. With years upon years of practice it came easily. "Feathers?" He stood behind the bathroom's door and knocked in the most infuriating way he knew. "You decent in there? Not doing anything embarrassing?" Ice flowed through his veins and his chest tightened when he finally noticed the stains of blood leading to the door. Keeping his voice even was harder than it should've been. "Because I'm coming in and I'd rather not get traumatized for life." Something was already telling him that this would haunt him for the rest of his life.

It took torturously long before there was any sort of a response. The voice that came was far more muffled than it should've been. " _Any chance you'd know how to stitch up wounds, Tin Can?_ "

That didn't ease Tony's mind. At all. He swallowed thickly, trying very hard to keep himself from… Well, certainly not panicking. Growing concerned. "You just couldn't resist getting yourself into a trouble again, could you?" He was done waiting for a permission. His hands weren't quite steady as he opened the door.

He froze.

Clint was sitting on the floor, legs brought against his chest and trembling miserably. There was a steadily growing pool of blood underneath the archer. Where was it coming from?

Without a thought Tony rushed to his friend, doing what little he could to help. The Hawk was holding a pair of hands tightly to his stomach, firmly although red covered the man's hands and fingers. He dreaded what might be hiding underneath. "Any good reason you dragged yourself here instead of a hospital?"

Clint smirked sheepishly, pale and visibly groggy but hanging in there. "Didn't know… it was this bad… Felt like a good idea…"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Sure it did…" His hand shook when he fished a tiny device from his pocket, sending an urgent call for his medical team. "In the future, let a medical professional make these brilliant decisions for you, yeah? It'll save my cleaning up crew from some emotional trauma."

Another sheepishly grin. Clint's eyelids were drooping dangerously. "'rry."

Tony narrowed his eyes, poking at his friend's forehead with one finger. He wasn't going to panic… Wasn't going to panic… Wasn't going to… "Close your eyes, Birdie, and I'll show you 'sorry'!" he snapped. He stared at the blood, unable to look away although he wanted to. How much more…? "Seriously, why aren't you in a hospital?" Because it really, really looked like Clint needed one. The billionaire wondered with growing horror how much longer it would take before the medical team got there. If…

Clint shook his head stubbornly. "No hospitals…", the archer slurred. "Safer here."

Tony wondered, with a sick feeling swelling in the pit of his stomach, just what Clint went through during this past week and a half he'd been away. Now, as he really looked at his friend, he began to notice the bruising forming on the unhealthily pale face. He could only imagine how much more damage was hiding underneath the clothes. "You've got that right, Budgie." He couldn't keep his tone as light as he wanted to. "You're safe here." And he'd make sure that no more crap would find its way to Clint now that the man had trusted him and the Tower enough to make his way there.

It might've been a trick of his imagination, but Clint seemed to cling to those words. Relaxed fully, so that Tony was able to help with the wound a little better. It was a hint of comfort, until the inventor got a proper look at just how bad the injury was. Was it possible for a person to feel their stomach drop? "How did this happen, anyway?" He wasn't sure if he particularly wanted to know. But it served to keep Clint conscious and talking.

Did Clint… smirk, or was that a wince? "Swordfight… Should've seen… the other guy…"

"Yeah, I'll bet." Tony did his best to hide just how worried he was. Pathetic effort, probably. "If you were turned into a roll of kebab…"

Clint scowled and writhed under his hands. The tremor of agony was palpable. "Not… helping… Tin Brain…"

"Sorry, sorry…!" What was happening to his breathing? It felt like there wasn't enough air in the whole room. Tony's hands shook even more than before while he pressed tighter and tighter, fighting a war against the infuriating flow of red. "'Tin Brain'? That was weak."

Clint squeezed his eyes tightly shut and raised his middle finger, muttering something that definitely wasn't English under his gasping breath.

Tony rolled his eyes. "That's better, Feathers." He felt completely and utterly helpless as his friend began to tremble from agony and effort. He licked his lips and cast a brief, longing glance towards the room's door. "Hey, stay with me, yeah? The med team's gonna be here soon and they'll fix you right up. Then you can tell me all about where the hell you learned sword fighting."

"… language …", Clint admonished barely audibly through his teeth, eyes no longer open.

Tony groaned. "Shut it! One swear jar on two feet's enough for one team."

Clint tried to grin, perhaps even say something, but it didn't work out.

Right, alright, Tony was a grown man and willing to admit that right there, in that very moment, he was well and truly panicking. He swallowed convulsively, wishing the he would've dared to shake his friend. "Hey! Hey, Pigeon, focus! No snoozing on me." When it became apparent that the archer wouldn't be able to produce speech or open his eyes the billionaire shook his head hysterically. "Okay, we can… How about this? I'll take your hand, and you'll keep squeezing. That way I'll know that you're… You know, alive and all." He was definitely babbling. And he definitely didn't care. One of his very few actual friends was probably dying in front of him. He was allowed to babble!

Clint's left eyebrow bounced up, only a little but enough to offer a miniature hint of comfort.

"Yeah, I know." His hand grabbed Clint's and tightened ever so slightly. It felt ridiculously good to feel the other's feeble but stubborn responding hold. "It Natasha finds out she's never gonna let us live this down."

Clint's lips moved. Tony tried to concentrate on it, because it was a little more pleasant to see than all the blood. "'Thanks'?" He frowned, trying to understand. Some genius he was…! "For what?"

It took a considerable amount of effort. But finally Tony managed to read Clint's lips. ' _For trying to help._ '

Tony's stomach knotted yet again at that. His voice broke a little despite his best attempts. "I'll do a lot more than just try, watch me. I'm way too stubborn to just try." He needed to believe in himself, and in Clint, even when it looked like his friend had bled out at least half of his whole blood volume.

Clint _had not_ come all the way here, put this faith in him, just to…!

"… this bathroom …" It took some time before Tony realized that the whispering voice came from Clint. The Hawk's eyes still weren't open. "'s nice and blue… just horribly cold … is it with no floor heating?"

Tony gawked. Then snorted. "You're bleeding like crazy and giving me renovation tips?" This was encouraging. He needed to keep Clint talking. "What else can you lecture me about, Master Yoda?"

Was Clint amused? Was that what the bizarre sound bubbling through the man's throat was? "… 'Star Wars' fan…?"

Tony grinned, anchoring himself on the welcomed distraction like a kid. "Yup. Since I was a brat. You?"

"… always been more of a Trekker …"

"Traitor." Tony nodded determinedly. "But don't worry, I'll turn you. You're not beyond hope yet." Was he still talking about sci-fi…?

By then Clint had stopped trembling. Tony tried to tell himself that it was a good thing, no matter how hard his reason rebelled against that delusion. "You good?" Because he needed a new sign that his friend was… well, still there. Right about now. "No quiet on me or I'll smack you."

"… you wouldn't …", Clint argued

"Watch me." Tony gave his friend's hand a little squeeze, noticing with dismay that the other's skin was cold and clammy. "Seriously, look at me. Or you'll see how little I'm joking."

Clint pouted childishly. But did manage to open his eyes, just a crack. "… rude …"

"So is bleeding out on me, so stick around."

Clint's eyebrows furrowed. It might've been mistaken for an expression of pain, until the man managed to utter speech. "… okay? … pretty pale …"

"You think I look pale?" Tony pressed just a little tighter. He was past the point of hoping for the bleeding to stop but… "No, Birdie, I'm not fine. Because you've almost given me a heart attack. And I'll make sure that you'll pay for it once you're…" The sudden tremor might've been missed by some. Tony tensed up to a nearly painful extend. "Clint?"

Without any further warning Clint was gasping. Was it possible that the man paled even further? The archer squeezed his eyes tightly shut, either dizzy, in pain or both. "'thing's wrong… can't…" Then the man slumped, and Tony was barely fast enough to lay him down properly before there would've been further damage.

"Clint!" Tony's voice was high-pitched from panic. He didn't care, not with the way his friend continued to gasp. Was Clint going to…? _No, no, no…!_ "What…?" He was cut short by the sounds of several people approaching.

Clint, despite pain barely conscious, obviously heard as well. The Hawk stiffened to an extend that shouldn't have been humanly possible. Prepared to fight, although the archer had to know that there was no way he would've managed that. "… still safe …?"

Tony recognized the voice of Dr. Ford, the new lead of his medical team number three. He honestly couldn't remember the previous time he would've felt so relieved. He laughed breathlessly and nodded furiously. "Yeah, still safe. Help's almost here, do you hear that? It's still safe."

"… still safe …", Clint echoed. His voice barely carrying to Tony ears, especially with the background noise. "… still safe … still safe …" Then, like a switch had been flicked, the archer lost whatever little there'd been left of his consciousness.

Tony's lips were moving but even the billionaire himself had no idea what he was saying. The medical team ignored him after a single glance which confirmed that he had no physical injuries, then focused all their efforts of Clint. Tony could understand barely a word of what they were saying and toyed idly with the thought whether it was even in English. The blood… All he could see was the blood. And the fact that Clint was struggling more and more to breathe.

Tony himself was barely breathing at that point. Or well, he did try, desperately. But it didn't feel or sound right. And his eyes… What was wrong with them, why were they so blurry? His heart was also racing out of all control.

Then the team was fighting to get Clint's heart going again, and Tony's world twisted in a nauseating manner.

That was, mercifully, when Pepper showed up. She grabbed him into a firm yet tender embrace, blocked his view to the merciless sight. "Shh, shh… You're having a panic attack but I'll help you through it. Ignore everything else and focus on my voice." It wasn't until much later he found out that she was crying. "Just breathe, Tony. Breathe. It'll all be okay, I promise. Just breathe for me, nice and deep. Breathe."

Tony anchored himself on her promise like a drowning man. _Breathe and it'll be okay… Breathe and it'll be okay…_

" … CLEAR! …"

* * *

As it turned out Clint had been impaled entirely by a sword. It nicked some organ, Tony couldn't remember for the life of him which. That the archer didn't bleed out before even making it to the Tower was a small miracle. And it wasn't the only injury. The doctors were also worried about a rather serious infection. Along with those the consequences of a five-minute cardiac arrest would be revealed by time.

The team waited because it was all they could do. Bruce bustled around the ailing archer like a proper mother hen. Steve kept a careful watch on everything, like that alone would've ensured that all would be okay. Natasha circled around like a furious wild animal ready to attack anyone. Thor stood by Clint's sickbay's door like a proper bodyguard. Clint would've hated the attention.

Tony couldn't bring himself to approach. What if he got another panic attack? It would do no one any good. Besides, after the whole nightmare, actually believing that Clint would come out of the ordeal okay…

On day three he received an announcement that something was… off with Natasha. He found her from one of the training rooms. Along with three demolished punching bags. Tony froze nearby the doorway, his chest tightening. "Dare I ask…?" He didn't want to hear…

Natasha's back was to him. She was trembling from tension. "They… They tortured him for three days, before the idiot decided that he had enough information and escaped. And then…"

"… then he got in a sword-fight." Tony nodded slowly, trying to process it. "Sounds like Feathers." Because really, it did. If there was anyone stubborn enough to still fight after three days of torture…

"The things they did to him…"

"We'll help him through. It's what teams do, right?" Tony found it easier to breathe than he had in days. So Clint was awake and lucid. Even with several days' worth of sleep deprivation it was easy to believe that anything was possible. "You think he's still awake? Because I've got a well-deserved scolding to deliver."

"Get in line." Natasha was relaxing, slowly yet surely. Obviously also starting to believe that perhaps things might work out. "Pepper went in just after I left, and she didn't seem impressed."

* * *

When Clint woke up he _panicked_. Was he still free? Did he make it to the Tower? If he did, did he also lead criminals there? What if…?

"Clint." That voice was distantly familiar. A hand took his, gently, and a tender finger rubbed soothing circles on the back of his hand. "Clint, you need to calm down. You're safe. We're all safe."

Clint didn't the energy to turn his head just yet but he did move his eyes a little. At first he had trouble seeing but soon distinguished Pepper's face. She was unharmed, only tired and… worried, possibly. A small wave of cautious comfort rushed through him. "I get them…?"

"Yeah, you got them. Every single one. Fury's men checked the place and confirmed as much. You've already woken up once, remember?" She smiled just a little at his apparent confusion. "I figured you might not. You're still pretty out of it. Just sleep." She ran a gentle hand through his hair, and the friendly contact was enough to make him practically melt. "You're safe, we're all safe, I promise. Just sleep."

Clint wasn't sure if he would've been able to stay awake even if he tried.

* * *

When Clint woke up next Tony was there. Fast asleep, snoring loudly with his legs having been lifted to weight down on the archer's. Perhaps it should've irritated him. But with the nightmare he just made it free of…

Struggling to calm down, Clint stared at his friend. Convinced himself that it was all over, now, that he was safe and had people around him who'd look after him. When that comforting knowledge registered he finally noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Curious and with a ridiculous amount of effort he turned his head.

There, spread over a chair so that he could see it properly, was a T-shirt. The picture of a Jedi Knight had been imprinted on it. A Jedi with his face and a brightly shining, blue lightsaber.

For the first time since the mission began Clint smiled, and when he fell asleep he had no nightmares.

It was also the first time Tony slept since _then_.

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: That's right, folks. Clint will be just fine. He's where he's safe, now. (smiles) How cute is the IronHawk bromance? I absolutely love those two!

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me hear your thoughts! Hearing from ya always makes my heart sing. (offers some cupcakes for special persuasion)

Awkay, I've really gotta get going, now. It's late. (yawns) Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: Ooooh, such a tempting idea! It'll TOTALLY be seen in the future. (nods furiously) I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed the chapter!

Massive thank yous for the review!


	74. A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 1 of 4

A/N: Phew! It took my head a while before I managed to figure out which one of the ideas spinning there I wanted to type. But here we are! (grins) Yay?

FIRST, though…! GOSH, Clint has so many people aside me wrapped around his little finger! (BEAMS) THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, love and support! Oh, believe me, there's A LOT more to come.

Awkay, because it's getting late… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy this INSANE ride (no pun intended).

* * *

A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 1 of 4

* * *

"Clint?" The female voice, deep and pleasant, was barely able to snatch Clint from his thoughts. "You seem agitated. Is there something on your mind?"

One corner of Clint's mouth twitched, unleashing a tiny, bitter fake smile. "Don't you mean 'even more agitated than usual'?" he quipped. He would've darted a longing glance towards the room's door if he'd dared to look away from his companion for that long.

She rolled her eyes. There seemed to be a tiny hint of amusement in her hazel eyes, though. "Sorry about trying to be polite." She fixed her black framed glasses, studying him with her gaze. Eventually she focused on where his fingers were drumming restlessly. "Are your hands bothering you? I could give you some pain medication."

"My hands are fine", Clint announced immediately. Perhaps more sharply than would've been advisable. "Thank you."

The woman's nose wrinkled as she shook her head. The gesture made her long, dark brown ponytail slip from a shoulder to behind her back. "Do us both a favor and don't try to be polite. It doesn't suit you."

"What makes you think that I'm not doing it just to irritate you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." She tilted her head, and he was almost sure that her eyes narrowed just a little. "You still don't remember why you're here, do you?"

No, he didn't. Clint remembered getting handed a mission that forced him to visit a very infamous drug den. His last coherent memory was feeling the sting of an unwanted needle. There was blood. And screams. Far too many strange faces hovering around him. When he was fully back to himself he was strapped to a bed and explained that he'd been confined to Bloomingdale Mental Hospital. He was told that upon being found there'd been several illegal drugs in his system, his hands were covered in second degree burns, he'd been dehydrated and malnourished, and posed a threat to himself and others. When he tried to tell the people around him that he was an Avenger and a S.H.I.E.L.D agent on a mission they wouldn't believe him. Instead they gave him something that made him feel incredibly nauseous and drowsy. He had no idea how long that continued until these daily meetings with Dr. Emma – no surname provided for security reasons – began. Still, after thirty-two of these endless sessions, Clint had no idea how to get himself out of this mess. Attacking her was a tempting idea but he had a feeling that it wouldn't get him anywhere when he knew that there were several pairs of keen eyes observing them at all times. Besides, so far he hadn't been allowed outside his painfully white, tiny room and there were no windows to provide a view. Even if he succeeded in taking her down and dashed out of the room, where would he go? And who were these people, and what were they willing to do to keep him here? He needed information and could only hope that he'd get some before his mind would really start to crack.

Every day Clint wondered if his team would finally come and help him with this… dilemma. So far there hadn't been a trace of the Avengers and he was starting to wonder with a constantly growing amount of dread if something had happened to him. Were they alright? Surely Fury had realized by now that he was taking far too long and…

"No", Clint announced, his voice almost a growl. "I still don't remember how I ended up here. And I guess you're not going to tell me?"

Emma sighed at his open mockery and wrote down something. "Clint… If you're that hostile we won't be able to help you."

"I'll let you help me as soon as you tell me what, exactly, you imagine that I need help with", Clint struck back.

Emma gave him a sad look. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to remember on your own." She made some final notes, then got up to leave. "A piece of advice? I just saw your blood test results and none of the pills that have been prescribed to you showed. Start taking your medication or we'll have to start giving you injections instead."

Clint gritted his teeth. Letting himself get drugged would mean losing control in a way he couldn't afford. Whatever was going on, he'd need to bring an end to it before his so-called doctor would make good on her threat. "I'm not exactly a fan of needles."

Emma smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, I'm sure that we won't have to go there." She opened the room's door, giving him a quick view of a grey, disturbingly sterile hallway. Definitely a hospital, or a building masked skillfully to look like one. "A nurse will be here with your dinner in a bit. I'll see you tomorrow." And so the door closed, sealing him into what felt like a prison cell.

* * *

Clint ate as little as possible, like he always did. He didn't trust that his food would've been left untampered with. After that he spent some time just listening and watching, trying to spot a way out of his very own horror story.

He heard clattering. And a distant scream. Someone was laughing hysterically. There was banging, followed by shouts of irritation.

The building was never quiet. Clint couldn't remember the previous time he would've felt so unsafe. But perhaps the stress and a huge number of sleepless nights finally took their toll on him. At some point he drifted into a light slumber. A big mistake.

Clint dreamt of fire. Of screams. Of pain.

Clint woke up to his own horrified shout, his heart hammering mercilessly and adrenaline coursing through him in waves. Everything spun in a nauseating manner and he gasped once, twice. Breathing was turning into a challenge. Nothing made sense. Well, except for one all-consuming thought.

 _OUT… OUT… OUT… OUT!_

It was no surprise that his shriek had been heard. The door opened, revealing that five people were planning on entering. He didn't waste time on trying to memorize their faces. He reacted.

Too bad his injured hands slowed him down. And perhaps there were drugs running through his system, after all, because he was sluggish and confused. He managed to take down three of them but number four proved to be too much.

Clint felt a needle on his neck just a fraction of a second too late. He grunted and shifted, but a new sting announced that whatever he'd been injected with was already doing its work. Whatever he planned on doing, he'd need to do it quickly.

He managed to tackle down the male nurse who injected him before he began to feel painfully dizzy. He groaned and stumbled, finding himself on all fours almost right on top of the nearly unconscious man. The need to get away was bombarding through his whole system – brain, bloodstream, everything – but his body… He couldn't…

There was a heavy sigh, and finally he remembered the final person who showed up. Emma. "Oh, Clint… You were making such good progress. You were beginning to realize and remember. And now this."

Clint's jawline tightened as he fought the darkness wanting to claim him with all his might. If he passed out now… Then all hope would be lost. "Remember… what?" he slurred.

A couple of the men he took down recovered an all of a sudden he was dragged towards the bed. Away from the door, away from safety. "Why you belong here. How you hurt your hands."

As she said that the men wrapped firm pairs of restraints around his wrists and ankles. He fought back the best as he could but awareness was fleeing quickly. In that moment of rage and despair he decided to abandon whatever role he was supposed to play. "The Avengers…" They'd find him… Or this place, at least, if it was too late for him…

Emma shook her head. The grief in her eyes was almost believable. "I'm so sorry that I have to tell you this, Clint. I really am." She placed a hand on his shoulder, like it would've brought comfort. "But… You haven't been one of the Avengers for almost a year. Not after your mind was taken over again and you killed two of them."

Clint barely noticed that he lost consciousness. Her words wrapped around him with a crushing force, flooded through like poison. And the world around him would've been every bit as dark even if he managed to keep his eyes open.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So… Uh huh…! Are two of the Avengers really dead? Has Clint lost his mind or is this all just some sick trick? And how did he hurt his hands?

SOOOOO… How's that for the start of a four-parter? Would you guys like to read some more, or should I delete this and skillfully pretend that this never existed? PLEASE, do let me hear from ya! I always love hearing from fellow members of Feather Club. (smiles) (Of course it's a real, official thing!)

Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see ya there!

Take care!

* * *

guest: I'm OVERJOYED that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) And hey, I'm only THRILLED that you asked again! A story like that will TOTALLY see daylight in a near future. (grins and hugs)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

gandalf537: Don't worry, it's okay to consider it hilarious. He'll never know. (grins) I'm SUPER happy that you enjoyed the ride! (BEAMS)

Massive thank yous for the review!


	75. A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 2 of 4

A/N: GAH, it's late! BUT, I wanted to get this published before going to bed so here we are. (chuckles)

THANK YOU, so very much, for all your reviews! Everyone still ready for some Hawkeye-whump? (smiles and hugs) You're all precious

Awkay, because it's LATE… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **WATCH OUT, THINGS ARE GOING TO GET CRAZY!**

* * *

A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 2 of 4

* * *

It's a strange feeling, to become completely and utterly undone. For Clint it had happened four times, before _this_. The first time it happened was when his father bruised him for the first time. The second time was when one of the two people he was beginning to trust since the death of his parents betrayed him. The third time was when Laura had a miscarriage, with him on a mission and unable to be there for her. The fourth time was Loki, and it succeeded in scarring him in ways nothing ever had before.

And now…

The drugs didn't keep Clint down for long, and through that duration he kept having horrible, vivid dreams. As soon as he was somewhat awake, still horribly disoriented and trembling to his core, Emma was there. Looking at him with open pity as he lay there, still firmly restrained.

"I don't believe you", he hissed as soon as his mouth agreed to function. So much about keeping up any stupid games and roles. This had gone too far. "Whoever your bosses are… You can tell them that they'll have to try a lot harder."

Emma sighed heavily, appearing defeated and almost genuinely sad. "I'm going to open your restraints. You're not mentally ready for this, but you're giving me no other choice."

The second Clint had been released his first instinct was to take his chance and run. Only to be stopped when Emma pushed a file towards him. A sticker on it had a much too familiar name.

' _Rogers, Steve – autopsy report_ '

"What the hell is this?" Clint snarled, resulting to rage when anything else was too terrifying.

"You were… compromised, as Fury described it." Emma took a deep breath. "He had the misfortune of not noticing before it was too late."

Clint wanted to read further. Needed to prove to himself that this was all a lie. Yet he couldn't bring himself to look away from the picture that greeted him the second he opened the file. A snapshot of a dead body that looked far too much like Steve for comfort. The whole world was spinning around him.

Clint refused to believe it. Refused to accept that under any circumstances… But still a tiny, stubborn part of him clung to Dr. Emma's words and absorbed them. And no matter how hard he tried… Memories – he had no idea if they were real or not – bombarded his head after Emma's revelation.

* * *

/ _It was autumn. The morning air held the scent of rain and leaves as Steve stopped. The soldier breathed heavily for a couple of seconds, then recovered. "So…" The man wiped his forehead although barely any sweat showed. "Did that make you feel any better?"_

 _"Yeah." Clint's voice sounded odd, almost dazed. "It's easier to think, here."_

 _Steve didn't seem to catch the threat. Slowly, slowly the soldier began to turn towards him. "Your hands?"_

 _"Throbbing a bit. But the meds are still helping." Clint had been quick and subtle. One of his heavily bandaged hands had found what he'd been looking for from the covers of his jogging clothes. "You don't have to keep doing that anymore, you know. Pretend that you care." His voice was still unfamiliar, like he was in some sort of a dream. It all definitely felt like a nightmare._

 _There was a frown on Steve's face when the Captain faced him. "What are you…?" It was then the soldier's eyes fell on the handgun pointed his way. The discovery caused a look of irritation. "How long have you known?"_

 _"That you're HYDRA? Almost from the beginning. But I decided to give you time, to change your mind and switch sides." Rage and sorrow clawed at Clint, almost hard enough to drive him out of his mind. Maybe he was insane already. "And what did I get for that? I had to listen over the phone how you killed my family. I had to pull their bodies out of the burning Farm." He swallowed hard but it didn't help with the lump in his throat or the horrible taste in his mouth. He was so angry that he felt actual pulsating. "You should've killed me with them."_

 _"You were supposed to die with them", Steve pointed out. Looking and sounding nothing like the man he thought he knew. "I didn't know that you were at a grocery store. The firebomb was supposed to handle you, though." The Captain sighed heavily, appearing almost exhausted. Like someone who'd been running a marathon and finally reached his goal. "So that's why I was given the kill order. They knew that you were on to me."_

 _"Yeah." Clint's eyes flashed when he noticed the other's hand twitch. "I led a murderer to my family. I should've done this from the start instead."_

 _Steve's hand moved but the man was no contest against a seasoned assassin who had a gun in hand. Clint fired only once, the bullet hitting the middle of Steve's forehead. Even Captain America didn't come out of a bullet to the head._ /

* * *

Clint felt like he didn't fit into his own skin anymore. His stomach was twisting upside down and his head… His head felt ready to explode. He could barely breathe from how tight his chest had become.

Too much, too much, _too much_.

"Clint." Emma's voice was still there, taunting him, making his skin crawl. "You need to breathe, alright? Focus on my voice and breathe."

Clint gasped, several times. Then gagged, nearly losing control over his body entirely. "HYDRA… All along, he was…" He shook his head but once the sickening memory flashes had been given a way in they refused to leave him alone. "My family…" His voice broke.

"Clint." Emma's voice was gentle but firm. "I know that this is impossibly hard. But there's a one more file I need you to take a look at."

Clint didn't want to see. But without his active consent his head shifted, so that he was looking downwards. Another sticker, another far too familiar name.

' _Wanda Maximoff_ '

Clint felt so cold that it shouldn't have been humanly possible. Like all life had been drained from him. He shook his head once, twice, thrice, tried to speak but couldn't.

* * *

/ _Wanda's eyes were full of worry and life as they searched his. "Clint?" Her voice seemed to echo, distorted and painful. Her mind's brush against his felt like claws. "This place… What… am I supposed to see?"_

 _Clint looked around the Farm. Around what was supposed to be his home. And all of a sudden he saw nothing but an empty room, to which a lonely crib had been brought. Dust covered everything, making the footprints clearly visible. Clint's boots had circled the room over and over again, like he'd been searching._

 _Clint's heart thumped painfully while panic took over his all. "Laura?" he called out, praying that he'd wake up from whatever sick dream this was. Only the wind whispering in the corners answered him. "Coop? Lila?"_

 _Wanda's arm was gentle on his arm. There was no pity or fear in her eyes, only worry and sadness. "Clint, there's… I'm sorry, but there's no one but us here. I don't unders…"_

 _Clint didn't give her the chance to finish. He ran, as fast as his feet carried him, and finally reached the bedroom. He froze by the doorway with a sick feeling in his stomach._

 _There was nothing but a bed, which had clearly been used by only one person._

 _Clint felt like his whole world had been falling apart around him. And right there, at a horribly vulnerable moment, Wanda had the misfortune of appearing. She lay what was supposed to be a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I… I don't understand what's going on here, but… I'll try to help, alright? I…"_

 _Clint pulled away from her touch as though it burned and spun towards her quickly enough to startle her, his eyes ablaze. "What the hell have you done to my family?" he growled with all the venom he could muster. He took a threatening step closer to her, his eyes narrowing with sick pleasure when she recoiled. "Did you hand them over to HYDRA? Or are you messing with my head?"_

 _Wanda's expression changed, slowly yet steadily. Her once caring eyes growing cold. "Because of you I lost all the family I had left. So I took away yours." She tilted her head slightly. "I was even able to coax Steve into helping, remember?"_

 _The fire… The flames… The most precious he'd ever had burned away… It all came back to him, now that Wanda allowed it to. And his hands were hurting like the already months old burns were brand-new. The pain only fueled him on._

 _A person can do a lot of damage with their bare hands._ /

* * *

Clint couldn't face the photos, this time. Couldn't see what there was left of Wanda's face. Couldn't think past _pain_.

Then he was rubbing his face with both hands, so hard that it hurt. Futilely trying to rid the memories, or whatever they were. Desperate to wake up, wake up, _wake up_.

It didn't help, at all. Clint moaned pitiably and began to scratch the itching skin of his arms. It felt like something was crawling under his skin. Just like in his head. He wasn't able to get rid of either sensation. The sound of his rushing blood nearly deafened him.

"They… My family…" Clint wasn't aware of the tears running down his cheeks. "They killed my family…!"

"No, they didn't." It was apparent that Emma still wasn't sure if he could take this. "When you first took your team to the Farm, to lay low for a while… All they found was the empty rooms. You kept talking to a wife and kids who didn't exist." She sighed. "They tried to help you, until you realized that Steve knew. You also took Wanda there. The others hadn't known what you were planning, couldn't warn her, and she wasn't able to pretend. It was… too much." The psychiatrist's expression was full of grief. "They took away your family, which never even existed. Killed them in the only way possible. And you couldn't handle it." She held a long pause, meeting his eyes the entire time. "You killed both Steve and Wanda, then burned down the Farm. Do you remember?"

Disbelief… Agony… Grief… Rage… Far too much of each flowed through Clint. "Don't", he snarled a warning. "Whatever it is you think you're doing… Don't."

Emma didn't appear startled or surprised. She inhaled deeply before starting to take her leave. "We've had this almost exact conversation thrice, now. I'm sorry, that I have to bring this upon you time and time again. I'm sorry that you have to lose them over and over again."

"Get out", Clint hissed. "Get… the... hell… out." He glanced towards the security camera observing them from the ceiling. "And tell your bosses that if they ever send you again… I'll kill you." A very unwise threat, perhaps. But he'd been captured, and it didn't look like he had much to lose. At the moment he was hurting so much that he didn't care what happened to him, he just wanted it all to _stop_.

What came next was foggy. Several people appeared. Clint was medicated with injections this time. They didn't bother restraining him. Nor did they move him from where he eventually slumped to the floor.

Minutes bled into hours. Clint remained unmoving, barely breathing, nearly lifeless. Memories of Laura and their kids kept bombarding him mercilessly. He anchored himself on them, desperate for them to be real. But with each second his grip loosened.

Was Laura a brunette or a blonde? What was the color of Cooper's eyes? Lila's voice…

Furious and desperate, Clint banged his damaged hand against the floor. It hurt like hell, but at least it distracted him from the constant burning inside his head. He hit the floor again, and again, leaving bloodied stains. He continued even when his skin was raw, and he was fairly sure that he'd sustained a hairline fracture.

"They're real", Clint murmured to himself, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "Your family's real, and they're still alive." He drove that message home with a new smash of his already tormented fist. "This is all a dream." Another punch at the floor. "All an act." A one more punch. "They're real…" His fist was trembling, and when he tried he couldn't open it properly. Still he punched again, because the mental anguish was worse. "They're real…"

Clint continued his desperate attempts to wake up for a long time. Laid his still balled fist against the floor when he could no longer lift it, mouthed the words when he no longer had any voice left. ('They're real…', 'They're real…', 'They're real…') He kept going because his desperate belief was all he had left.

Clint kept going. Even when the smell of burning flesh, the screams of his beloved, the sight of blood and the feel of flames licking his skin assaulted him. He kept going even if he had no idea what was real anymore.

* * *

After that Clint refused to eat. It was the only way of rebelling he had under the circumstances so he grabbed on with all the stubbornness he had left. Even if he was eventually barely conscious he refused their efforts to force-feed and hydrate him. He refused to let them touch him, even if it was to try to treat his hands. Eventually they even stopped giving him the injections.

Clint drifted, somehow still coherent enough to understand that his hopeless fight was doomed to fail. Eventually he began to doze off and had no idea if he'd have the strength to wake up again. It was terrifying how little that thought bothered him.

* * *

When Clint woke up again he shivered upon discovering Natasha sitting beside his bed. For a few seconds of bliss he imagined that the nightmare was over. Until he saw the look on her face, and the fact that she could barely look at him.

Clint swallowed. "Tasha?" What…?

"They wouldn't have wanted to let me in, at least alone." Natasha gritted her teeth, struggling visibly to stay in control over herself. "I told them that I didn't need a babysitter."

"Please tell me that they're okay." Clint didn't care if he sounded desperate. Or if there were cameras spying on them. "Tasha, they… They've been saying…"

"I know. Your doctor just gave me a report. It looks like you'll be stuck here for a while."

Clint was exhausted and hurting. He just wanted this horror story to be over. "What the hell is going on?" So what if it was close to a whimper? He was terrified, in pain and desperate. "What have I done?"

Natasha shrugged. "You tell me. From the looks of it, you have four options. Either Rogers and Maximoff killed your family and you killed them, got high and ended up to this whole mess. Or then you killed them because they were forcing you into accepting that your family was nothing but a trick of your imagination, burned down the Farm and wandered off to some pathetic drug den to maintain that illusion. Or, you're still in that drug den, dying of an overdose and hallucinating all this. Or, last option, you've been captured and this is nothing but a cheap theater play to mess with your head. Personally, I find that last option painfully boring." She titled her head. "What do you think is going on, Alice?"

In a different state of mind Clint might've attempted to crack a feeble joke about a rabbit hole. He shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear it. "I… I have no idea anymore", he admitted barely audibly. And even if only to himself, he had to admit that he'd never been quite this horrified in his life.

Natasha shrugged. "In that case, there's only one way to find out." So subtly that the cameras couldn't possibly detect it she slipped a red pill towards him. She went on once the item was securely locked inside the one of his fists which still functioned properly. "Go all the way down the rabbit hole to see Wonderland. Either you come back up with the answers you need… or you don't."

Clint swallowed, his head spinning uncomfortably once again. He watched as she began to leave, trying to comprehend. Wondering… "Are you… real?" Honestly, none of this felt quite real.

Already at the door, Natasha chuckled. The sound echoed painfully in the room. "Stupid question. If I was a hallucination, would I tell you so?"

For the first time in… he didn't have any idea how long Clint felt the need to move. To follow her. To get out. To face the reality, whatever it was. He pushed himself to a sitting position. "Will you help me out of here?" Before he'd fall apart entirely. Before he'd get so lost that he wouldn't be able to find his way back. Before there was nothing left of him.

Natasha shook her head. "No." She nodded towards the fist holding the pill. "I've already told you, there's only one way out of this."

His eyes drifted closed while the door closed. When he woke up again he was curled up on the floor, the stench of his own sweat and blood heavy in the air. He swallowed hard and blinked, trying to wake up.

In some room nearby a desperate woman's voice screamed. Hurried steps rushed past his room. The screaming intensified. And then it was horrifyingly quiet once more. Clint curled up a little more tightly, trying to block out _everything_.

Desperate, Clint opened his hand. There wasn't a trace left of the red pill. All a dream, then. He slumped, feeling uncharacteristically defeated.

What the hell was he supposed to do next?

'… _all the way down the rabbit hole_ …'

Clint's eyes hardened and darkened. Full of determination and purpose. Because now he knew exactly what to do.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Sooooo… Down the rabbit hole, guys…! It looks like Clint's on the WORST ride of his life. (winces)

What do YOU think is going on? Was that ANY good, at all? PLEASE, do leave a note to the box down below! It's feeling lonely and Christmas is approaching…

Awkay, I REALLY have to go and get some sleep. Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: Awww, in that case I'll do my VERY best to update as quickly as possible. (smiles) I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy what's to come!

Merci beaucoup pour la revue!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Intense it was! Poor, poor Clint. And it looks like things are only going to get worse… (winces) We'll see just HOW intense this is going to get.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	76. A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 3 of 4

A/N: PHEW! It's LATE. BUT, before heading to Feather Islands… UPDATING TIME!

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, love and support! You guys are making both Clint AND this collection feel INSANELY loved. (HUGS) Hooray to whump, are you with me?

Awkay, before I fall asleep on my laptop… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **INSANITY AHOY! This chapter includes some REALLY dark thoughts some people may find TRIGGERING.**

* * *

A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 3 of 4

* * *

Everything blurred. The days passing by. Events. People. Reality. Despite his best attempts Clint really, honestly had no idea what was going on.

He wasn't allowed to sleep. At first he tried to keep himself from dozing off because there was no telling what might happen when he lost control. Then he realized that his captors were playing the same game. Whenever his mind attempted to shut down there was something. A visit. A noise. A vision. The rare silences, however, were the worst of all. It was suffocating, made him feel like he'd been abandoned entirely. No matter how hard and stubbornly he tried to keep reminding himself of who he really was eventually his grasp began to slip.

Was he a father who lost his children because a friend betrayed him in the worst way? Or someone whose mind betrayed them and turned into a monster to protect the hallucination? Or the victim of one of the most horrific ordeals he'd ever encountered?

All he knew was that he was Clint Barton and he was lost. A drowning man who clung vigorously to the only scenario that he was able to bear. So he played along and kept watch, waiting for his captors to make a mistake and hoping that he'd last that long.

"You seem thoughtful today."

Startled from his thoughts, Clint offered the most polite smile he could muster. "Tired", he corrected. "This place isn't much for resting."

"There's plenty of medication available to help with that", Emma pointed out. She tilted her head, and the change of light made the color of her eyes change curiously as well. "But something tells me that you wouldn't appreciate any of those."

Clint smirked. Like a wild animal giving its rival a warning before the actual attack. "How about that, we're starting to understand each other."

Emma sighed heavily. "Still defensive, then." She wrote down something before meeting his eyes. "It's good to have you talking again, though. Even if I'm not sure whether you've improved or regressed from your condition before the breakdown." She pursed her lips, processing and seeing far more than he would've liked. "We were all shocked by the way you crashed."

"You told me that my family was all in my head." Using the past tense hurt, incredibly, and it brought a bite to his tone. "You're the shrink. You tell me whether that was a good enough reason to check out for a while."

"I'm truly sorry that I had to break the news to you in such a way." Emma sounded surprisingly sincere. Almost.

Clint looked away. For a few seconds his whole concentration was on a spider trying to make its way across the room and towards a hole on the wall. He knew the feeling. "How long have I been here?" He wasn't expecting an honest answer but he was curious to see what she'd come up with.

"This time around, for almost a month. This is your second time here, but I doubt you'd remember much about the first one. You were very… confused, back then. It was around the time S.H.I.E.L.D began to realize just how big of a threat HYDRA had become. You must've been on to the same traces before you… fell ill, because the entire time you were convinced that you were HYDRA's captive, not a patient." Emma gave him a few moments. "Loki… He truly broke you, to a point where eventually Fury had no other choice but to have you admitted. You showed no signs of improvement until someone told you that Fury had died. And that S.H.I.E.L.D as you knew it had fallen. A couple of months later Stryker ordered to have you discharged."

Clint had no idea how to feel about any of that. He gritted his teeth, then snorted. "Check your facts before coming up with these fairytales. He's the kind of a guy who'd be happy to see me locked up." He then thought about it again. "Or then he was hoping that I'd get myself killed."

"You do that a lot", Emma pointed out. Peering into his eyes like looking right into his soul. "Mull over people and their motives."

Clint shrugged. Why deny the truth? "It's the only way to stay alive in my profession."

"Doesn't it ever get exhausting?"

"You have no idea."

* * *

Clint couldn't remember if they talked about anything else. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again the room was full of fog. He panicked for a couple of seconds, until he realized that it didn't smell like smoke. He frowned, observing with confusion as the swirling clouds began to take the form of a human body.

And all of a sudden his sneering father stood in front of him. Looking at him with mocking eyes. "So I did succeed in driving you to a loony bin."

Clint sneered back. Getting up slowly and gracefully to stand nose to nose with the man who tormented his worst nightmares for decades. "I may be losing my mind but you're dead. I win."

"Being dead isn't all that bad, you know?" a new voice pointed out. A silk smooth drawl, almost like purring. "No more nightmares, annoying brothers and daddy issues."

Cold filled every single cell of Clint. Stole his breath away. He turned, very slowly, unwilling to see but too proud and brave not to. Loki sat there, on the edge on his bed, with a wicked little smile on his face.

With the bravery of a madman Clint growled. Fighting with his all to keep himself together. "Get out… of my head."

"But I never really left once I knocked my way in. Did I?" All of a sudden Loki was right in front of him. An unnaturally cold finger poked at his forehead. "I'm always right there. A scar. A reminder. Ready to take over. You put up a good fight, I'll give you that. But no mortal is strong enough."

"He is." From the smoke Laura materialized to stand beside him, nothing but steadfast belief in him on her face. She was there, so real that it _hurt_ , especially when she turned to look at him. Her hands were warm and comforting as she held his face between them. "It's going to get worse, honey. But remember, you're not alone. Not really."

Clint closed his eyes and tried to breathe in her familiar scent of vanilla. He couldn't, and swallowed with difficulty. "Are you real?" he breathed out. Even if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "You, and the kids…"

Laura responded with a small but tender kiss. It was almost apologetic, ghost like. "I'm sorry", she whispered against his lips when it was over. "But you have to wake up and face it, now."

"Face what?"

But all comfort was gone. Loki and his father both laughed. It was the last thing he heard before it became dark.

* * *

Clint didn't know how long passed. Until eventually he was wide awake. Or well, at least as awake as he could be these days. The second he saw Emma waiting for him with a somber expression he knew to expect nothing but the worst.

"I'm not sure if you're ready for this yet", she admitted before he got the chance to speak. "But if we want to give you any chance to recover… Then you need to know the full truth. No matter how painful it is."

Clint arched an eyebrow. Bracing himself. "And what might that truth be?"

Emma sighed heavily. Then got up. "Why don't you come with me? I think it's time you meet someone."

With a great deal of suspicion Clint followed her, surprised when he was actually allowed to leave the room. The hallway's harsh, bright lights hurt his eyes and he groaned, squinting against them to see better. They walked for what felt like ages. Until they stopped by a slightly ajar door.

Emma gave him a one more, apologetic look. "I'm sorry. What you'll soon face… It's going to hurt."

Clint snorted. "More than being told that my family's nothing but my imagination? That I've killed two of my teammates? I doubt…" Words froze into his throat when the door was finally fully open.

Sitting in the room, fidgeting nervously and wearing a patient's uniform, was Laura.

"Laura?" He began to dash towards her, not caring if she was a hallucination, until he saw the way she flinched at the sight of him. "What…?"

Emma moved to stand between them. "You two met when you were first admitted, once you were stable enough to spend time with others. Or thought to be. It took the staff far too long to notice what was going on." Grief was clearly visible on the doctor's face. "She was the first person here you spoke a word to. You fell in love with her the moment you saw her and began to pursue her. She was too ill to resist and it didn't take long before you'd imagined a whole life with her. A meeting at a hospital…"

* * *

/ _Eyes locked. And all of a sudden Clint's memory kept flickering between a ER-room and psychiatric hospital. The only constant that remained were Laura's eyes._ /

* * *

Clint breathed, sharply and loudly. Working with all the strength of his body and soul to hold himself together. "What the hell have you done with her?" he snarled. "With us?" He looked at his wife, desperate to see her eyes light up at the sight of him, like they did in his memories. "Laura…"

Laura interrupted him with a shake of her head. "You… I once told you that whenever I was… struggling… I would imagine a Farm. My own safe haven, away from everything and everyone." She wiped her eyes. "You liked the idea, and… Soon we were imagining it together. How you always came to me after saving the world. And… And eventually we even started imagining the kids, names and all. Coop…"

* * *

/ _Clint's hand shook as he placed it on Laura's still flat stomach. She laughed and caressed his hair. "Silly, you won't be able to feel a thing yet."_

 _Clint smiled. He was very gentle while lifting the hem of her shirt a little more and kissing the pale skin. "I know. But he can."_ /

* * *

/ _When Cooper was first placed into his arms he was still aching horribly from having been injured on a mission. But right at that moment… He couldn't feel a hint of discomfort. They looked at each other, and in an instant recognition dawned. Clint knew his son._

 _It was like seeing a lifetime, in those few seconds._

 _"Hey buddy", Clint whispered. He stroked the baby's cheek with one finger, making the little one sneeze and wrinkle his nose. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."_ /

* * *

"And Lila." A tear ran down Laura's cheek. "Our little girl, the one we wished for so dearly…"

* * *

/ _They grieved Laura's miscarriage, so much. Their little angel child they'd never get to meet. And then there was the Christmas miracle that changed everything._ /

* * *

"We named her after the lilies, outside the Farm…", Clint murmured.

* * *

/ _He remembered Lila's birth, vividly. He missed out on so much, but he was there for that. He was also there when she laughed for the very first time, and that sound filled him with such breath stealing love only a parent can feel._ /

* * *

"Nate was a surprise." There was a dreamy look in Laura's eyes as they stared at something only her gaze could see. "We weren't expecting a third."

"Made us love him all the more", Clint whispered, mostly to himself.

* * *

/ _The night was pleasantly warm as Clint and Laura lay on grass right outside the Farm. Laura had dozed off a little earlier but Clint was still very much awake. Only the stars witnessed how he sang softly to her mightily swollen belly._ /

* * *

"It hurt to discover that none of that was true. So much." Laura was crying openly by then. "I… I finally faced the truth a couple of months after you… left. You don't know how I screamed, begged them to give me back my babies. And you. I… I did anything, to have you back." She showed him her wrists and the horrific, deep scars marring them. "I thought… I thought that I wouldn't be able to live in a world were none of that was real. But I did, I have to."

"It is all real!" Clint's heart hammered furiously, about to break to pieces, as he tried to convince her. He couldn't lose her, not like this…! "I don't know what they've done, but… We need to go. We need to find our kids."

Laura shook her head, a look of sheer misery on her face. "They don't exist, Clint. They never have and never will." With those horrible words she was already leaving. "It was all a stupid fairytale."

As she passed by Clint made a one more, feeble motion to reach her. To hold on to what was his whole world. "Laura…"

She shook her head and flinched away from him. "Clint, please, don't. I've… I've worked so hard, to let it all go. So let me go. Leave me alone." In a flash she was gone, leaving her familiar scent of vanilla hanging tauntingly into the air.

The sound of his daughter's laughter echoed in Clint's ears, and he felt like someone had plunged a knife through his heart.

"Clint?" Emma lay a supporting hand on his shoulder. "I understand that this is a…"

An error of judgement, on her part. No, she didn't understand. And she should've never, ever touched him.

With a swift, experienced motion Clint threw her at a wall and watched with a sick sense of satisfaction how she slid to the floor, unconscious. A stain of blood was left to where she hit her head but he barely noticed. How was he supposed to focus on that when he was barely able to breathe, when his heart had been shattered to a million pieces?

* * *

/ _The room was warm and smelled of their recent vigorous activities while Clint pulled Laura's naked body closer to him. He placed his hand to where her heart was beating steadily. He closed his eyes, already on his way to sleep._

 _"Clint?" Laura's thick voice revealed that she wasn't any more awake. "Do you ever fear that this is all a dream?"_

 _"All the time", he admitted. And pulled her closer still, like trying to melt the two of them into one. "If this is just a dream… Then I don't want to ever wake up."_

 _Laura shifted. Just enough to press a kiss to the top of his nose. "That was painfully corny", she accused playfully._

 _Clint smirked, not opening his eyes. "What? We've been a bad romantic movie since we first met."_ /

* * *

Clint knocked down several security guards, nurses and doctors on his way. He didn't care. He just knew that he'd have to get away, by any means necessary.

Natasha suggested that he should go all the way down to the rabbit hole, in a dream. If that was what it would take, for this to be over… Then so be it.

* * *

"Sir? He's running loose. I think he's headed to the rooftop. Should I try to stop him?"

"No."

* * *

Clint had no idea how he got there. But all of a sudden he stood on the rooftop of the hospital, just two steps away from the edge. His heart was still beating erratically and he felt dizzy as he wondered how much of all this was real.

Was this how going insane felt?

Clint had already made his way to the edge and was about to peer down when he heard a voice that made his stomach knot with longing. "Please don't!" Laura's voice was so full of despair that it broke his heart just a little more. She wasn't crying anymore but her eyes were still moist and hazy while she walked towards him, slowly and hesitantly. "I… I know, how you feel. How it tears you to pieces. But please…!" She gasped and shook her head. "Don't… Don't you dare leave me, not again! Don't leave me all alone."

Clint looked at her, at the woman who was the love of his life. And a stranger. "They took away all we had. The Farm… Our kids…" He shook his head fiercely. "We can't let them win, Laura. They've pulled us into a sick nightmare. And I'm going to end it. I'm going to wake up, whatever it takes."

Laura searched his eyes. As though wondering whether he was serious. "How do we wake up?" she asked at last. Trusting him like she had from the start.

Clint smiled, no matter how much his heart was hurting, no matter how overwhelmed and terrified he was. He didn't know what'd happen next, to be honest. But if staying… here meant that his family was gone, that he'd murdered friends who figured out that he lived in a fantasy… That his babies were nothing but a hallucination… Then _anything_ was better.

He heard Lila's laughter, once more.

He felt the firm, trusting grip of Cooper's hand.

He saw the love in Nate's eyes.

And Clint decided that he was done living in a nightmare, it was time to go home.

He leaned down and kissed Laura's lips.

* * *

Down below, a black car pulled to a violent stop right beside the building. And a woman with red hair dashed out, a beyond rare display of uncontrollable emotion in her eyes. She was about to rush inside until something above caught her attention and she froze. Her heart, which she wasn't even supposed to have, skipped several valuable beats.

On the rooftop Clint stepped to the ledge, all alone. He turned his head and said something to the thin air with a smile on his face. His hand tightened around something imaginary. He seemed ready.

 _No, no, NO…!_

"Clint!" Natasha screamed at the top of her lungs. Desperate. "Don't!"

For two more seconds Clint looked at whatever it was he imagined beside him, then closed his eyes with a perfectly serene expression.

"CLINT, DON'T YOU DARE…!"

Clint took a one more step forward, into emptiness.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: And BOOM! Here we are, about to discover the truth. And believe, that fall DID happen. How in the world is Clint going to survive and recover from THIS? (GULPS)

Soooo… Any good at all? Thoughts, rants? PLEASE, do leave a word or two into the box down below! Christmas is approaching and Santa totally considers reviews as good deeds. (winks)

Awkay, I REALLY have to go. Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Sea: I'm SUPER happy that you've enjoyed this insane ride thus far so much! (BEAMS) We'll see just what's going on…

I totally aim to keep this collection going for a very, VERY long time. (smiles) I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the tales to come!

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I know, right?! (gulps) WHAT is going on? And HOW is Clint going to get out of this?

I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as much!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	77. A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 4 of 4

A/N: SO… I've been battling a fun little flu lately. (Including three days straight in a 38 degrees (Celsius) fever…) Which TOTALLY slowed down my typing. (GROANS) BUT, now I'm FINALLY back with the final bit of this short-story!

First of all, though… THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for you absolutely BRILLIANT reviews and love! GOSH. It feels almost like there's a family-community gathered around this fic, loving Clint and enjoying the Hawkeye-WHUMP. (BEAMS) You guys are PRECIOUS!

Awkay, because it's WAY too late and I need SLEEP… Let's go! We'll see how this INSANE tale ends…

* * *

A Hawk's Broken Mind, part 4 of 4

* * *

It was like watching a nightmare coming to life. Natasha could only scream out his name as Clint stepped without any hesitation into the emptiness. Let go.

Natasha had never felt her heart thunder the way it did at that very moment. Her whole system filled with so much adrenaline that it nearly took her breath away. If Clint would _go_ , like _this_ …

She had just enough time to notice a thunderbolt of red until Tony was already there. Rushing, with all there was in his suit. Desperately trying to beat the speed at which gravity was pulling Clint towards the ground. He was already so close to crashing…

And then, a blink after Natasha was sure that it was too late, Clint's whole weight smashed against Tony's suit. With a horrific, chilling sound that screamed of broken bones and who knows what else. For a few endless moments the suited man spun, almost losing control. It wasn't until on the very last second the Iron Man was able to right himself so that he met the ground feet first, Clint's limp form securely in his hold.

For a heartbeat, two, Natasha was only able to breathe. Before her feet took over and she ran the few steps separating her from the men. She cursed Tony loudly in Russian before focusing on Clint. She frowned and shivered upon seeing the small yet steady trail of blood running from the Hawk's nose. The man was very, very pale and unconscious. "What happened? Did he hit his head?"

Tony shook his head. Then nodded. "I… I have no idea, okay? He… I think he hit _everything_ , with how roughly I had to catch him."

"Is he breathing?" No response, only wheezing breathing that didn't come from the archer. "Tony, is he breathing?"

* * *

The security footage ended to where Tony caught Clint. As far as the roomful of people was concerned, they didn't need to see further. The silence which followed was so absolute that a gasp would've been caught easily.

"Thank you, director Stryker. You may be seated." Thaddeus Ross stood, his eyes hard and cold in the room's artificial light. "Ladies and gentlemen, what you just witnessed glimpses of was a scientific experiment agent Barton consented to, in order to prove that he was mentally fit for duty after Sokovia. He was the only one of the team to consent. As you just saw he failed spectacularly and tragically." He took a few long, elegant steps to be seen better. "In the files in front of you is a list of the chemicals we used in order to best mimic the experience of mind control. I also included the daily reports of his therapist, who kept monitoring his progress throughout the entire experiment."

"It lasted for almost two weeks."

"That is correct, and I'd like to remind you that agent Barton agreed to it all in his full understanding. The contract he signed is right there in the file." Ross gave his audience a few moments to read through all the documents. "As you all know, he already succumbed to mind control once, with Loki. It was important to ensure that the same thing wouldn't happen again now that Wanda Maximoff has been accepted to training."

"I was under the impression that Maximoff is on our side, now", someone commented.

"But for how long? She's already switched sides ones. How can we trust that she won't do it again if it suited her?" Ross wrinkled his nose at the memory of certain reports. "She encountered the Avengers several times before Sokovia and managed to take over almost all their minds. It was pure luck that Barton escaped that treatment. And she could do it again, anytime she wishes." He gritted his teeth. "Take a look at the team we have, ladies and gentlemen. Steve Rogers, a wartime relic, a scientific experiment. Tony Stark, a childish billionaire who wears a metal suit and imagines that he's a superhero. Thor, a royalty from… some different realm, whose brother tried to take over our whole world and nearly destroyed New York. And now _both_ of them have vanished!" He shook his head. "And what about the rest of them? Enemies! A former Soviet spy and an assassin who could choose to turn on us any day. Hulk, a monster! You saw the destruction he was capable of both in New York and Sokovia! How could we ever trust such a creature? And now it has vanished as well. Who knows how many people it'll kill before we contain it. What else do they have? Vision, Stark's creation that's every bit as unreliable as the man himself. And Maximoff." He slammed the file closed. "I think we can agree that we've seen everything there's to know about Barton. He was a criminal before the S.H.I.E.L.D foolishly recruited him, and as an Avenger he became the team's weakest link. We're all aware of how many people he killed under Loki's influence. But he isn't the only problem. When Hulk lost control because of Maximoff and Stark had to stop him… That number of casualties doesn't even bear remembering." His eyes narrowed. "In many ways, those selected to the team have been incredibly skilled and powerful. But they're also very, very vulnerable to outside influences, as well as to the tricks of their own minds. And one of these days that vulnerability, that humanity, may make them the mankind's greatest threat." He could still remember the pictures from Sokovia and New York, very vividly. "And even if they didn't lose their way… How much collateral damage are we willing to accept? How many innocent deaths can we bear and still claim that they won? They're already dangerous."

"They've saved countless of lives", a female voice reasoned. "They subdued Loki in New York, when the team had barely been assembled. And in Sokovia…"

"Yes", Ross nearly hissed. "I'm very much aware of their accomplishments. They're very powerful together. That is what worries me." His hand shifted to lay on a new file. "I believe that even if agent Barton survives the… unfortunate outcome of this experiment, he'll agree that his place isn't with the Avengers. But I do worry about the rest of them. They can either destroy the world, or save it. What makes the difference… is control."

"Control?" a heavily accented male voice wondered with suspicion.

* * *

When Nick Fury received the report he felt physically ill.

Stryker's taunting worked on Clint like a bullfighter's cape. Of course the fool agreed to the cruel, horrific plan that was nothing short of a trap. The Hawk wanted to prove his mental strength, even more to himself than to Stryker. The archer remained incredibly strong, almost succeeded, until something the man didn't know to expect happened.

Fury knew that there was only one thing strong enough to break Clint even before Wanda confirmed it. The girl spent fifteen minutes in Clint's hospital room before emerging with moist, oddly haunted eyes and muttered only a single word. "Telepath."

Stryker unleashed a telepath on Clint. Along with a sickening amount of drugs. Now the man lay in a hospital, with no certainty of whether he'd ever wake up again. Fury didn't know what made Stryker despise Clint enough to make the man do something so vicious or what the full plan behind the decision was. But he'd do whatever it'd take to ensure that in the future the Hawk would be safe from people who were supposed to be allies.

The lost, scrawny brat Phil Coulson dragged home, once upon a time, had ended up growing on him – even if he'd kill anyone who dared to suggest as much.

But apparently the bad news weren't over yet. Because there was a knock on his door, and a gloomy faced Maria Hill entered. "Stryker?" he guessed.

She shook her head. "Worse. Ross." She tossed a thin pile of paper on him like it burned.

Fury frowned. He wondered if he even wanted to know… "What's this?"

"Sokovia Accords."

* * *

For the first time in… he didn't even know how long Clint didn't feel cold as he lay on an already familiar bed at the Farm, with Laura securely in his embrace. Outside the building's walls a nasty wind had picked up and it sounded almost like screams, voices calling out his name. He ignored it, ignored pretty much everything else but the woman in his arms.

"Do you think this is real, this time?" Laura murmured against his chest, her breath ghosting above where his heart was beating.

Clint shrugged with one shoulder and pulled her closer still. Held on. "All I know is that I'm not going anywhere, this time. If reality means that you're not real, then I'm not a fan."

Laura kissed his nose. Her hand was warm and soft when it squeezed his. "Sap", she accused without any venom. "Now open your eyes and wake up, honey."

Clint stiffened and whatever warmth he'd felt faded away. He shook his head and pulled her close. "I'm not waking up without you."

"Oh, shut it, you stubborn fool of a man." Laura kissed him a one more time, this time on the lips. For a few fleeting seconds her taste was all that fit into his head. "You'll never lose me, got that? Ever. So wake up."

It wasn't like he had much choice over the matter. Because she was already slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. So he did the only thing he could think of to follow her.

He opened his eyes.

* * *

It'd been endlessly long nine days. Full of far more downs than ups, marked by far too little positive development. At some point the team decided to stop trying to count the setbacks.

Internal bleeding. An infected surgical wound. A sudden drop of vitals. And in the end Wanda announced, hoarsely and barely holding back tears, that she couldn't feel Clint's mind anymore. Hard as they fought since realizing that he was missing, it looked like they found him too late.

But no matter how bleak the doctors' verdicts were, the team refused to give up. Couldn't bring themselves to stop waiting for a miracle. Yet as time passed by they had to admit that they were exhausted. And frustrated.

Natasha vanished as soon as the full extend of Clint's condition was revealed. Tony seemed to do whatever he could to avoid the hospital, including launching his team of lawyers on Stryker. Even if there was fairly little they could do, since Clint had signed the idiotic contract and they had no solid proof of a telepath having been used against the archer. Wanda and Steve spent as much time as they could at the hospital. Even though it was never spoken of they both feared that if they'd leave Clint alone for even a minute the man might be snatched from them again.

Wanda talked to Clint a lot, when she imagined that Steve was asleep and wouldn't hear. Always in her native tongue, so he couldn't understand her, but the look on her face and her tone revealed enough. A few times he heard Pietro's name, and at least once he could've sworn that he saw Clint twitch just a little bit as a response. Or maybe he imagined it.

At the moment it was five thirty in the morning, and a little over an hour earlier Wanda had finally fallen asleep for the first time in five days. Steve was just about to follow when he saw something that froze him for a very long moment. His eyes widened just a little bit, trying to convince him of what he was seeing.

Clint's eyes were open and darting around wildly, trying to understand.

"Clint?" No visible response, and Steve's chest tightened. One of the great many doctors who'd seen the Hawk since the beginning of this whole ordeal revealed, carefully, that due to head injury and the… treatment before it was impossible to tell if there was brain damage before the archer would wake up. The brain activity detected thus far and his friend's current level of awareness were discouraging. "Clint, can you hear my voice? Do you understand me?"

Clint didn't seem to be listening. But at least the man's eyes finally stopped, to Wanda. The look of horror and sheer anguish which appeared would've shattered any decent person's heart.

Steve frowned. What did those people do to Clint's mind? "It's alright", he assured as gently and confidently as he could. "She's okay, just very tired. And you'll…"

Finally Clint acknowledged him. And in a few moments he wished that the archer hadn't. The look on the man's face… He'd never seen anything like it before. "You… You betrayed me… You killed them… You took them…" The archer swallowed convulsively, struggling to push himself up. "Steve, I… I… I'm so…! I couldn't… I couldn't have you take them…!"

Steve frowned. He wanted to grab his friend's shoulder, do something that'd make the man snap out of whatever he was going through, but feared what it might cause. "Clint, what are you talking about? No one's been taken away."

At that point Wanda also woke up. She frowned, still half asleep and confused. "Clint? What…?"

"I killed you!" The sudden admission froze everything but Clint himself. A single tear rolled down the hysterical man's cheek. "I… I killed… I can't…!"

Despite having only just woken up Wanda clicked incredibly quickly. She placed both hands to the sides of Clint's head. When he began to struggle against her she started murmuring softly, words that would've been lost on Steve even if he understood the language. Eventually the archer's eyes slipped closed and the man fell limp.

"I told him to sleep a little longer", Wanda explained, her voice tight and clipped.

Steve nodded, still slightly shaken from what he just saw. He swallowed hard before talking. "What did they do to him?"

Wanda couldn't answer. Instead she got up and dashed to the room's toilet. A couple of seconds later he could hear her throwing up.

* * *

The first time Clint woke up there were ghosts keeping him company. The second time he found a grim-faced Natasha instead. Only someone who knew her as well as he did saw the relief in her eyes as she realized that he was awake. "What that asshole did to you… I can never get it completely out of your head. But there's something I think you need. Do you remember what happened?"

Clint nodded stiffly and looked away. It all flooded into his head yet again, and he just wanted to… He wiggled without noticing it.

"Don't. Your back's broken from two places and you're very lucky to not have suffered spinal damage. So don't make it worse. Just listen to me." Natasha met his eyes evenly, without a hint of lie. She'd never lied to him, not even in his hallucination. Or was it a dream…?

His head spinning and buzzing, Clint focused on his hands to see if they'd improved at all. What he discovered made his heart skip a beat. The vicious, painful burns... They were gone. "What...? My hands... Burned them... Where...?"

Natasha frowned. "What are you talking about? There wasn't a single burn-mark on either of your hands. One of the many I.V. lines those people opened had gotten infected but that was the worst of it. Whatever you think you saw... It was all in your head."

All in his head... The deaths... The kills... The burns... Clint was nowhere near a condition where he could process it. A wheezing noise erupted when he attempted to breathe properly.

"Clint, you'll be alright. Steve and Wanda are alright, you never lay a finger on them." She gave him a few moments. "Now, are you lucid enough to talk to someone?"

He was about to protest until he realized that she was holding a phone and all sorts of dangerous hopes began to spark to life. He nodded far too eagerly, staring at the item hungrily. "Yeah. Yeah, I am", he confirmed hoarsely.

Natasha considered, then decided to believe him. She fiddled with the phone for a while before turning it towards him. Cooper's face filled the screen.

" _Hey dad._ " The boy turned the phone a little, showing Laura, Lila and Nate, who were all sleeping soundly. " _They tried to wait for you, but fell asleep._ "

Clint barely heard. All that fit into his head was that his family was right there, before his very eyes. The Farm… Laura… The kids… Real, all of it.

" _Dad, what's wrong?_ "

Clint shook his head. How could anything be wrong when…? "Nothing, buddy, nothing. Don't worry." He barely recognized his voice. He wiped his eyes quickly and subtly. "Just, I… My head's not working straight yet."

Cooper frowned, appearing old beyond his years. " _Aunt Tasha said that you've been having bad dreams since you got hurt. Are you okay?_ "

Clint nodded. "Just dreams, buddy. Nothing more." He drank in the sight of his family, his heart hammering and rejoicing in his chest to a point where he feared it might break. "Now get…" He cleared his throat when his voice faded. "Get some sleep, yeah? I love you."

Cooper gave him a small wave. " _I love you too, dad. See you soon._ " Then the screen turned black, and for exactly ten seconds Clint feared that it all might've been a hallucination, after all.

"Clint?"

Natasha's voice was somehow enough to pull him to the present. He felt tears in his eyes and on his cheeks but couldn't wipe them away. "I… I'm fine. Just…" He gasped once, twice. "If… If that was a dream… Don't make me wake up. Promise me you won't wake me up." He fell asleep, exhausted by his injuries and emotional turmoil, before hearing Natasha's answer.

* * *

Clint's physical recovery was slow and painful. The emotional healing even more so. He had nightmares every time he tried to sleep and he could barely stand being around Steve and Wanda. He kept calling the Farm ten times a day, and even with that he had a constant fear that it was all some sort of a nasty trick. That any given second his family would be snatched away from him all over again.

At least he was eventually allowed to move around a little. Well, as much as anyone could with a back that had two breaks on it, four broken ribs and a fractured skull. A small army of medical professionals told him to take it easy. After… far too long Clint decided that taking it easy would drive him insane.

So he tried to do what he usually did when something was really, truly bothering him. He attempted to walk it off. Too bad he didn't remember the current limitations of his body.

It was Tony who found him, half slumped, half collapsed from the hospital's staircase. The billionaire frowned. "You're not gonna take a nap there, are you, Feathers?" The barely disguised worry made the whole situation feel even worse.

Clint shook his head, embarrassed and in so much pain that it made him want to scream. "Nah. Just… Catching my breath."

"Did your back spasm again?"

How Tony knew, Clint would never figure out. The archer nodded and tried to find a more comfortable position which didn't exist. "Beat my record, though."

"I can see that. Enjoy before Natasha beats you up for your idiocy." Tony sat down as casually as was possible in such a situation, then showed a small plastic bag that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. "A marshmallow?"

Clint blinked four times. Then finally took one. "Why do you have marshmallows?"

Tony shrugged, stuffing at least three candies into his mouth and chewing loudly. "Now felt like a good time for marshmallows." Clearly it was as simple as that.

It was comforting that at least one tiny thing was still simple.

They sat there for a long moment, easing their minds and bodies while the violent spasms that'd taken over Clint's back subsided slowly. A few people passing by gave them long looks. They didn't even notice.

Eventually Tony pouted upon peering into the bag. "Well, that was the last of them. Now… Are you ready to share with Dr. Stark what's in that battered, thick skull of yours?"

Clint's eyes darkened. The kind of discomfort that made him feel uneasy in his own skin made itself known. "That telepath of Stryker's… She found out about my family."

Tony processed that for a long time. "Well, crap." The inventor frowned. "You think she'll use it?"

Clint shook his head. "No idea." And that was the worst part. He didn't know if she'd tell Stryker, didn't know if she might go after Laura and the kids herself. He just didn't know. "I don't even know if she still thinks that I believed the story of them being nothing but a trick of imagination. But…" He trailed off.

"… you really wouldn't want to take any chances. Trust me, I get it. If that was Pepper…" Tony's voice broke, like something had hurt immensely all of a sudden. The billionaire cleared his throat. "Do you remember her name? Maybe I could try to look her up."

* * *

In a luxury car Emma opened her eyes, a far different color than those she let Clint see, as the vehicle stopped to a red light. She peered through the window to see the very edge of the city. "Where are you taking me? Someplace where I'm put down?"

"No", Stryker announced calmly, not looking up from the documents he'd been skimming through. "For now you're too valuable to be disposed of. I still have use for someone… like you."

Emma smirked wryly. "Mutant. It's a big, terrifying word, isn't it?" She nodded towards the seat beside the man, at a file. "Is that what I asked for?" There was one thing she demanded as a payment for what she just did. She was surprised that the man had complied.

"Yes. That would be your mother." Stryker sounded like he'd been talking about the weather. "Everything we managed to find out about her before her… untimely passing."

Emma grabbed the file. ' _Frost, Emma_ ', said the sticker on it. Well, she had known that she was named after her mother. "I'm sure that you cheered when you discovered that she was pregnant. Was she the only pregnant one your people ever captured?" She rolled her eyes when he didn't dignify her with a response. "So you're going to pretend that I don't exist again."

Stryker continued to work while the car crawled forward before stopping to another red light. "I do wonder…", the man mused all of a sudden, almost conversationally. "… what you made Barton see and believe, to finally break him."

Flashes of that beautiful family flooded through Emma's mind. She gritted her teeth and glared at the man in front of her with open disgust. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand."

Stryker was about to ask, or perhaps retort. But just then car's door opened and a tall, elderly man slipped into, closing the door again with a flick of a hand. Stryker frowned, too confused by the sudden appearance to notice the trick. "Hey, what…?" And suddenly the protective metal helmet which had been sitting on top of the man's head was floating in the air. Emma reacted quickly and instinctively, grabbing a greedy, painful hold of the unprotected, terrified mind.

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You captured my mother and killed her, almost me as well in the process. You've kept me locked up like some animal in a zoo all my life. I should fry your brain. I should mess you up in ways that you can't even imagine and then kill you when you beg for it, slowly and painfully." She looked towards the arrival. "But something tells me that my… companion wouldn't appreciate it."

"Actually, I would. But not yet. We could use someone in your position, for a little while." The other man leaned closer. "I'm Magneto. And unless you want to die right now, after all, you're going to do something for me."

"You're going to do as he says. And you're also going to forget that we even exist, until we come back for you and finally kill you in exactly the way you deserve." Emma glared at Stryker, already imagining some horrible things for the man. "Is that clear?"

Stryker nodded frantically, his eyes growing hazy as she twisted and turned his mind, making it feel like barbwire in his brain.

Emma smiled sweetly. "Good. I'm glad that we understand each other."

* * *

Clint had no idea how long passed. He stopped counting the days because it stressed him out more than it helped. He called Laura and the kids several times a day but it only helped so much. Whenever he dozed off he dreamt of them not being real again and woke up drenched in cold sweat. Sometimes, on the worst nights, he dreamt of Steve killing them. Of a violent firestorm stealing away his whole world.

Healing would take time, a lot of it. But at least eventually he was able to leave the horrific building behind. On that afternoon Natasha entered his hospital room with a suspiciously sly look on her face. "Ready to go home?"

Clint sighed heavily. "Yeah. I think the staff's gonna have a party when I've walked through the doors."

Natasha nodded. "Good to hear that you're ready. Because I brought someone with me. She's going to help you get settled, since you'll be needing special help for a while."

New steps entered the room. "Afternoon, agent Barton. My name is Laura and I'll be your homecare nurse."

At first Clint stared, unable to react, feeling so much that it paralyzed him. Then he ran. With all the speed he could muster, ignoring physical discomfort. His arms wrapped around Laura with such force that she gasped.

Clint gasped as well while he held her. Took in everything – her warmth, her familiar scent, the way she fit into his arms perfectly… "You're real", he murmured. "You're real… You're actually real… You're real…"

Laura held him back as tightly as she dared to. "Yeah, I am." She turned her head just enough to kiss his neck. Once, twice. "I'm real, Clint. And I'm going to take you home. The nightmare's over."

* * *

None of the remaining Avengers quite knew what to think when Laura announced that she'd take them all to the Farm. Because Clint wasn't the only one in a desperate need of healing. The following two months revealed as much.

Clint was definitely a mess, inside and out. Walking obviously still hurt immensely, no matter how hard the man tried to put on a brave front. And he barely dared to let Laura and the kids out of his sight. Nights weren't for resting anymore. Especially during the first month the nightmares were so frequent and intense that Laura feared for both their sanity. Even when the Hawk was wide awake there were far too many times when he would look at them all with sad, haunted eyes, for a far too long moment obviously wondering if they were real. Laura made a habit of kissing his left eyebrow whenever she noticed him zoning out. (' _Stop frowning or you'll age ten years in a week_ ', she scolded him every single time. And after three and a half weeks he finally smiled.) Lila was, thankfully, too young to notice any of it but Cooper wasn't. Nor was the boy oblivious to how close they came to losing Clint, yet again. The boy kept shadowing his dad's every step almost to the same extend the man did theirs.

Guilt did funny things to Tony. Laura noticed the excessive drinking as soon as she stopped being worried insane about her husband, and kept the inventor busy with chores to distract him. Usually they were chores that magically ended up needing Clint's help. At first the forced cooperation was painfully awkward. But soon, seeing with his own two eyes that Clint would recover and possibly finally understanding that the archer would've died without the billionaire's miraculous catch, Tony began to relax. As much as someone as hyperactive as Tony ever could, anyway. The banter returned. Finally the billionaire headed to a business trip with one of his megawatt grins, and Laura knew that he didn't need the Farm's care anymore.

Steve and Wanda… Clint took a lot of time before daring to try to patch things up with them. The archer never fully revealed what thoughts had been planted into his head but their impact was apparent. For several weeks Clint flinched whenever Steve or Wanda tried to approach him. Especially Wanda's powers were a touchy topic for obvious reasons. But time did miracles. One morning Laura woke up to discover that Clint had needed a 'walk' after a nightmare and wasn't in the bed anymore. She found him asleep on their sofa, with Wanda sitting beside him so that the girl's head rested against his shoulder. The sight brought a smile to Laura's lips.

Clint was her very own mess and he'd be alright.

But it was also clear that Clint wouldn't be quite the same again. One late evening, after the kids had gone to bed, she sat on a porch with Natasha and watched Clint chopping firewood with Steve. Both men laughed at some joke the women couldn't hear.

"So when is Clint going to make his retirement official?"

Laura almost choked on the glass of sparkling water she'd been downing. She gawked at the redhead. "How…?"

"I've known him for a pretty long time. He's been thinking about it since Sokovia, and this solidified it." Natasha had a thoughtful look on her face. "I can tell that he's finally ready."

Laura sighed. She was probably being horribly selfish, but she was looking forward to her husband staying at home, to not having to wait for _the call_ , to not having to wait and see how bad of a condition he might return in this time. "He's going to talk to Fury this weekend. Maybe after that."

Natasha nodded. "The rest of us… We wouldn't know what else to do anymore, if we weren't Avengers. But this life suits him. He's always been more Clint Barton than Hawkeye."

Laura smiled fondly. She watched with love in her eyes how Clint grinned and patted Steve on the shoulder. "That's what makes him special", she decided, whispering the words mostly to herself. She stretched, feeling something pop pleasantly. "Try to keep the boys in line. I don't want him being called back from his retirement just because Tony and Steve can't play nicely."

Natasha groaned. "I'll do my best. But I'm no miracle worker."

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: A bit of foreshadowing for 'Civil War'… A hint of X-Men… AND, lots of Clint-WHUMP, obviously. Soooo… How was that mixture? Any good, at all? Do leave a note to the box below to let me know!

Awkay, I REALLY need to get some sleep, now. Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care, and look after all the Hawkeyes in the world!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Me, evil? Nooo…! (whistles innocently) But SERIOUSLY, let's hope that Clint's lovely little family is very much real! Gah, a quite heartbreaking ride, isn't this?

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

DanishGirl: I've so, SO, SO happy that you've enjoyed the past few chapters so much! (BEAMS) We'll see just how this newest, twisted lil' story ends… (gulps)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	78. Last Christmas

A/N: I'M BAAAAAAACK! I'm SO SORRY for being MIA. Christmas took me away from my laptop, and around that time things have been a bit hectic. (smirks apologetically) BUT, I'M BACK NOW! Yay?

THANK YOU, SO MUCH, for all your AMAZING reviews, listings and support! I still can't get over how many people read these silly tales. (BEAMS, and HUGS) You guys are PRECIOUS!

Awkay, because I've already been away too long… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the chapter!

 **ADDITIONAL NOTE:** I decided on the song mentioned in this chapter (which was what gave this chapter its title) only days before George Michael passed away. NO disrespect intended! RIP, George, you won't be forgotten! And my sincere condolences to his family and loved ones. (2016 took away far too many amazing people!)

* * *

Last Christmas

* * *

Clint hated 'Last Christmas'. He'd never particularly cared for the song, and after hearing it three times in two hours he truly, positively detested it. The situation he was currently stuck in certainly didn't help matters.

The cold didn't help matters, and it was only getting worse.

Clint blinked sluggishly and groaned, wishing that he would've been able to twist himself to a better position. His back wasn't happy with him and his head was even worse. Neither of them bothered him as much as the cold, though. He really wished that the car's heating system still worked.

The chorus of 'Last Christmas' bombarded his aching skull mercilessly. Clint groaned and wiggled the best as he could, trying to find a hint of comfort. And warmth. The cold wouldn't leave him for even a second.

"Stop pouting." The familiar voice managed to snatch at least a tiny bit of his attention. "You look like a five-year-old, Barton."

Clint groaned again and rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it. I'm freezing, and that song just won't stop."

His companion chuckled with disbelief. "You're stranded in the middle of nowhere. And you're complaining about a Christmas song?"

"And it's cold." Clint fought the urge to kick the radio. Why wouldn't the song end? And why couldn't the radio break down instead of the heater? There was no justice in the world. "Don't forget about the cold." What was that noise crawling through his throat? "I want a cigarette."

"Do you even remember how many years ago you quit? Laura would kill you." There was a moment of silence, during which the song finally faded away. "Or she thinks you've quit, anyway."

Clint smiled. His eyelids were growing heavy and he noticed with pleasure that it was getting warmer. Maybe he wouldn't freeze to death just before Christmas, anyway. "The only secret I've ever managed to keep from her", he mumbled fondly.

"You should quit for real, though." The voice talking to him seemed to come from a further distance than it should've. "You're too smart to be a smoker."

Clint groaned and sighed. "Don't feel very smart right now", he admitted. The headache was getting worse. He was glad that it was dark outside, because he doubted he would've been able to handle bright lights at the moment.

He shivered with surprise when all of a sudden his phone began to ring. He managed to shift his head just enough to see its faint light shining in the practically absolute darkness. So that was where he dropped it earlier…!

How funny that the phone was on the inner side of the car's ceiling. How was that even possible? Items didn't drop upwards. Did they?

After a lot of fumbling he finally had the phone. A few slow blinks later he figured out what he was supposed to do with it. The screen was cracked. Pity, it was a new phone and he'd liked it.

" _Barton?_ " Natasha's voice was sharp and demanding. " _Clint, you moron, can you hear me?_ "

The sudden loud volume made him shiver and wince. "Yeah… Yeah, I can. Stop shouting." He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a desperate attempt to get his thoughts sorted. His head was a mess. "The car broke down. Or something."

Natasha took a deep breath. Or sighed. Whatever it was, it shuddered subtly. " _Are you in one piece? Because you sound drunk and I doubt you've been partying._ "

Clint frowned again. "You sure? Feels like a bad hangover. Like… Dublin, all over again." He then thought harder and shook his head. "Nah, I wouldn't drive if I was hangover…"

Natasha talked to someone – or rather shouted at someone – before snatching his attention just before he would've drifted to sleep. " _Stark's system located you. Stay put and stay awake. We're coming to get you._ "

Clint shrugged. He had a feeling that he should've been a lot more worried than he was. "Not going anywhere", he swore. He yawned, which resulted to a rather pathetic moan. "Coulson's got a pretty bad gash on his back. Gotta stick around to keep watch."

For a while he imagined that the connection broke because Natasha didn't react. When she spoke again her voice didn't sound right. Or maybe the problem was with his hearing. " _I'm almost there. So stay awake, do you hear me?_ "

Didn't she already say that? Natasha didn't usually repeat herself. Clint would've wanted to ask if she was alright but didn't quite have the energy for it. He closed his eyes and dropped the phone, listening to the radio with half an ear. 'Last Christmas' started playing again.

"You think we'll make it home this time?" Clint mused barely audibly.

Phil didn't answer him. Even though it required almost all the strength he had left Clint wrestled his eyes halfway open. Phil was awake, at least. Sat there on bloodstained snow, right where the man flew through the windshield when they crashed. Fresh snow kept falling, bringing a hint of beauty to the macabre sight. It all seemed like a dream.

But why was Phil upside down? And the whole world in front of him, for the matter? How was it possible that the phone he dropped fell to the vehicle's ceiling instead of the floor? It didn't strike him until several slow blinks later.

Well. Crap. He trashed another car, then. (Well, technically it was the bad guys' fault. And car. Clint remembered now that _they_ did the trashing.) If he made it through this alive Fury would murder him. Or Laura might. The day before Christmas Eve and he was trying to get himself killed…

Where were they, again? North Pole? Saving Santa from terrorists? That'd be a great bedtime story for the kids. Or not. Laura had made it very clear that she didn't appreciate that kind of bedtime tales and Clint could relate.

Very dimly Clint realized that at some point he'd stopped feeling cold entirely. Good. Finally a small hint of luck.

"Nat's gonna be here soon", Phil pointed out. "Take a nap. I'll keep watch."

Clint didn't exactly have any choice over the matter. His eyes slipped closed without any conscious decision. "'you gonna be here when I wake up?" he slurred barely comprehensibly. "'not checking out on me?" Phil seemed to be the more severely injured one of them. He needed to make sure…

"Not going anywhere."

Clint chose to trust that promise, the comfort those words brought. He sighed, wincing at the pain inhaling caused, and sunk a little deeper. Drifted. Faded.

The never-ending chorus of 'Last Christmas' lulled him to sleep.

* * *

It was supposed to be a rather simple, straightforward mission. Obtain as much information on a newly discovered terrorist cell as possible. Destroy it. Leave.

Of course it couldn't be that simple.

While a useless group of agents had been gathering prior intel to prepare them with, the tiny cell had grown. The single base-building had gained two smaller side-buildings. Clint and Natasha decided to take care of those while Steve and Tony both gathered further information and handled the main target. It was supposed to be a good plan.

And it was, until it wasn't.

They hadn't been prepared for the amount of enemies they faced. Or for the amount of weaponry those people had. Despite her talent Natasha soon found herself in a trouble. Which was when Clint came up with the brilliant plan to create a distraction. When a series of explosions began, Natasha remembered that she should never, ever let Clint make plans.

Clint actually succeeded in taking down pretty much all of the building. Explosive arrows directed at the correct spots were efficient. What was left would never serve as a base again.

* * *

/ _"What the…" Tony remembered on the last second that Steve was using the same frequency. "…_ bananas _was that?"_

 _"I knocked." Clint sounded out of breath. Had the idiot injured himself? "Now finish up and bring the house down. I think these guys want a joyride."_

 _Natasha felt very, very eager to retort. But there were alarming noises, and then something happened to Clint's comm. She wondered if she'd ever hear his voice again._ /

* * *

Clint did succeed in forcing the enemy to take attention away from Natasha and the main-base. Natasha took down the few remaining hostiles with the power or adrenaline and rage. After that she headed to the snowy nothingness, telling herself that she'd get the chance to smack her best friend for pulling off a stunt like this once she'd find him.

Tony and Steve were still busy but the Iron Man's very much functioning tracking system was a great help. She followed the blinking light on her phone's screen until she saw the silhouette of a black car in the middle of a soon breaking blizzard. The vehicle held their enemy's symbol but she knew better and picked up pace, ignoring her heavy amount of bruising. The car had been shot several times before it fell off an alarmingly high cliff.

If there was any hope left, at all…

The wreck of metal lay there upside down, far more bullet holes on it than she could count. It was far too easy to imagine how it could've all ended in an explosion. Clint was also upside down, his eyes closed and a horrible, still bleeding gash marring the side of his head. His lips were blue.

Did he get shot, too? How many broken bones did he have? How badly injured was he before starting the drive?

Natasha slid down the cliff and landed far less gracefully than was her usual style. It didn't matter. As soon as she found her feet she reached for her comm. "I found him." Her jawline was so tight that it hurt. "I know that you two are busy, but do you think you could get a med-evac here?"

" _How bad?_ " Steve demanded instantly, his voice far more tense than usual.

Natasha wanted to offer reassurances. For both their sakes. She couldn't. "Bad. Just…" She swallowed, almost sure that she could smell her friend's blood. "Just get help here, before the blizzard worsens. I'll try to help him."

Steve punched someone. Very, very hard. " _Already on it._ " This was why she liked the Captain. No pointless questions, no rambling. Just straight to the point.

" _Widow?_ " Tony sounded almost painfully young. And… scared, could it be? " _He's… He'll be okay, right?_ "

Natasha had no idea what to say. Clint saved her from having to answer. The archer groaned quietly and wrinkled his nose, pale and obviously in a great deal of pain.

"Clint, I need you stay awake for a while, alright?" Natasha did her best to sound calm and firm. She had no idea if she succeeded. "You're upside down in a vehicle that just went through an accident. You shouldn't be moved but I can't leave you there, either. So you need to tell me if your back or neck hurts, alright? I need you to stay awake."

Clint blinked sluggishly, once, twice. "Phil… his back…" The archer appeared panicked all of a sudden as his hazy eyes darted around. "… is he …? … okay?..."

It took a great deal of self-control to keep her emotions from showing. She nodded stiffly. "Coulson's alright. Now focus. I'm going to move you and it'll be unpleasant."

Clint seemed to be lost into a world of his own. Natasha could only hope that he'd be alerted if she'd do something that might cause more harm than good. She took a deep breath, then did her best to support him and cut the seatbelt.

Clint's scream rang through the whole area.

Natasha's chest felt uncomfortably tight and she fought to keep herself under control. With gritted teeth she dragged her friend away the best as she could, wondering what the safe distance might be. It was no easy feat, since she was bruised and Clint was not only bigger but also limp weight. Eventually she had no other choice but to just stop, panting and groaning. There, trembling pitiably with her friend in her arms, she struggled to not wonder how much damage she just did to him.

The car exploded exactly one minute later. Despite his barely coherent condition Clint reacted instantly, moving to shield her. The blast deafened them both, and Natasha shuddered as her ears rung painfully. She wrapped one arm around Clint, partially because he soon began to slump, partially because she needed to remind herself that he was actually there, that she got him out.

Once her head cleared a little Natasha turned her gaze, sensing that they were no longer alone. Her eyes narrowed when she saw someone standing on the cliff she climbed down to get to Clint. The observer was holding a small device, and all of a sudden she understood why the car exploded although she couldn't spot a gas leak.

A car alarm from hell.

The mysterious person wore such heavy, white winter clothing that Natasha could only see a pair of ice blue eyes. Whoever this person was wasn't tall, but there was a clear aura of threat. Natasha's attention soon shifted to the mystery person's other hand. There was a gun, held confidently.

For several endless moments they stared at each other. Natasha knew full well that there was no way she could've taken down the observer before it was too late. She and Clint were under this hostile's mercy.

And then the observer holstered the gun, turned and walked away. Disappeared like a ghost. Left them to the snow, waiting for help that might or might not arrive before it was too late.

Natasha was so focused on making sure that no more unpleasant surprises would come that she nearly forgot her precious cargo. Until Clint shuddered and sighed heavily. When she looked down his eyes were closed. "Hey!" She shook his as much as she dared to. "No falling asleep, you hear me?"

Clint didn't seem to hear. Nor did he seem to be in pain anymore. There was a dazed, sad look on his face. "Phil… wasn't really here, was he?"

Natasha had imagined that she didn't have a heart for a very long time, but at those words something broke a little in her chest. "No, he wasn't." She wished that she could've convinced herself to lie. Maybe it would've been kinder.

Clint's shoulders dropped, and for a while his eyes shimmered suspiciously. He then looked at her, the best as he could. "You're here… Right?"

Natasha nodded. _Shut up, you idiot…!_ "I'm here", she confirmed.

Clint swallowed. He wouldn't remain conscious for long, no matter how hard either of them tried. "Stay?"

She squeezed his hand as tightly as she dared to. Even through gloves she could feel that he was much colder than he should've been. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

Clint seemed satisfied with that. His eyes slipped closed once more and all will left his muscles. It wasn't until then she noticed how his blood stained both the snow and her clothes. Too much blood, and more of it kept slipping away with each passing second.

Natasha had never believed in much of anything. But at that moment she swallowed and tightened her hold on Clint, then glared at the softly falling snow. The kind of fear she felt at that moment… "Don't you dare, Coulson", she growled. "He's not going with you yet, you hear?"

Only the wind whispering answered her.

* * *

The small house – more of a hut – was dark but warm as person who just visited Clint and Natasha entered, then began to peel off the heavy clothes. Revealing a sixteen years old girl. Long, tightly braided blonde hair fell far down her back.

" _Is the situation under control?_ "

" _Yes, father. The archer is dead. They didn't get the flash drive._ " She took it from him while he was unconscious, just before the woman arrived.

" _Good. So the operation is safe. Do you remember what you must do now?_ "

She nodded. Of course she knew. She'd been prepared for this her whole life. She and her sisters.

* * *

Natasha must've dozed off. Because she was alerted by the sounds of snow rustling. Her eyes opened and glared death threats at whoever dared to threaten her and Clint.

Clint was very cold and unmoving against her.

What she found was a grim-faced Steve leading a rescue crew. The Captain ensured that the whole crowd stopped at a healthy distance from her. "Natasha, it's okay. We'll help you both. It's alright – we'll get out of here."

That sounded like a marvelous idea. Because Natasha was freezing, and Clint probably wasn't any better. She was reluctant to let strangers look after her friend but also knew that she was in no condition to do so. She watched critically how the medical personnel assessed and treated Clint, even though she understood only a few words from here and there.

Hypothermia. Shock. Internal bleeding. Possible amputation.

And then they were taking Clint away. She snarled and tried to get up to follow, but fell down instantly. She tried again and failed again. Her friend was carried further and further away.

Natasha shuddered and almost struck when Steve made his way to her a little too quickly. "Come on", he urged softly. "Let's go to the hospital."

Natasha couldn't remember the previous time she would've accepted such a trip without protests.

* * *

Natasha wasn't fully certain what happened in between. She remembered Steve helping her to sit beside Clint. Then she woke up in a hospital. Which definitely didn't sit well with her.

Natasha was in the middle of tearing off all the tubes and wires connected to her when the room's door opened and Tony walked in. The billionaire looked like he could've used some sleep but grinned the second he saw her awake. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty", he greeted with cheeriness that didn't come from the heart. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Where's Clint?" Sharp. Straight to the point. She didn't feel like herself yet but at least she sounded like herself.

The way Tony's shoulders slumped was the first warning. The look in his eyes was the second. The third was how he swallowed with visible difficulty, his gaze dropping to keep it from meeting her demanding one. "He, ah… He was already pretty banged up when he drove off. And then there was the crash…"

"Not just a crash", Natasha pointed out. It felt important to mention that it wasn't just some stupid accident, the archer's bad luck. The amount of rage building up inside her couldn't be healthy. "The car was shot numerous times before he drove of that cliff. They took off and left him to die." Probably thought that he was dead already. A lot of people tended to underestimate Clint. On most days it infuriated her. This wasn't one of them.

Tony went on terrifyingly cautiously. "The injuries he had… They were bad. That idiot… He lost a lot of blood, and three toes." Were the billionaire's eyes moist, or was it the room's lights playing tricks? "His head and back… They were a mess, and they don't know…" The man's voice trailed off. She'd already heard too much.

Feelings, such Red Room never bothered to teach her how to deal with, rolled through her like a tidal wave. The room seemed to be closing in on her as she fought to breathe, unable to get enough air into her lungs. It felt like someone had set her chest-area on fire, a sensation which immediately made her feel a thousand times worse.

This was all her fault. If he hadn't been luring those criminals away from her… If she hadn't…

Natasha doubled her previous efforts to get out of the bed. It didn't matter that she probably wouldn't be able to walk very far. She was ready to drag herself if she had to. She needed to see Clint. Had to make sure…

A gentle push from Tony was all it took to make her sit back down. "Oh no, you're not going anywhere. Feel that grape at the back of your head? And those three bruised ribs? You're gonna take it nice and easy for a while."

Physically capable of it or not, Natasha felt ready to beat up her friend. Her left eyebrow twitched as a headache made itself known. Breathing was also still far more challenging than it should've been. She had to get out, had to… "I'm going to see him", she hissed. "With or without your help."

"He's in surgery, alright?" It was easy to tell how much Tony hated admitting as much. "So we… We'll just have to wait, okay?" Clearly he hated that as well.

Natasha didn't ask what the surgery was for. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. She curled up the best as she could without laying down and started biting her fingernails without even realizing it. Which was something she hadn't done since she was a little girl.

"Gingerbread cookies?"

Natasha must've zoned out. Because when Tony's voice grabbed her attention he was entering the room with a massive amount of mentioned cookies. Where did he even find them in a hospital? She wasn't sure whether she wanted to roll her eyes or laugh. Since the she didn't feel like following either impulse she only stared blankly.

"I always eat when I'm stressed out. And I know that you do, too." Tony sat heavily beside her and placed the cookies between them. His grin didn't appear as bright as it should've. "You tell no one about me, and I'll tell no one about you."

Natasha accepted the deal silently by taking a cookie and munching it slowly. It didn't make everything better magically but at least it was a tiny hint of comfort. For a while they sat in a thoughtful silence, both casting hopeful glances towards the door whenever steps could be heard. No news arrived.

"I think Clint's on to us", Natasha pointed out after the third cookie. Or was it the fourth? "Have you noticed all those special treats he buys us whenever he recovers from being injured?"

Tony blinked twice, a look of surprise appearing to his face. "The lemon muffins for you, and brownies for me. That guy is devious."

A knot formed in Natasha's stomach, and whatever appeal the cookies had before disappeared. They seemed to smell like Clint's blood. She swallowed hard to get rid of a sudden bout of nausea.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"No", she snapped.

"Get some sleep", Tony suggested, ignoring her burst of temper. How many cookies did he just shove into his mouth? His following words were barely comprehensible. "I'll wake you up if there are any news."

Natasha didn't have much other choice but to believe him. Keeping her eyes open wasn't an option so she closed them and lay down. Unpleasant images of a lifeless looking Clint appeared instantly, taunting her.

"Tasha?"

"Hmm?"

"What you did, over there… You saved that moron's life. He's gonna be fine."

Natasha gritted her teeth. She would've glared at him if her eyelids hadn't been so heavy. "I'm no hero, Stark."

"Nah, you're something better." Tony was chewing again. And probably dropping crumbs all over her bed. Such a child…! Or no, most children had better table manners. "You're an Avenger."

Natasha wouldn't have admitted it to a living soul. But for the first time since the snow and since finding the crushed car she felt warm. The reassuring weight of her arrow-necklace lulled her to sleep.

When she'd wake up Clint would be okay, she decided. She'd only have to worry about a headache. And endure the knowledge that she'd have to thank Tony.

* * *

Sometimes not knowing is a blessing. Natasha didn't know that only ten minutes after she fell asleep Steve showed up, a look on his face that froze blood into Tony's veins. The billionaire shuddered as the taste of cookies in his mouth turned into something unpleasant. "He crashed again, didn't he?"

Steve nodded grimly. "They were able to bring him back, barely, and they're continuing with the operation. But… They don't know…" The Captain trailed off and look away, every facial muscle tightening until they twitched. "I… called Laura. Just in case."

Tony shuddered again. Not only was that call a clear sign of just how badly wrong things were, of how close they were to losing Clint. But he could also imagine just how painful it must've been to the Captain. Since the discovery of Clint's family that knowledge had been a huge weight on Steve's shoulders. It'd never been mentioned out loud but since then the team-leader had felt an additional pressure to bring the Hawk back to his family. And when things got bad, or _really bad_ , like they did now…

"A cookie?" Tony shrugged at Steve's hilariously scandalized look. "It's no miracle cure but we haven't eaten anything in two days and it's supposed to be Christmas. And trust me, these cookies are the most eatable thing you'll find in this building."

Steve sighed heavily, then grabbed a chair, sat down and downed a couple of cookies. The Captain's eyes shifted towards Natasha. "How is she?"

"Cranky. But otherwise fine." Tony's mouth was once again full. It helped with the bad taste, at least a little. "She's gonna tear Barton a new one when he wakes up." No 'ifs', not in this case.

"I'm looking forward to it", Steve murmured softly, barely audibly.

Tony stared. Then smirked, pretending to not hear the true meaning of the words. "Steve Rogers, I knew that you have a dark side."

Outside the room someone hummed a Christmas carol while passing by. Otherwise the night after Christmas was silent and calm. Aside their munching and Natasha's snoring.

"Which one of us is gonna tell her that she snores?"

* * *

It was a bizarre experience.

Clint stood there, by the doorway of an operating theater. Watched how a team of medical professionals fought to perform what was nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Stared at his own, peaceful face. Listened how the machinery screamed and wailed.

Should he have been worried? Scared? Because… It was shocking how little he actually felt. It was like he was watching a movie.

"What are you doing here, Barton?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I… don't have any idea", he admitted and nodded towards his body. "Shouldn't I be… there?" Surreal, all of it.

"Yeah, you should be." Phil sounded… was sad the right word? Or exhausted? His former handler looked at him with a gaze he'd seen far too many times. It was Coulson's 'What have you done to yourself this time?' look. "So what are you doing here?"

Clint shrugged. "I followed you, I guess. A one more time."

Phil shook his head. "Not yet, Barton. There are still things you're supposed to see. And trust me, you want to stick around."

"Oh?" Clint returned, immediately curious. His eyebrow arched. "What things?"

Phil grinned. "You'll just have to stay and see for yourself." The man's expression became far more serious. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on Linda until you get to do it yourself."

Clint swallowed hard. His little angel girl, the one he and Laura were supposed to have before Lila was finally born. He'd already dreamt of names until they lost her before he got to see or hold her. "Thanks." What else was he supposed to say? _Tell her I love her, tell her I think about her every day, tell her I dream about her constantly…_ None of it sounded right. _I miss her, and I miss you, too._

Phil nodded. Then winced. "I'm sorry. This one's gonna hurt."

Clint frowned and was about to ask what Phil meant. Then he noticed that a doctor was preparing to restart his heart. He gritted his teeth and braced himself. The agony which soon flowed passed all his fears.

He screamed, even if only the ghost of Phil heard it, and soon the machines settled.

* * *

Nick Fury had never been a fan of Christmas. This one pleased him even less than the usual ones. There was nothing short of rage on his face as he skimmed through a pile of reports.

The Avengers did their best. But Stryker's team messed up the intel and everything went to hell. It was thanks to a miracle and Clint directing all that attention to himself the missions was successful and they made it through alive.

Or well, they might still lose Clint. And that thought really, truly bothered Fury. More than he would've admitted to anyone.

It wasn't the only thing bothering him. "Barton wasn't only trying to cause a distraction." They'd gotten their hands on security footage. He pointed at the computer screen sharply just as Clint slipped a flash drive to his pocket and sped away from one of the base's laptops. "See that? He obtained information."

Maria Hill's expression darkened. She voiced a truth they both knew all too well. "He didn't have that when he was found."

Fury nodded stiffly. "Which means that it's in the enemy's hands. And we have no idea what's on it."

Maria didn't ask whether he thought Clint might remember what was on it. There was no telling if the archer would wake up again. And even if he did, by some miracle, it was more than likely that the entire mission had been wiped from his mind.

* * *

Clint drifted in gray for what felt like a small eternity. The first thing to return was warmth, the comforting kind which immediately made him feel safe. Then he felt a hand holding his. With a lot of effort his own fingers twitched to tighten, to ensure that the grasp was real. He groaned quietly with frustration over how difficult even that simple gesture was to manage.

"Clint?" That voice… He recognized it, although very few things and thoughts made sense at the moment. The hold around his hand tightened to compensate the fact that he could barely meet the motion. "Open those eyes of yours, honey. You've already overslept."

Clint sighed, trying to wake up. Very, very slowly he succeeded in opening his eyes halfway. It took too long before the face above him cleared enough for him to recognize. When he finally saw properly he could only stare for a while. "You real?" he rasped at last, hating how his voice sounded.

Laura laughed softly, then leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Trust me, you little idiot, I'm very much real. Be glad that you're so adorable right now or I'd punch you for worrying everyone."

Clint frowned. His brain didn't seem to want to function properly. "Everyone?" he repeated dumbly.

"Yeah", Laura confirmed. It was then he realized that she lay on the bed beside him, one arm wrapped around him as though to shield him from the world. She appeared utterly exhausted, but also immensely relieved. "The team's barely left the hospital. Natasha's traumatized several nurses. Even Fury stopped by."

Clint smirked at that. Then finally came to think of something. "The kids?"

Laura's expression faltered. Just enough for someone who knew her as well as he did to notice. "My parents are babysitting."

Clint looked away in shame and tightened his hold on her. The topic of her parents was never, ever easy or painless. "I'm sorry." _That you had to call them. That I wasn't there to support you._

Laura shrugged with one shoulder. "You and the kids are my family, now. If they can't accept that it's their problem."

Clint nuzzled his head against her neck. "Yeah?" He was getting tired already but he didn't want to fall asleep yet. Not before knowing how badly he'd been injured. What happened. How long he'd slept already. Before letting her know that he was there and ensuring that she was alright.

"Yeah." Laura sounded as certain as on the day she agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. He shivered when distant sounds of explosions could be heard and she stroked his hair gently, calming him instantly. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year", he whispered back. She was there and real, once again having made the decision to stay with him. And he was there as well, alive and breathing, ready to fight his way to his feet once again. They made it through the year.

Comforted by that knowledge, Clint relaxed fully against her. 'Last Christmas' kept playing in his dreams and he decided that he didn't hate it, after all. They both slept soundly while rockets exploded outside and people cheered as a new year began.

* * *

A few hours later Natasha peered into the room to check up on the couple. She knew that Laura hadn't stepped outside even to eat all day and wanted to make sure that everything was alright. Of course she wasn't… worried. Mildly concerned, maybe. What she found made her smile in a manner she would've allowed no living soul to witness.

It appeared that Clint was no longer unconscious, only sleeping. There was a small smile on his face as he lay side by side with his also slumbering wife, both of them finding comfort from one another. For them the new year began with new hope.

Natasha was already about to leave, deciding that she didn't want to disturb the duo's much needed rest, when she felt eyes on her. Peering over her shoulder she found Clint looking at her through half open lids. ' _Happy New Year_ ', he mouthed when their eyes met. Then fell asleep again.

Natasha kept watch for a few more seconds. She was intruding on a private moment, and it seemed that Clint was in very good hands. She turned and left the room, feeling lighter than she had since that horrific Christmas.

In the hallway Steve and Tony were waiting for her, worried looks on their faces. Natasha felt tempted to smile for the second time as she realized just how big of a family she and Clint had, now. She was definitely losing her edge. For some reason it didn't bother her. "He was awake for a while and recognized me. Laura's there to make sure that he gets the scolding he deserves when he's rested for a while."

Tony nodded. The almost childlike grin of sheer relief and happiness that appeared to the billionaire's lips would've melted anyone's heart. "Good. Then let's go and get drunk. I don't know about you guys but I'm ready to leave this year behind."

Even Steve had no objections to that.

* * *

It took a while before Clint could leave the hospital. And even longer before his physical therapy was at a good start. On Valentine's Day he was finally ready to head back to the Farm.

An hour after his departure Tony found a mysterious chocolate cake that had his name on it. A lime cheesecake had been left for Natasha. They looked at each other, knowing full well who the treats were from.

It was the first time Tony heard Natasha really, properly laugh.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Quite the hectic holidays those poor things had…! (gulps) Clint's pretty good at getting himself into a trouble, isn't he?

Sooooo… How was that? Any good? Worth the prolonged wait? (smirks sheepishly) Only one way to let me know…! (wiggles eyebrows)

NEXT YEAR: How does an archer react when he loses an arm? We'll also see some more of the Mini Hawks we all love. Also, Tony and Clint stuck together in a possibly deadly situation? Not a good mix…! (For them.)

Until next time – and next year! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there. Take care!

 **I REALLY HOPE THAT YOU'VE ALL HAD BETTER HOLIDAYS THAN CLINT DID! HAPPY NEW YEAR, FELLOW HAWKEYE FANS!**

* * *

DanishGirl: (BEAMS) It makes me all giddy that you enjoy these tales so! AND GOSH, it's a massive honor that you found the chapter so emotionally captivating!

Poor Clint, no? Thank gosh he was able to heal, emotionally and physically. (sighs)

I LOVE Steve, too! There's a chapter with Steve in a central role, planned for VERY near future. (wiggles eyebrows)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I know, right? It was a painful, exhausting ride (especially for poor Clint). BUT, FINALLY it ended on a happy note! (BEAMS)

MY GOSH, I LOVE THAT PROMPT! (GLOMPS) Heck yeah! Thankfully Clint's on the good guys' side these days. Because he's VERY, VERY skilled when it comes to the art of… hurting people. He's a freaking seasoned assassin and agent, for crying out loud! Tremble, 'Taken', CLINT is the ultimate pissed off dad…!

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	79. Blink

A/N: PHEW, it's late! BUT, I seriously wanted to FINALLY get this chapter out. Sooooo, here we are. (grins)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your awesome reviews, listings and support! Club Feathers has gotten SO BIG. You can't even imagine how happy and proud it makes me! (HUGS)

AWKAY, because I know what you came here for… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **This chapter has loose ties to chapter 31, BUT it's entirely possible to read this without knowing or remembering that chapter.**

* * *

Blink

* * *

"Barton? Clint? Hey, earth to Feather Butt! It's noon. Rise and shine."

Tony's voice seemed to come through several walls. It had some echo and static, and for a few moments Clint wondered if he was still asleep. He felt weird. Not pained, rather numb. Too numb.

"I wouldn't irritate him into waking up if I were you", Natasha supplied. He heard her take a slurp of coffee, or perhaps his ears were failing him. "Do you have any idea how many ways he knows to kill you without even opening his eyes?"

Clint was becoming very uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting. Best stop playing possum, he decided and attempted to lift a hand to rub his face. No luck. His fingers refused to twitch. He couldn't even feel them.

He tried, very hard, to keep himself from panicking. Maybe he was just sleepy…? He attempted to move his legs instead. With just as little results. He wasn't able to budge an inch. Even his breathing didn't feel right and it wasn't only because of stress or panic.

What was wrong with him?

Clint's eyes flew open before he had the time to decide that he'd do so. Tony yelped and jumped back, startled by the sudden change. The billionaire sputtered something incomprehensible before his speech cleared. "… way to cause a guy a heart attack!" The Iron Man took a couple of deep breaths. "What was that, a nightmare or something?"

Clint wanted to scream. To trash, to get up and run. He looked desperately towards Natasha, and all of a sudden it struck him that they both knew Morse code. So he blinked, desperately and as clearly as he could, over and over again. _S.O.S_.

Natasha didn't panic, of course. But her eyes flashed and her facial muscles tightened while grim realization dawned. "No, it wasn't a nightmare." She stepped closer, her coffee forgotten. "Clint, do you think you can sit up?" After he'd blinked a humiliatingly frantic 'no' her other hand disappeared from view. "Can you feel this?" Another 'no'. "Or this?"

No, he couldn't feel it, whatever she was doing. Wasn't able to feel a thing. If he wasn't in a shock he would've definitely cried.

"We need to get him to the medical wing." Steve's voice and sudden appearance startled Clint. There was a rather touching amount of worry on the Captain's face. "Something's wrong."

Clint actually succeeded in rolling his eyes at that.

"Seriously, Feathers?" Tony was aiming for a lighter tone and failed miserably. "You're still a smartass when rendered speechless?" Their eyes met. "You're mentally giving me the finger, aren't you?"

* * *

What the hell happened?

The Avengers were calmly starting a new day. A bit cranky because they just came back from an exhausting mission the day before and a bit bruised but otherwise okay. And all of a sudden every single muscle in Clint's body was shutting down.

Because according to the careful examination of Bruce and Tony's medical team that was exactly what the archer was going through. The process must've started in the middle of the night, while the man was sleeping soundly. The bitter irony that something like this would happen on one of the rare nights when Clint was actually able to sleep properly wasn't lost on Tony.

But why did the process start? Clint must've been given poison of some sort. They hadn't found any needle-marks but it could've just as well been swallowed with food or given in a number of other ways. A lot of blood samples had been drawn to sort out what the substance was. The problem was that Clint's time was running out.

"Why are we seeking lunch when friend Barton requires our assistance?" Thor demanded impatiently from behind his back. Sounding far too much like one of those children asking 'Are we there yet?' every five seconds. If the Asgardian's impatience wasn't caused by immense worry – and if Tony hadn't been… wary of that hammer without his suit – the billionaire might've smacked the far bigger man.

"We're not looking for lunch. We're gathering data, my dear Watson." Tony waved his hand at the ensuing silence. "You know, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?" The silence continued, and he felt a stare at the back of his head. "Probably the world's most famous fictional crime solvers?"

Thor mused for a while. "I do not understand your taste in entertainment", the Asgardian decided eventually.

"Clint got me hooked on the novels and that TV-show. Blame him." Tony felt a twinge of ache in his abdomen and forced his mind firmly back on what he was doing. "So… Let's assume that Feathers needed something to help him relax after the mission. When he needs something to soothe his nerves before trying to get some sleep he goes to the 24-hour café across the road and gets…" His eyes found what he'd been looking for. "… a takeaway mug of that horrific smelling tea." True enough, a familiar mug had been unceremoniously dumped to the back of the fridge. Clearly even Clint hadn't liked the taste, this time. Would the fact that the man didn't consume the full amount save his life?

"Come along, Watson", Tony urged. _Keep it light. Clint's gonna be just fine. Everything's gonna work out, now._ Hopefully that mantra would keep him sane until this whole horror story was over. "The game is afoot!"

Thor followed obediently with a frown of confusion.

* * *

Clint wondered if this was a yet another nightmare. The absolute helplessness… The people bustling around him with expressions that told they found this battle already lost…

He was getting worse, he knew he was. Roughly half an hour ago they'd started giving him oxygen when his breathing got a lot more labored. His heart thudded painfully every now and then, and despite not being a medical professional he knew that it wasn't a good sign. But somehow the most terrifying knowledge was that soon he wouldn't be able to even blink. And then the last way he had to communicate would be lost.

His body would shut down and he'd fade away mutely.

But at least he wasn't alone. Natasha was there, constantly checking his blinks to see if he was trying to say something. She wasn't fussing or making a scene, she just _was_. Somehow that was the greatest comfort of all.

It also helped that she was one of those about two people who heard him without any words being used.

Natasha poked at his forehead, which he rather saw than actually felt. She darted a furious glare and a pointing finger at him. "That thing your mind's doing… Stop it. Right now." She studied him with her gaze. "Do you want me to call Laura?"

Clint blinked a quick 'no' without even processing it fully. Because they both knew what that call would mean. It'd be giving up. And no matter how terrified he was… No matter how dark some of his thoughts were… He wasn't planning on giving up just yet.

Natasha nodded. "Good. I was just checking." A loud clutter startled them both and had her move to shield him before she darted a sharp look towards the room's door. "Those vampires are coming for another blood sample, apparently. If they don't stop soon they'll suck you dry." Only the tension in her voice revealed just how scared she was. She wasn't planning on letting him go.

Natasha didn't budge from his side while a member of Tony's medical team snatched a sample. The very young man handled the Widow's slightly hostile scrutiny remarkably well. Clint himself found relief from his friend's presence.

Natasha would've never admitted it. Clint himself couldn't really feel it. But he knew that she was holding his hand the entire time, fingers pressed against where she could feel his pulse because she didn't trust the machinery around them.

* * *

The café was quiet when Tony and Thor walked in. A pretty, young barista offered them a smile, her attention turning instantly to the Asgardian. Her gaze sized up the tall form from head to toe, clearly appreciating every inch. "Anything I can help you with?" she purred.

"Actually, yeah." Tony offered a charming fake smile. "We're with the Avengers, you probably recognized us. And… Last night a barista seemed to be in a trouble with a couple of drunk clients. We offered to help her but she said that she could handle them." He chuckled. "We're being stupid, but we just wanted to make sure that she made it home safely."

"And they say that chivalry is dead…!" It was the kind of information she should've never, ever given. But one look into Thor's pleading eyes was all it took to convince her. "Oh, Cassie? She quit last night, but she was fine when she left. Because I don't think you mean Luke, he also worked last night." She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair, then giggled nervously. "She worked nightshifts for a couple of months. She was a bit weird. But she made such good coffee that everyone called her Chemist. Honestly, we were all wondering if she had a double life of some sort."

Both men felt a jolt go through them. Because they'd had the misfortune of facing that nickname before. It could've been a coincidence, of course. But in the light of recent events they weren't keen on believing in coincidences.

In the past Chemist had almost killed Clint at least twice. She was a contract killer, specialized in poisons. The previous time they ran into her they were able to save Clint, barely but still, and Chemist was even taken to custody. Only, she escaped. They should've known that she wouldn't tolerate unfinished business.

"Any idea where she might've gone?" Thor asked, his voice rumbling like thunder.

"Sorry", the barista, Elsa according to her nametag, shrugged. "But she took off immediately after her shift, said that she had a flight to catch. Left us with a huge workload to find a new nightshift barista." She looked at Thor once more. "You wouldn't be interested, would you?"

* * *

Steve was a man of action. He tried to enlist in the army even when he knew full well that due to his physique it was a horrible idea. He accepted the serum because it meant that he'd be able to fight. And he'd been fighting ever since for a better world, to keep those he cared about safe.

A warzone Steve could handle. What was much worse, was the quiet and stillness afterwards. When adrenaline was still swirling in his veins and he knew that there wasn't anything more he could do. When all there was left was the waiting.

The worst was watching someone he cared about fighting and knowing that there was no way he could help.

He offered to look for those responsible but Tony and Thor were already on it. He asked if there was any way he could assist with developing the cure but he didn't have the scientific knowledge it would've required. So, as the one thing he could still do he ushered Natasha out of the room to stretch and maybe get some fresh air. She seemed only marginally comforted by the knowledge that he knew Morse code as well and would be able to understand if Clint needed something. (Or got worse, was a thought he kept at bay as firmly as he could.)

It wasn't as bizarre as many people might've thought to have Clint so quiet. It wasn't once or twice they'd both occupied the building's common space, reading or playing chess in a companionable silence. They both seemed to find the other's presence soothing and they had an effortless, wordless understanding.

Steve decided to pretend that this was just another one of those occasions. No fuss, no drama. And definitely no poison coursing through Clint's system.

The machinery's beeping changed and Steve was instantly alerted. He frowned, looking towards his friend. "You okay there?" He glanced towards the screens and his eyebrows furrowed further. The archer's blood pressure was high and despite the aid of oxygen mask his saturation level didn't look good.

The poison's impact was growing stronger. Clint's body was shutting down, slowly and painfully. And he couldn't be given more pain medication without making breathing even more of a challenge. "Do you want me to get a doctor?" he offered.

Clint's blinks were sluggish, barely controllable. The Hawk was obviously trying to say a lot. But the only word Steve could make sense of was 'help', enforced by the uncharacteristic and heart wrenching panic in the man's eyes.

And then the machines were screaming.

* * *

When Thor was kicked out of his home and into this strange world he imagined that it was a cruel punishment. He resented it, considered himself above these people. Oh, how much he'd learned since then. The way the Avengers fought for their world and each other was truly inspirational. Was it any wonder that he began to grow attached? He worried for them. And especially Clint was entirely too good at getting himself into life threatening situations.

Thor's chest already felt uncomfortably tight once they'd found out that Clint had been poisoned. What they discovered at the café made him feel worse. The worst came when he returned to the Tower with Tony, to find grim looking Bruce, Steve and Natasha waiting.

"Hey." For once there wasn't even a trace of a grin on Tony's face. "What's going on?"

Bruce's shoulders slumped. The scientist's expression promised bad news. "Clint isn't be able to breathe on his own anymore."

* * *

The medical professionals told Clint, very clearly, exactly what was going to happen. That they'd set up a machine, put him to sleep and from there the machine would do the breathing for him. It'd keep him alive. Until his heart would give out.

He'd either wake up feeling better or he'd die in his sleep.

Clint didn't like those odds. He was in pain and absolutely terrified. Possibly going to die.

He wasn't ready to go yet.

"Try to relax, okay?" Of course Bruce knew that he wouldn't be able to. But the familiar voice helped ground him. "I'm going to give you the sedative, now. Don't try to fight it."

Clint blinked his permission the best as he could. What use was there in stalling? He fought a small war to breathe, no matter how difficult it was. He would've wanted to feel at least some control.

"Feathers." He latched onto Tony's voice, reminded himself that he wasn't alone in this. The inventor tried to smile and Clint would've wanted to say that it'd be okay. "Calm down, yeah? Just sleep. We've got you."

"We'll all be here when you wake up", Steve swore.

Bruce administrated the medicine. Clint would've liked to look around but he didn't have to for him to know that his team was there. Natasha and Thor offered their silent support, the redhead right beside the bed and the Asgardian by the room's door like a bodyguard. Whatever came next, he wouldn't face it alone. It was both a relief and unnerving. There were so many people, now, he couldn't afford to let down.

Clint closed his eyes, and hoped desperately that he'd be able to open them again.

* * *

No one said a word when the machine was switched on to breathe for Clint. It was a horrific, mechanic and unnatural noise. It was the sound of defeat.

They made a silent vow to ensure that they'd hear Clint breathing on his own again.

* * *

While the others took turns in keeping an eye on Clint Bruce did whatever he could to help Tony's medical team. By then it'd been almost a full day since the ordeal began. He was exhausted, worried and frustrated. A combination that called out to Big Green like honey to bees.

Each passing minute ticked down Clint's life.

Seven hours after they'd sedated Clint one of the scientists gasped upon looking into a microscope. The look on her face lit up a flare of cautious hope inside Bruce. "I think I found something!"

Finding something was one matter. Transforming it to an actual cure was another. Even with the technology at Tony's disposal those weren't simple matters. It took another three hours before they had some sort an antidote. And they could only hope that they had enough of it.

Bruce offered to be the one to deliver the antidote even if he wasn't sure he could stand the consequences, or lack of consequences. Tony was keeping the unconscious archer company when he walked into the room. No words were needed, they exchanged a single look and Tony's eyes lit up with a massive amount of hope.

Bruce couldn't look at his friend after that. Couldn't face that hope in case he'd have to crush it. Not that looking at Clint, who was unhealthily pale and seemed terrifyingly small in his current condition, would've been easier. Bruce breathed in deep, then out, and again. A couple of moments later he was finally ready. The substance slipped in easily. Then the waiting began.

"How soon do you think we'll know?" Tony asked after a long, painful silence.

Bruce sighed heavily, feeling old beyond his years. A far too familiar itch threatened to take over. "We'll wait and monitor his vitals. If they remain stable we'll try to wake him…"

It wasn't the antidote. Bruce would want to believe until his dying day that it wasn't the antidote. Highly likely the poison simply did its work faster than they were able to interfere.

Right there in front of their horrified eyes Clint's heart stopped.

* * *

Clint floated through the dark. Unfeeling, unable to comprehend what was going and not even really caring. There was no pain. Until there was. A lot of it.

He attempted to scream but his mouth and throat weren't his. He was sinking, and the weight of the water was crushing him. He tried to swim, to escape, but couldn't. It felt like death.

Only, he didn't die. Not there and then. Instead he opened his eyes.

Opened… his… eyes…

Clint looked around, disoriented and confused, trying make sense of where he was and what had happened. It all came back to him like a tidal wave and he gasped. Shocked to realize that he was able to breathe on his own.

"Clint?" Steve's voice, far more tense than usual, made him look to the side. Turn his head. The soldier looked like he hadn't slept in days. The rest of the team was also there, just like they promised to be. They all stood close, as though creating a protective barrier between him and the rest of the world. "Are you with us?"

Clint was so relieved that he couldn't smile or cry. He was only able to nod, feebly but visibly. "Yeah… I am."

* * *

It took a full minute to get Clint's heart beating again.

After that it took two days before the archer woke up.

Three days later Clint was able to breath without aiding oxygen from a mask or whiskers.

Four days and Clint was back on his feet, unsteady as it was.

And now the man hadn't slept in five days. Nor had Tony. Every time the billionaire dozed off his dreams were about the sound Clint's stopping heart caused. He could only imagine what the archer dreamt of.

It was past one in the morning and they were exhausted beyond all belief as they sat on the couch, watching 'Sherlock'. Like two kids they were fighting with their all to stay awake just a little longer. "Sleep", Tony commanded as coherently as humanly possible. "I think you've deserved a little rest after everything you've been through this week."

Clint shivered visibly. Not yet fully in control over the reactions of his body. "No thanks". The Hawk was avoiding his gaze. "I've slept enough for this week."

And all of a sudden, despite his exhaustion, Tony understood. Clint barely woke up the previous time. Not long ago the man woke up paralyzed. On top of all that Chemist was still out there somewhere. Even less would've been enough to make the idea of sleeping far from appealing.

"Sleep", Tony ordered again. More softly this time. "The nightmare's over, Birdie."

For exactly three seconds Clint stared. Then threw popcorn at him. "That was disgustingly corny."

Tony broke into the first proper laugh he'd had in days.

Disgustingly corny, perhaps. But it worked. When Pepper walked into the room a couple of hours later in search of the Iron Man what she found made her feel warm all over and smile. Both men were sleeping soundly on the couch, the nightmare slowly losing its grip.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: What? Of course Clint will be fine! He's got a full team helping him out. (smiles)

SOOOOOOO…! Any good, at all? Deletion worthy? PLEASE, do leave a word or two (or more, if you like) to let me know! I LOVE hearing from you.

NEXT TIME: Shudder Liam Neeson from 'Taken'! We've got a new pissed off dad when a group of criminals makes the mistake of kidnapping Lila.

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all with some more feathery adventures.

Take care, of yourselves and all the trouble seeking Clint Bartons of the world!

* * *

Rangergirl3: Awww, I'm thrilled that you enjoyed the chapter and found it sweet! (smirks) We'll see just what's ahead the Hawk next.

Happy New Year to you, too! (hugs)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Moo: Gosh, how happy it makes me that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) Heh, poor Clint and Pepper, right?

HUGE thank yous for the review! Until next time?


	80. SOS Mini-Hawkeye, part 1 of 2

A/N: PHEW! I'm fluish and exhausted. BUT, I actually managed an update, after all! Yay…?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and LOVE! Never, in a million years, would I have expected that Clint Barton has such a big fan club. (HUGS)

 **WARNINGS: This chapter was REALLY close to becoming M-rated, and teeters on that edge. The themes addressed in this two-parter (child trafficking, sexual abuse) are REALLY dark. What Lila Barton almost goes through is something that should happen to NO CHILD, ANYWHERE.**

Awkay, then… Are you ready? Really ready? Because here we go, and it's gonna be TWISTED.

* * *

SOS Mini-Hawkeye, part 1 of 2

* * *

Lila Barton had always loved animals. When her teacher announced that they'd go and see the city's massive aquarium she was ecstatic. Unfortunately some of her classmates weren't able to enjoy the beautiful animals. They kept running around and disturbing people and creatures alike, to a point where a teacher and two assistants were barely enough.

Lila didn't mind. She walked around happily, always making sure that she didn't go too far from her teacher. Eventually a pair of turtles that seemed to be dancing together captivated her attention. Until she heard something unexpected.

A sob.

Surprised, Lila turned her gaze to see a girl of about her age sitting on the floor. Long-grown red hair a mess, face buried to her hands. Completely and utterly miserable.

Lila looked helplessly towards her teacher, wishing that an adult might be able to help. Unfortunately all the grownups present she knew were busy. She bit her lip before looking at the child again. "What's wrong?"

"Mommy and daddy…" The girl sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Mommy and daddy are missing. I can't find them."

Lila bit her lip again. Her parents had always warned her about strangers, but maybe… "We could go to my teacher", she suggested eventually. "She'll help you find them."

Without even noticing it Lila had been approaching the stranger in an instinctive need to comfort. The little girl had been paying attention. A hand grabbed hers before she realized what was happening. "Thanks", the child smiled through her tears. "Mommy and daddy will be so happy."

Lila was already feeling dizzy as she realized that some sort of a badge had been pressed against her hand, and a tiny needle pierced her skin. Unable to do anything else she began to slump. Only to have a pair of arms catch her.

"There you two are!" a woman's voice sighed, sounding distant to Lila. "Look at your sister, Alice. She's already falling asleep."

Darkness claimed Lila.

* * *

Laura Barton had her face buried to her hands as she listened idly to the badly stuttering teacher and headmaster trying to explain how it was possible that her little girl was missing. The teacher and her assistants only looked away for a moment. There were so many children and they were making such a fuss…!

"… truly sorry…" The headmaster actually had the nerve to lean closer. "We informed the police immediately. They'll find Lila…"

Laura shook her head. Her heart was pounding erratically and shattering to pieces, and she wondered if this was what dying felt like. She shook her head again, unable to utter a word.

Finding her child wouldn't be enough. She was a calm, non-violent person but she could admit that much to herself. And she knew exactly the right person for the task.

* * *

Clint Barton's eyes were harder than steel as he watched security footage from the aquarium. Tortured himself over and over again with the sight of Lila collapsing and being taken. He stared at the woman and her child, imprinting everything to his mind.

At that moment Clint knew two things with absolute certainty. He was going to find his daughter. And he was going to make those who took her regret laying a hand on her.

Maria Hill observed her friend with worried eyes. "Clint. Are you sure that you…?"

"Did you activate it?"

Maria sighed heavily. "Yeah. Of course I did."

"The current address?"

Maria delivered the information, mainly because she knew that if she didn't he'd get it somehow, anyway. Clint nodded curtly. Even managed to murmur something like a 'thank you', although his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

Clint put a micro-chip to all his three children almost as soon as they were born. He and Laura fought about it at first, until she accepted reluctantly that it for their safety. Clint was far too aware of how many people had keen, ill meaning eyes on him. If one of them got their hands on his babies he wanted to be able to find them. Until now they'd been hoping that the day would never come when those things would be used.

"You really should get some backup", Maria pointed out, her voice and chest area tight. "You don't know…" She turned her head to find Clint gone. "… what you're getting yourself into. Shit."

* * *

The Lucases were a seemingly normal, picture perfect family in quiet suburbs. Husband Keith, who worked long days and odd shifts as a doctor, kept mostly to himself but always had a smile and a polite word or two for his neighbors. His absolutely flawless, constantly smiling little girl Alice had everyone wrapped around her little finger. His stay-at-home wife Susan volunteered as a short-term foster parent in emergency cases. The children came at all hours, scared and disheveled. She did her best to look after them until they found a more permanent place, which usually happened so quickly that the neighbors didn't have the time to memorize the children's faces. (' _Those poor dears_ ', she'd sighed a few times with a shake of head. ' _Children would deserve nothing but love and happiness._ ')

Their act was so flawless, so compelling and believable, that in two and a half years no one questioned it. No one wondered why all the children came from far away, from different states, and why a large majority of them were non-English-speaking foreigners. Nor did anyone in the neighborhood wonder why these poor children never had any interaction with anyone outside the large, beautiful house. Or why almost all those who picked up the children were men. (Social workers, Susan had explained to them.) It was easier to turn a blind eye and pretend that the darkness and horror didn't exist right there in front of them.

Until one fateful evening of September when there was a knock on the door at eight-thirty PM.

Keith frowned and checked the time. An hour too late. It wasn't like this particular client to be late. "Is the girl ready?"

"Yes", Susan confirmed, rising from the couch. There was little emotion on her face while she moved a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "I'll ensure that she'll cooperate."

Keith nodded and headed to the door, wondering why something inside him was screaming a warning.

* * *

Everyone kept telling Dana White what a lucky woman she was. Her husband Owen was not only very good-looking, but also charming and clearly worshipped the ground his wife walked on. He came from a wealthy family and wouldn't have needed to work a day but insisted that he should do his part for the community. And thus he became the most efficient employee of the child protective services. He a good husband and a well-liked friend, but he was also a wonderful father to Dana's eleven-years-old daughter and eight-years-old son from her previous marriage. The children missed their birth-father and sometimes did whatever they could to rebel against the new man brought into their lives, but mostly things flowed nicely.

No one knew that Owen White was also a regular client of the Lucases.

Owen made the call and arranged a meeting as soon as he saw a picture of the Lucases' new girl. His wife didn't suspect a thing when he announced that he was going to visit a friend who was going through a rough divorce. She trusted him enough to not grow suspicious even when he told her that he'd spend the night away. They kissed goodbye, exchanged 'I love yous', and a little over three hours later Owen stood behind a familiar mahogany door.

He didn't realize that he wasn't alone until it was too late. Something metallic was pressed against the back of his head. "I know exactly why you're here", a hazardous voice growled, reminding him of a deranged wild beast. "Now, you won't say a single word until I give you the permission to. We'll take a drive and I'll explain to you what we're going to do. If you do as I say you'll die quickly and painlessly instead of the way you'd actually deserve."

* * *

Keith Lucas was no expert when it came to reading people. However, he might've realized that something was wrong if he'd looked at Owen White's petrified face for even a second longer instead of focusing on the briefcase. "The money?"

"The usual amount", the arrival confirmed, shifting weight. "So, ah… The girl?"

Keith smiled in a flawless, well-practiced manner. "Susan will come down with her in a minute. The poor thing is still a little confused." He glanced over his guest's shoulder to see a neighbor passing by with a dog. "Evening, Mrs. Ennis." He then refocused on the other man, his expression never once faltering. "Come inside. Susan will brief you on her case."

Keith trusted his visitor. He never looked over his shoulder. That's why he missed how Owen left the door ajar.

* * *

Someone else did look over their shoulder. Feeling a sudden shudder of dread, Marjorie Ennis frowned and stopped despite her dog's protests. She peered backwards just in time to see something in the shadows. A man slipping into the Lucases' house.

For obvious reasons Susan couldn't tell anyone much about the children under her care. But Marjorie could imagine what some of the birth-parents were like. So she did what felt the most logical.

She ran home and called the police.

* * *

Owen's requests were always the same. Including the final bit which sealed the deal. A splash of bourbon was offered, accepted and consumed with a surprising amount of eagerness.

Keith's eyebrow rose. "Thirsty", he commented. He took some alcohol for himself as well and sipped it calmly. "Don't worry. You'll see the girl soon."

Owen nodded. The man's Adam's apple bobbed. "Is she the same age as the others?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "You've been my client for a year and a half. I'd dare say I know your taste by now. And I've been running this… business for years. Trust me when I say that you won't be disappointed."

"Thank you." The new, unexpected voice made them both jump. A man entered the room with tense but elegant steps, murderous eyes flickering between them before locking on his client. "Thank you, Owen. You kept your part of the deal. I'll keep mine." A single gunshot through a silencer ended Owen's life before Keith had the time to blink twice.

For a few seconds Keith could only stare, not quite comprehending what was going on. As blood began to form a puddle to the expensive hardwood floor he lifted his gaze to meet the stranger's. "Who are you?" was all he could utter.

"Clint Barton." The man circled around him like a shark about to attack. "I'm here to collect my daughter."

* * *

The only alarming sound Susan heard was a thud, just as she was returning to the girls' room to ensure that everything would go well. Her eyebrows furrowed while she turned soundlessly and began to make her way back downstairs. Everything was quiet, now. Too quiet. What she found made her freeze to the living room's doorway.

Owen was very clearly dead. A single clean shot to the head, quick and painless. Keith, who still had a gun in his hold, lay nearby in a puddle of blood. It was safe to assume that he was dead, too. And if the bruised knuckles were anything to go by her husband put up a good fight.

The unfamiliar voice came directly from behind her. "Not… a… move." She smelled metal and wondered if it was real or her imagination. "How many children do you have here?"

Her hand began to slide towards where her own gun was hiding. In her mind she was already practicing the phone call to the police. "Four", she answered calmly. What point was there in lying when she was planning on killing him? "Is one of them yours?"

"Yes." He was deadly calm. "And I'm going to take her home."

They moved simultaneously. As though he read her mind and anticipated the attack. He grabbed her wrist so fiercely that for a moment she feared it might break. And they spun in a breathtaking dance of kicks and punches. The gun she'd been holding had flown somewhere but neither cared. They were more than happy to use bare hands.

Susan almost had him down a couple of times. But he was bigger and stronger, and seemed to know the kind of martial arts skills she couldn't have even dreamt of. When she was slammed through a glass table and hard against the floor, she wondered if she'd ever get back up again.

If those sharp, unforgiving hawk's eyes would be the last thing she'd ever see.

* * *

Police officer Ian Friend was a neighbor of Keith and Susan Lucas. He and his partner were the ones who received the order to check the couple's house. While his partner began a round around the house Ian ignored all reason and sneaked in through the open front door.

Something was wrong and he knew that he wouldn't like what he'd discover.

As soon as he stepped in, his gun already drawn, he saw the devastation. Broken glass, pieces of damaged furniture, blood… Then he saw the bodies of Keith and a man he couldn't recognize. His eyes widened while an involuntary gasp slipped through his lips. "No…"

Shock paralyzed him until he realized that he wasn't alone. First his eyes locked on Susan who lay on her stomach. Dead or alive, was impossible to tell. A man in black clothes kneeled beside her, checking her pulse.

Ian reacted on instinct. A neighbor and a friend, not an officer of the law. He pointed his gun at the stranger. Murderer. "What the hell have you done?"

* * *

Upstairs Lila trembled as she was forced into clothes she would've never, ever chosen for herself. She glanced towards the mirror in front of her and shivered, barely recognizing herself. It wasn't just the jade-green dress. That woman also cut her hair and dyed it blonde.

She didn't look like her mommy anymore, and she'd always liked looking like her mommy.

"Don't cry", the girl who tricked her, Alice, commanded. "You'll get out of here soon. As soon as one of them comes."

Lila pulled her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them. "I want to go home", she murmured, then wiped her tears. "Daddy… Daddy's looking for me. He'll come and take me home." She looked at the other girl, desperate hope in her heart and eyes. "He can take you home, too. You mommy and daddy must be worried."

Alice shook her head. There was something that scared her in the other's gaze. "I don't have any other home anymore."

Lila almost asked until she came to a conclusion that she didn't want to know. So she bit her lip and looked away, wondering if she'd be fast enough to run away when they'd let her outside. She'd try. Mommy always said that she was fast. She'd make her proud.

That determined trail of thought was cut violently by the noise coming from downstairs. There was a loud crash. Followed by several similar. And then, in a couple of minutes, shouting. Was that voice…?

If Alice said something when Lila started to run the Barton didn't hear. Didn't care. She dashed as fast as she possibly could. Until she froze, panic striking through her like ice.

Her daddy was right there, his back towards her as he began to rise from where he'd been kneeling by something. Or was it someone? Lila didn't find out because her attention was trapped by the policeman who just barged in. "… have you done?" the officer snarled, eyes wide and full of things she was too young to understand. "On your knees and hands up, NOW!"

Her daddy twitched. That was all it took. The policeman's gun was fired, the gunshot so loud that Lila instantly slammed her hands to her ears. Then her daddy collapsed and lay horribly still.

"DADDY!" Lila screamed at the top of her lungs.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh gosh…! Clint almost got his daughter rescued. And then WHAM. (whimpers) Poor Clint! And poor, poor Lila! Having that happen in front of her eyes…

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do leave a note! I always love hearing from fellow Hawkeye-fans.

Awkay, because it's REALLY late… I've gotta go and get some sleep. Until next time, folks!

Take care, and keep all baby-Hawks out there safe!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I was inspired to pick the name Elsa because it's the name of Chris' (Thor's actor) real-life wife. (grins)

I'm OVER THE MOON that you're still enjoying these mad tales so much! (BEAMS) There will be LOTS more to come! As for Clint almost dying while saving Pepper? ABSOLUTELY! (holds two thumbs up)

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anon: So glad you liked it! (BEAMS) OOOH, sounds like a REALLY juicy idea! TOTALLY goes to my list!

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Guest: Awww! You make me SUPER happy with those kind words. (HUGS) We'll see just what the next tale will bring…

Massive thank yous for the review!


	81. SOS Mini-Hawkeye, part 2 of 2

A/N: PHEW! It's so, so late. (Or early, depending on one's point of view.) But I couldn't go to bed without updating, so… Here we are! Yay?

THANK YOU, a million times over, for your absolutely fantastic reviews! GOSH. I can't believe how many of you have joined this flight! (HUGS) Thank you!

Awkay, because I really should be in bed now… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

SOS Mini-Hawkeye, part 2 of 2

* * *

Lila didn't even see the police officer staring at her with wide open horror as she rushed to her daddy. Nor did she register the man rushing away. And mercifully she was oblivious to the dead bodies. All her wide, tear filled eyes managed to see was her daddy and the blood.

Lila was still very young but she knew that her daddy needed the bleeding to stop. She pressed desperately against where she assumed it was all coming from and whimpered with despair when her tiny hands just weren't enough. "Daddy, please… Wake up…", she begged. Tears slid down her cheeks and her whole body was trembling miserably. Still she fought to press harder, with everything there was in her. It wasn't enough.

She used her other hand to shake her daddy as much as she could and dared to. His body moved limply with her motions and she whimpered again, her heart torn to shreds inside her. "Daddy, please…! I don't… I don't know what to do. Please, help me!"

But her daddy remained still, his eyes closed and color draining from his face with every drop of blood.

A sob escaped her, no matter how hard she tried to be brave and hold it back. "Please…!" she tried a one more time. "We… We can go home, now."

It was all her fault. She was taken because she was stupid and he came to get her because, like he once told her, it's was daddies do. And now he wouldn't wake up or stop bleeding because her hands were too small to save him.

* * *

That night an idyllic suburban neighborhood woke up to the biggest scandal it'd ever faced. It all started with the appearance of a police car and a gunshot. Soon the whole street was full of flashing lights, and people who were drawn to someone else's tragedy like a flock of moths to a flame.

That same hunger for tragedy, darkness and horror was what soon brought in the swarm of reporters.

The cameras weren't there yet when officer Ian Friend dashed out of the house and threw up, his face deathly pale. The first reporters were just tipped off when an ambulance finally arrived, and several endless moments later a man most of the world would never know about was rushed into the vehicle. His nearly lifeless form and the inconsolable, traumatized face of his little girl as she clung to the paramedic carrying her would've made well selling pictures. The first snapshots were taken when four children, three little girls and one little boy, were escorted out of what'd be known as a house of horrors. Soon the whole world would know that one of them was Alice, whom Keith and Susan had kept with them for years. The world would never know about the one little girl who'd been swallowed up by darkness before help ever got to her.

And for many years to come the whole neighborhood asked the same question. The one that's the easiest. The one that's comforting to use to ease their guilty conscience.

How in the world did the authorities not catch a single hint sooner?

* * *

The Lucases were a highly-respected couple. Such everyone looked up to and whose marriage the whole community envied. The conversations Clint and Owen White managed to record rattled the entire police station.

' _You get them to talk. You get a confession. And you make sure that I get inside to save my little girl. And I'll hold my end of the deal. Understood?_ '

' _Yes, yes._ ' Owen gulped loudly. ' _Look… All those kids… What I did to them, I get that it's sick, and I'm truly sor…_ '

' _No, you're not sorry. You disgust me. But unfortunately you're also the only one who can help me._ '

' _The money?_ '

' _The usual amount. So, ah… The girl?_ '

' _Susan will come down with her in a minute. The poor thing is still a little confused._ '

' _Thirsty. Don't worry. You'll see the girl soon._ '

' _Is she the same age as the others?_ '

' _You've been my client for a year and a half. I'd dare say I know your taste by now. And I've been running this… business for years. Trust me when I say that you won't be disappointed._ '

' _How many children do you have here?_ '

' _Four. Is one of them yours?_ '

' _Yes._ '

Homeland Security was less surprised. They'd been on to the couple and their sickening business for a couple of months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to get to them. Surveillance and gathering evidence took longer than anyone expected but in a couple of days they would've been ready to strike. For the children who already disappeared it was too late but it saved who knows how many others like them.

On such a bleak night cold reason offered little comfort, agent Jennifer Reid mused bitterly, taking a sip of horrible coffee as her blue eyes darkened.

She didn't look to the side when someone entered the room. She recognized the cologne. "I've been going through Keith Lucas' laptop, e-mail exchange and bank accounts. We have the names of all their clients. There'll be a lot of arrests." She glanced towards her companion. "How's your archer doing?"

Nick Fury's grim expression was all the answer she needed. It took a while before the man spoke. "Things aren't looking good."

Jennifer felt like she was witnessing such a rare moment of vulnerability she had no business seeing. So she looked away so sharply that her long, blonde ponytail whipped from one side to another. "However things turn out… I'll make sure that it'll be labeled self-defense." Clint Barton wouldn't be called a murderer just because he saved his daughter from a pedophile. Facing a look of surprise, she shrugged. "I'm just trying to give something back for everything you've done for me."

Fury nodded, which was likely the closest he could get to saying 'thank you', then turned to leave the room.

"Fury?" She went on when his steps paused. "Next time… I don't want to have the permission to get a move on too late. Does your job offer still stand?"

* * *

Although she'd been told that she'd never have to see the people who took her again Lila was terrified as she lay on a hospital bed, curled up as tightly as she could against cold that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. A lot of people came to her room, hospital staff and those trying to figure out just what happened. They asked a million questions that made her feel even worse.

No, they didn't hurt her after making her go to sleep. No, they didn't touch her apart from cutting her hair. The people with all those questions took pictures, too. That was the worst part. Someone tried to tell them to wait for her mommy but they wouldn't listen. That made Lila cry out for her parents. Desperate, frantic calls of a child who'd been through far too much. But no matter how many times she asked no one told her anything about her daddy. They offered those ugly, stiff smiles that were most likely supposed to be comforting and praised what a brave girl she was.

She didn't feel brave. She was scared and wanted to go home. Wanted to forget that any of this ever happened. Wanted her daddy to hold her and promise that everything would be okay, that she'd just had a silly nightmare.

The room's door opened, waking Lila from her thoughts, and she stiffened as she dreaded further questions. She didn't want to answer a single more. But instead of those people in walked her mommy and Cooper. Lila barely managed to sit up before her mommy was already hugging her, the two of them clinging to each other as tightly as they could. "Oh, thank god…!" her mommy gasped. "You're safe now, sweetie. Thank god, you're safe now…!"

Lila lost whatever little control she'd had over herself. She whimpered and buried her face to her mommy's shoulder, trying to find comfort from the familiar scent. "I'm so sorry, mommy!" she babbled, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. Her voice was hysterical, her words barely comprehensible, but there was nothing she could do about it. "I… I swear I didn't mean to…"

"Lila, sweetie, listen to me." Her mommy was crying, too, but her voice was still soothing. "None of this was your fault. None."

Lila really wished that she could've believed those words. At least their impact was enough to help her stop crying. She nuzzled her head against her mommy's shoulder and just remained there in her comfort, still trembling.

After an unclear period of time there was a knock on the room's door. An apologetic looking woman in a hospital uniform peered in. "I'm sorry to disturb, but… Mrs. Barton, could I talk to you for a moment?"

Her mommy was obviously reluctant to let her out of her sight. Noticing the same thing Cooper stepped forward. "I'll keep her company", the boy suggested. Appearing far older than was his actual age.

Their mom obviously didn't like the thought of leaving them alone. But she finally relented when a nurse promised to keep an eye on them. She left after hugging them both too tightly.

Left alone with her brother Lila shifted with discomfort. The boy clearly noticed and took a seat beside her. "Are you okay?" he whispered, like this was a secret between just the two of them.

Lila shook her head, brand new tears filling her eyes. She looked towards her hands. No matter how many times she'd washed them she could've sworn that she still saw and smelled the blood. "I couldn't save him", she murmured with utter heartbreak. "He… He was bleeding so much…"

"Like mom said, it wasn't your fault", Cooper interrupted her. Sharply but not unkindly. Lila hadn't noticed that he'd been carrying something until it was offered towards her. "I thought you might need him."

Lila's eyes lit up in an instant when she saw what he'd brought. It was Huggy, her much loved Hawk plushie. As she pulled the toy-animal to a firm embrace a tiny part of her sorrow disappeared.

When the nurse peered in fifteen minutes later she found both children sleeping soundly.

* * *

Laura had seen her husband injured far more times than she cared to count. No amount of repeats made it easier to handle. It never hurt any less.

Especially when they said that there was no telling if Clint would wake up again.

There in a hospital bed he seemed so small and broken that Laura's eyes clouded instantly and she recoiled a step, a hand flying to her lips. Finally, after gathering herself for ten seconds, she managed to push herself forward. Trying not to pay attention to all the machinery surrounding him she stood beside him and grabbed his hand, squeezed greedily.

"You saved our daughter", she somehow managed, even if her voice sounded strange. "She… She's scared, but they didn't hurt her. You got to her before it was too late. And…" She chuckled hysterically, shaking her head. "I don't know if I want to punch you or kiss you."

The machinery emitted a bizarre series of blips and Laura stiffened, her hold on her husband's hand tightening. The doctor did warn her that those might happen, since Clint's whole system was still stumbling. It took a couple of minutes with her staring at the screens intently before she managed to calm down marginally and look back at her husband.

There was a frown on his face. Was he in pain or feeling cold? Or was it a nightmare? Or just nothing? In any case she leaned down and pressed a tender kiss on his eyebrow, wishing that he was able to feel it somehow.

"All I know…" She cleared her throat. "All I know is that… that I can't do this alone. I can't lose you like this, you idiot." Her thumb made massaging motions to the back of his hand. "So… Come back to us, do you hear me? Wake up and come back to us."

Only the mechanic bleeps answered her, and a horrible weight landed to her chest.

* * *

Natasha most definitely wasn't fluent with children. And she was even more out of her depth than usual while holding a wailing baby Nate. She'd already used every trick she could think of and was quickly running out of both patience and ideas.

"I know, kid. I know." She gritted her teeth. "I want to scream my head off, too. But please stop."

Over the past… she wasn't sure how many hours anymore Lila had been taken and Clint had gotten himself badly hurt. Very, very badly. It was dangerous for Natasha to be in an environment where she couldn't smash anything.

"Can I help?" Wanda's voice startled her to a point she would've never, ever admitted. The Sokovian nodded towards the baby. "You're upset, too, and he senses it. Can I help?"

Natasha was more than eager to relieve herself of the uncomfortably loud cargo. She handed over the baby like one would a hand grenade. The agent watched him wiggle with additional whimpers of protest while trying to settle to the new pair of arms. "He's not hungry, and as far as I can tell his diaper is clean", she announced as though delivering a mission report. A hint of frustration made its way to her tone and she folded her arms against the discomfort.

Wanda nodded. Natasha didn't know what she expected the younger woman to do. She most definitely didn't expect Wanda to start singing softly.

Nate didn't seem to expect it, either. The baby stared for a mighty while, his eyes perfect replicas of his father's. Then, coming to a conclusion, the child emitted a few noises of apparent delight before sighing heavily and closing his eyes. A tiny fist grabbed one of Wanda's fingers amazingly tightly and accurately.

Natasha blinked twice. Relieved and impressed, although she wouldn't have admitted it. "What was that song?" she inquired. For some reason she felt like she'd heard it before.

Wanda shrugged the best as she could. "Just… a lullaby my mother used to sing. I wondered if Nate might like it, too." Worry-lines were visible on her paler than usual face. And it occurred to Natasha that Wanda wasn't as used to Clint getting hurt as she was.

Natasha tried to figure out what she was expected to say. Pep talks were Clint's area of expertise, not hers. Fortunately more people appearing prevented an awkward moment.

Tony was the first to walk in. He was sober but fidgeted visibly every now and then. Upon lifting a takeaway bag the man grinned, even if it didn't look right. "I come with bribes, straight from Dunkin' Donuts."

Wanda's face brightened just a little bit. "My hero!" she proclaimed, quiet enough to avoid disturbing the finally calm baby.

Quite soon new approaching steps were heard. Laura and Steve walked in, both carrying one tiny Barton. The children were asleep but still Lila clung to Laura with force that was heart wrenching to witness. Laura had definitely shed a lot of tears but at the moment she was the picture of steel hard composure. No matter how feebly it was in place. "They…" She swallowed. "They had to take him to another surgery. They'll let us know as soon as they can."

None of them knew what to say. They wanted to offer words of comfort, for their own sakes as much as hers, but those all froze to their tongues. Quite unsurprisingly Tony broke the silence. "Doughnut party?"

Laura smiled. It almost reached her eyes. "A brilliant plan, Tin can."

Tony rolled his eyes and muttered something he didn't dare to repeat.

They practically huddled together, the kids sleeping and the adults munching doughnuts in a thoughtful but companionable silence. When a doctor appeared they all rose. Like one big family.

And somehow they found a hint of comfort from the thought that if Clint would've been able to see them, the man would've been proud.

* * *

A few hours of waiting later almost the entire crew was asleep. Except for Steve and Natasha. The redhead frowned upon seeing the way her friend was staring at Lila. The haunted look in those eyes… "Steve?"

The Captain shook his head, as though trying to wake up. "I just… What they planned on doing to Lila… What they did…" The soldier trailed off, appearing nauseous, horrified and nearly murderous all at once.

Natasha felt a deep amount of sympathy. In the world where Steve used to live something like this was unheard of. What a hostile world he woke up into, after falling asleep at a time of war. "I know", she murmured.

"I just…" Steve gritted his teeth. "I want to…"

"Me too." Natasha looked towards Lila and stroked the child's hair when she yelped and shifted in her sleep. "But we got her back. Clint saved her and those other kids. And those monsters are gone, now."

"They are." Such a look had never been seen in Steve's eyes before. "And if more of them appear, we'll stop them, too."

"Yeah, we will." Natasha meant it. "We'll do whatever we can to keep all the Lilas of this world safe. It's what godmoms and honorary goddads do."

* * *

The next three days were pure torture. Clint was improving. And then he wasn't. The cycle repeated itself at least three times. At one point a grim-faced doctor suggested gently that perhaps it was time to start saying goodbye.

But Clint wasn't ready to go yet. He kept hanging on through all the setbacks and complications. Clung to life with all the stubbornness he'd been granted. Eventually Clint was transferred from the ICU to a regular ward. All his large family could do was wait.

On the morning of day five Tony peered into the room. Just to check if Laura needed anything, because it wasn't like he would've been worried or something. He froze to the doorway, his eyes widening.

He'd been told that the level of Clint's anesthesia had been brought down. He should've known that the Hawk would hurry to surpass all expectations. Because at the moment the man's eyes were half open, barely awake but still. The archer's face still had a deathly pale color and several new wrinkles but the man was nonetheless smiling just a little bit. Nothing but serenity lingered in the room while Clint took his turn to watch Laura sleeping. There was barely any physical contact – Clint was still too injured and didn't want to disturb Laura's much needed rest – but the moment couldn't have been more intimate. It was like the two of them were in a world of their own, the archer never once sensing someone watching.

Deciding that those two had more than deserved their little perfection and not wanting to intrude, Tony slipped away without making a sound. Leaving the two to heal each other. For the first time in days there was a genuine smile on the billionaire's exhausted face.

An hour later Pepper found him sleeping on one of the Tower's couches. Finally able to rest. She kissed his forehead and decided that today they could have Shawarma. Just this once.

* * *

It took a couple of days before it was confirmed that Alice Lucas was actually Ellie Thomas. She was abducted from her father at a zoo over three years earlier. She was one of the Lucas' first victims.

And one morning her real mother came to her when she was drawing. She didn't dignify the intrusion with even a glance. Which didn't discourage the woman. "What are you drawing, sweetheart?"

Alice gritted her teeth. "My family", she announced sharply. "Mommy, and daddy."

There was a long silence. "Sweetheart… I'm your mommy, remember?"

Alice shook her head resolutely, not even looking at the woman. "You took me away from them. You ruined my life." Finally reaching her boiling point, she glared at the intruder with all the venom she could find. "They'll come and get me home soon, you'll see. And they'll kill you for taking me away!"

From behind what Alice assumed to be a mirror a pair of darkened eyes observed the encounter.

When Sharon Thomas rushed out of the room Dr. Dana Rogers sighed heavily. Her eyes returned quickly to the child who continued to draw like nothing ever happened. The girl hummed a song that instantly sent shivers down the doctor's spine. The child was so very, very lost, and Sharon could only hope that somehow they'd be able to lead her back home.

Everything on the drawing paper was red.

* * *

It took a few more days before Clint felt healed enough to meet Lila without risking scaring her any more than he already had. The wait, as much as it was needed, proved to be torture on both the father and daughter. More than a thousand times Lila wondered if her daddy was mad at her. Maybe that was why he didn't want to see her? Even all her mommy's reassurances didn't manage to chase away those doubts.

And then it was time.

To Lila's confusion her mommy didn't take her to a hospital room. Instead she led her towards the hospital's garden. She swallowed and frowned. "Isn't it cold outside?"

Her mommy smiled. "Daddy's been inside for days, the poor thing. He said he needed some fresh air."

That… was a comfort, actually. That daddy was ready to leave the bed. That he was still stubborn.

And then they were already there. Faster than Lila would've been ready for it. She clung to her mommy's hand. "Mommy…" She didn't know how to continue without feeling silly.

"I know." Her mommy kissed her hair. "Now go and see him, sweetie. He's missed you."

Encouraged by those words Lila stepped outside, even though the air was cold and she was feeling beyond hesitant. In a couple of seconds she saw the bench. Then the familiar person sitting on it.

Her daddy still looked unwell. And there was a wheelchair hidden nearby the bench. But he was sitting on his own. And when he saw her a huge smile appeared to his face, chasing away the traces of tiredness and pain.

No words were needed. Lila rushed to her daddy and practically melted into those much-longed arms. And while tears of joy spilled the real healing began.

* * *

The healing wasn't easy, at all.

For months and months Lila had horrible nightmares. Such that made her scream through the night and caused her to wet her bed again. There were a lot of days when she didn't dare to let her daddy out of her sight. And then there were days when she could barely look at him because all she could see was the blood. But she had a good therapist and the Barton spirit. She healed enough to go back to school. Not to the one she used to go to, but to another one where the memories of the horror story were far away. Eventually Clint and Laura got their little girl back.

Clint's physical healing took a long time. The emotional even longer. For ages he was in anguish whenever his kids weren't in sight. He blamed himself and stretched himself thin trying to ensure that nothing such would happen again. But eventually, over time, he healed as well.

But some things would have to change.

"Are you sure about this?" Nick Fury inquired, eyeing on the paper that was just handed to him.

Clint nodded. "The team will make it just fine without me. They'll go on saving the world. It's my duty to keep my family safe." He'd been kept away from them far too much.

Fury nodded in understanding and sighed. "Well… Maybe now you'll finally stop almost dying every five minutes." He'd miss the archer, really and honestly. Not the constant near heart-attacks, though. If he had hair it would've all turned gray by now.

Clint smiled. There was melancholy in the man's eyes but no regret. "Never thought I'd be lucky enough to face retirement."

"So enjoy it." _Take care of yourself. And them._

This would be the end of an era.

Clint nodded, then turned to leave. The archer stopped at the room's door. "And Nick? That call card's been in your pocket for months. Call her." The Hawk went on upon seeing the look on his face. "Stop wasting time. Trust someone who almost ran out of it." With that Clint walked out, most likely pleased to have actually succeeded in rendering Nick Fury speechless.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awww for happy endings! And is NICK FURY actually planning on dating?! What in the worl?

Sooooooooo… Any good? At all? PLEASE, do leave a review to let me know! It ALWAYS means a lot to hear from you guys.

Awkay, because it's WAY too late, I've gotta go. Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all stay tuned for that one.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I know, right! He was SO CLOSE. Poor Bartons! They've definitely jumped on a bumpy ride. (whimpers)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: Welcome back! I've missed you. (HUGS)

I'm thrilled that you enjoyed the chapter so much! DEFINITELY a bleak one. We'll see just what the second half brings…

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	82. A Pinprick of Vengeance

A/N: Phew! This chapter played with me for two days before agreeing to take shape. (chuckles) BUT, here we are, folks! Hooray? (Clint, put down that arrow right at this instant – you'll hurt yourself!) (Sorry, but we all know he will soon…!)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your absolutely AWESOME reviews, listings and support! Over eighty chapters and you're all still here. You can't even imagine how much it means to me! (HUGS) I'll do my best to hank you fellow sadists with all the kind of whump you love the most.

Awkay, because stalling is RUDE… (Steve agrees.) Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

 **Typed partially under the influence of a yet another repeat of 'Age of Ultron'.**

* * *

A Pinprick of Vengeance

* * *

The mission was over. And as was the case far too often, the end found Clint recovering from an emergency surgery. He became at least somewhat aware as he was wheeled from recovery to a hospital room and frowned at the hostile fluorescent lights.

"Well good morning, Clint." The unfamiliar female voice echoed painfully in his head. He turned his head with great effort and slowly his vision cleared enough to reveal a young nurse with tightly tied chestnut colored hair and dark brown eyes. She smiled down at him. "You're a lucky man. You were hit by three bullets and lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be fine.

Clint frowned, trying to remember. Jolts of pain… Steve trying to staunch the bleeding, calling out his name… The dark… He began to shiver and wondered if it was because of the anesthesia or something else. "… friends okay?" The rest of the team was fine, right? He needed to know that they hadn't been injured in the chaos.

The nurse's smile widened. "Yes, they're perfectly alright", she confirmed. "They did say that you'd ask."

Clint found himself relaxing, at least a little. Staying awake was a struggle but he couldn't bring himself to rest. Not in this environment.

They reached a room and the door closed nearly soundlessly behind them. To his surprise she didn't start hooking him up on machinery. Instead she pulled out… Was that an Insulin Pen?

Clint's heart began to thunder from adrenaline while he shook his head the best as he could. "No… Not diabetic…" Wasn't she supposed to be a medical professional? Didn't she see from his files that he didn't need insulin? What was she doing?

"I know you aren't." The nurse's voice was terrifyingly calm. Her eyes were on the Insulin Pen as she prepared a chillingly large dosage. "This'll be my last act as a nurse. I'll probably get caught. But at least I'll have the comfort of knowing that my husband's been avenged." She looked at him, and whatever warmth there was on her face had turned into frost. "Dublin, six months ago. Tim O'Malley. You put an arrow right through his eye. To you he was a terrorist, I suppose you didn't even know his name. To me he was the father of my three kids and the love of my life. I thought that the loss would kill me. Until today, when I heard rumors that an Avenger would be admitted." Her eyes narrowed. "You were a lucky man. But maybe I'll accomplish what the bullets couldn't."

She moved the hem of his hospital gown enough to reveal his thigh. Clint swallowed hard, feeling sick to his stomach and desperate. He wanted to fight back, wanted to move. But the anesthesia hadn't worn off properly yet. "Don't…" Pathetic, barely audible. But it was the best he could produce. He tried to push her hand away but in his current condition only succeeded in brushing her skin with his fingertips.

The nurse snorted. "Did you give my husband mercy? Did you hesitate before ending his life?" She shook her head. "I don't think so. And you don't deserve mercy, either." She plunged the needle through his skin and injected the medicine before he barely realized what was going on.

"And that was it." She pulled the needle away, put a cover on it and pocketed the pen. "Nice and easy."

Fighting her wasn't an option, not in his condition and with his injuries. But very, very slowly Clint's hand began to reach towards his only option. Nurse's call button.

Unfortunately she noticed. Perfectly calmly she took away the button and put it into her pocket. Well out of reach. "You won't be needing that. We wouldn't want you to make a fuss, would we?" She turned and began to walk away without looking back. "Enjoy hell, Hawkeye." The door closed as quietly as it did the previous time.

* * *

To have Clint injured like that… It rattled the entire team. For a horribly long time they were convinced that this would be the time when they'd lose him. When the archer lost consciousness under Steve's frantic hands they were terrifyingly sure that he wouldn't wake up again.

Until an exhausted but relieved looking surgeon approached them to announced that while Clint's condition was still critical the man would most likely make it. A little later a young nurse with chestnut colored hair and brown eyes gave them a room-number and promised to let them know when the Hawk was ready for visitors. That knowledge was at least a small comfort as they settled for a wait that was bound to be a long one. Only… Steve couldn't relax.

What was the anxiety swelling in the pit of his stomach? At first he imagined that it was residual adrenaline, aided by the constant mental images of Clint bleeding out. Nagging doubts, which grew louder constantly, plagued him while he ordered Natasha to have her clearly painful, badly swollen wrist looked at. Bruce, knowing what a bad patient she was as well as he did, promised to escort her. When Steve caught Tony fiddling a phone longingly for the tenth time, the billionaire's eyes suspiciously moist, he told the man to go and call Pepper. No matter what front Tony liked to show the world, Steve knew that the Iron Man was the member of their team who took these things the hardest. For someone who wore a metal armor the man's heart was terrifyingly open and unshielded. Steve dreaded to imagine what the loss of a yet another important person might do to Tony.

Tony hesitated. Clearly wanting to be in two places at the same time. "Let me know…"

"We will", Steve swore. "Now go and call Pepper. She's worried."

Once Tony had walked away Steve looked towards where he knew Clint's room to be. The nagging feeling in the back of his head wouldn't go anywhere. He frowned, feeling vaguely like ants had been marching on his skin.

"You seem troubled", Thor observed.

Steve nodded. Then shook his head. "Probably just a feeling." Although, the previous time he experienced similar was when he hopped into the train from which Bucky fell.

* * *

Clint faced the insulin's impact entirely too quickly. His shaking intensified and heartbeat sped up in a manner that definitely wasn't healthy. When he began to feel incredibly dizzy and sweaty he realized that time was most definitely running out. He tried his hardest to _think_ , and groaned loudly at the iron hard hold the anesthesia still had on him.

' _Focus. Move. React. Get help. DO SOMETHING!_ ' his mind, pushed into a wild chaos, screeched at him. _'If you don't you'll DIE!_ '

That was when he noticed the call button right beside the room's door. It was meant for emergencies. If this didn't qualify as one he didn't know what did.

In the agonizingly long minutes to come Clint used absolutely all his stubbornness. Ignoring the fact that moving at all was a bad idea he curled himself and gasped painfully at the pain such a simple thing caused. Then, bracing himself, he moved his legs and foolishly attempted to stand.

It was like someone had shot him all over again. With a loud moan he crashed to the floor, surrendering to the blinding pain and dizziness that surged through him like a tsunami. Several stitches were definitely pulled when he hit the floor ungracefully and he wondered if the agony would kill him faster than the insulin. Did he black out for a moment or two, somewhere along the way?

His thoughts began to melt together while he lifted his head, barely able to see the call button from how his eyes blurred. So close yet so far. But he couldn't just not try, could he?

Standing up wasn't an option so Clint began to drag himself forward. Each motion setting his wounds on fire and tearing at the carefully done stitches. Blood soaked his hospital gown but he couldn't afford to let it slow him down. Each ticking second was precious. Black spots danced in his line of vision while his painstakingly slow, possibly hopeless journey continued.

It seemed to take ages but eventually he was about a step or two away from the button. There he realized with a horrifying certainty that he wouldn't make it any further. He whimpered because he didn't have enough breath for a scream of rage and frustration.

The last thing Clint saw before losing consciousness was the button that would've saved his life, and a little later he started seizing.

* * *

Eventually Steve decided that as patient as he was, he couldn't handle any more waiting. If Clint's nurse would yell at him he'd face it. He wanted to make sure that his friend would be okay, like the doctor promised.

The closer he got to the room the more the bad feeling inside him swelled. The hallway was empty and quiet. Enough so to allow him to hear the… knocking, almost. Only, this knocking came from the wrong side of the door. And then it stopped.

Steve was about to investigate when the nurse who gave them Clint's room number spoke from directly behind him. "How may I help you?" Gone was the friendliness from before. Her eyes were colder than ice. "I was under the impression that I told you I'd come and tell you when he's ready for visitors."

Steve wasn't intimidated. His eyes narrowed. "And I understood that he's in a critical condition. Why isn't he at the ICU?"

"With all due respect, this is a small, S.H.I.E.L.D-funded hospital. The ICU is full. Don't worry, I'll ensure that he receives all the help he needs here." The step closer to him she took had a clear meaning. ' _GO AWAY._ ' "If you have complaints, I'd suggest directing them to Fury's people."

"I will." Steve took a step of his own. "But first I'm going to see my friend."

He moved to open the door and saw from the corner of his eye how the nurse moved to stop him. Thor was faster and stepped between them, arms folded and standing straight in all his height. The Asgardian only needed to growl one thing to halt her. "Don't."

It might've been amusing if Steve's mind hadn't gotten preoccupied. Because just then he was pushing the door open, only to discover that something was in the way. His blood ran incredibly cold at what he saw through the crack that formed. Someone who wore a hospital gown lay on the floor, entirely too still and blood staining the attire. "Clint?" No reaction, no movement. His stomach tightened uncomfortably. "Clint, I'm coming in."

He forced the door open as gently as possible, resolutely not watching his friend's unresponsive body shifting along. As soon as he could he slipped inside. What he found made him feel like he'd stepped into a horror movie.

There were bloodstains on the floor and on Clint's clothing from how hard the man had struggled to move ahead. At the moment the archer was horrifyingly pale and sweat could be seen covering his face. For a while Steve thought that it was the injuries which caused his friend to collapse. But as he knelt beside the archer to check the man's pulse he smelled something bizarre, like alcohol, and began to suspect that something else entirely was going on. The Hawk's heart was thundering wildly when he touched the man with a healthy amount of caution. It was incredibly worrying that the contact received no reaction.

"Clint, can you hear me?" He tried shaking his friend. Nothing happened. He swallowed, fighting with his all to remain calm. _Not again, not again, not again…!_

Steve couldn't afford to wait any longer. He didn't feel comfortable with moving Clint but there was fairly little choice. As carefully as possible he picked up the archer and headed out of the room, hoping from the bottom of his galloping heart that he wasn't too late.

The nurse's attention was immediately on Clint. Hate and disgust sharpened her eyes. "Is he still alive?"

"What did you give him?" Steve hissed through his teeth and tightened his hold on Clint when it felt like the archer kept fading.

The nurse only smiled.

Just then Tony rushed to the scene. The billionaire's eyes widened and face lost whatever little color there'd been. "What the…?"

"She's given him something", Steve announced in a clipped tone, frustrated, furious and trembling so badly that it was a miracle he didn't drop the archer he was desperately trying to save.

Tony's nose twitched, clearly catching the same thing Steve did earlier. Shock turned into pure, absolute terror, such that took over Tony's whole expressive face. "Hypoglycemia… We need to get him help, now!"

"Go", Thor urged and remained tightly glued to the nurse's side. The hammer wielder's expression would've chilled anymore. "I shall ensure that she won't be going anywhere."

* * *

Tony's digging was quick to reveal what the S.H.I.E.L.D officials hiring the nurse had failed to realize. She was the wife of a HYDRA-agent Clint killed during one of their missions and it seemed that she belonged to the organization herself. She must've been keeping an eye on them since and it couldn't be tough to guess who put an arrow to her husband's head. It could only be wondered what she would or wouldn't have done if Clint didn't have the misfortune of meeting her now. The reason she chose to use insulin also became apparent. Her husband was diabetic.

Shakespeare level crap, as Tony muttered.

The three remaining Avengers looked up when hesitant steps entered the waiting room. In walked a tall, blond haired man whose doctor's coat held a S.H.I.E.L.D symbol. Under different circumstances the genuine embarrassment and shame on the man's face might've been satisfying. "I'm Dr. Lambert, the chief of staff. I… I wanted to express, for the entire hospital, how truly sorry…"

"According to the statistics, over the past two years eighteen S.H.I. agents who have been brought there have died. Twelve of them even though they should've made a full recovery." Steve's deadly calm Captain America voice was incredibly impressive, almost chilling. The impact was enforced by the fact that soldier was half a head taller than Dr. Lambert. "I've already asked for a team to go through every employee's records, including yours, to find anyone who might have connections to HYDRA. So your apologies are unnecessary. Just…" The soldier gritted his teeth and looked away for a moment. "Just make sure that Clint gets the help he needs and recovers."

Dr. Lambert nodded and left as quickly as he could.

Thor looked at him with endearingly open surprise. Tony blinked once, twice. "I've… been wondering if you have a dark side. Remind me not to dig further."

Steve chose not to comment. He slumped down heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache settling in. The day had been too long and entirely too filled with stress. Deciding that he needed something to distract him the Captain glanced towards Tony, who still seemed paler and a great deal more serious than usual. "How did you know what was wrong with Clint?"

Tony tried to shrug it off, as the billionaire often did. "Basic first aid." The inventor then looked away, his facial muscles tightening. "And… I knew someone with diabetes."

Steve had to admit that he was curious. But he also knew that this wasn't his business and Tony definitely wasn't ready to share. So he left it at that. He wasn't a nosy person by nature, anyway.

Not that he would've had time for questions. Because just then Natasha, with a shiny new cast, and Bruce entered the room. The second the two saw the looks on their faces they froze. "What's wrong?" Natasha demanded sharply.

* * *

Before the fateful day she encountered Clint Barton nurse Maria O'Malley hadn't even tried to kill anyone, even if she'd been on HYDRA's payroll for three years. It was one of her few conditions, actually. Delivering information and forging documents, certainly. Treating HYDRA-agents, absolutely. But she never, ever wanted to take a life. Until her husband was killed. She was furious and heartbroken. And she knew that she'd get herself into a trouble with her appalling actions. She felt no remorse, even when she thought of her children.

Not even when a redhead she recognized as Black Widow entered the room where she was confined.

When Natasha emerged from the room five minutes later every single strand of her hair was neatly in place and there wasn't a trace of emotions on her face. The only sign of anything out of the ordinary having taken place were the few droplets of blood staining the knuckles of her good hand. The two S.H.I.E.L.D agents guarding the door gave her looks but neither commented.

"Tell me!" Maria O'Malley screamed from the inside. Her voice was hoarse and full of the despair of someone who'd lost their purpose in life. "Say something! Tell me! Is he dead? TELL ME!"

The door slammed closed.

* * *

As soon as Clint was deemed stable enough the team had him transferred to the Tower. None of them trusted the hospital with his health and safety. Back home, with his own people looking after his friend, Tony could finally breathe easily again.

The medical professionals had done their all. From there it was up to Clint to fight and recover. All the team could do was wait.

* * *

The first thing Clint saw when his eyes opened was blinding white. The kind that made his head feel like it was about to explode. He groaned loudly and squeezed his eyes shut determinedly. Eager to block out _everything_.

"Oh, no, don't you dare!" Tony aimed for a light tone but failed miserably. "Your beauty nap's lasted long enough. Wakey, wakey."

Clint groaned again. For a moment he entertained the thought of swinging his fist towards the direction of the billionaire's voice but it felt like too much effort. "… not dead?"

"Nope. You tried very hard, though. They're still keeping an eye on your blood sugar. And they said that you managed to tear apart the hard work those poor people did on your wounds. There was some pretty impressive internal bleeding. Tossing yourself out of a bed with three gunshot wounds? _Do not_ try that again or I'll unleash Pepper on you. And you know how good she is at mother henning." Tony's voice sounded muffled for a while. "Only you manage to find someone attempting to kill you even at a hospital."

Clint tensed up. Oh yes, it was all coming back to him, now. He tried opening his eyes, decided that he needed to see that everyone was alright. "… is she?"

"Locked up. As she should be." The blurry something in his still feeble line of vision moved, and all of a sudden something touched his lips. He shuddered, which did no favors to his gunshot wounds. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. It's just juice. Better boost that blood sugar level of yours."

Clint sipped tentatively. The cool liquid did miracles on his scratchy throat. "Thanks." Finally he could see properly and arched an eyebrow at his friend's appearance. "Sleep. 'look worse than I do, Tin Can."

Tony snorted, a genuine smirk of relief appearing. "Oh yeah? I should get a mirror, Feathers." The genius yawned gloriously, for a few moments appearing decades younger. "Just… Do us all a favor, Pigeon? Try to stay out of trouble for a while. Just for a few days. Or we'll make a team decision to have you locked up to the Tower for desk duty." The inventor then thought better of it. "Or no, forget it. You'd get into a trouble even here. You're harder to babysit than any kid."

Injuries, exhaustion and pain be damned, Clint laughed.

"I'm glad that you find this hilarious", Tony quipped, unable to actually sound amused.

Clint smiled. His eyelids were getting heavy but he didn't want to go back to sleep yet. Not when his friend was looking at him like he might suddenly combust or just disappear. "'am fine."

Tony shook his head, uncharacteristically serious. "No, Budgie, you're really not. But you will be. We'll all babysit to make sure."

* * *

Twenty minutes later one of the Tower's doctors, Aisha Tameer, peered into the room. What she discovered brought a smile to her face. She would've emitted a sound if she'd dared to risk breaking the moment's magic.

Tony was fast asleep on the chair right beside Clint's bed, head tilted back and snoring softly. On the other side of the bed Natasha was also sleeping, curled up on a massive armchair with her legs lifted elegantly to rest beside Clint's. She seemed peaceful but it was easy to tell that her rest was light, and she was turned so that she could keep an eye on the door. Bruce, huddled to his own chair slightly further from the others, had been reading a book but it had already slipped from the slumbering scientist's fingers. Steve, who'd positioned himself so that he'd been able to observe the archer's vitals, stirred a little upon sensing someone watching but settled as quickly. Thor's sudden snore startled her. The Asgardian had placed his chair beside the doorway, ready to ambush anyone who entered with ill intentions. Keeping watch, all of them.

At the moment only Clint was awake. Barely but still. There was a fond expression on the archer's face as he examined the team, ensuring their safety one by one. A frown could be seen when the Hawk's gaze settle on Natasha's cast. It settled slowly as the man convinced himself that the whole team was alright. The Avengers assembled.

While Clint's eyelids drooped and eventually closed Aisha left, not wanting her intrusion to be detected. She'd let him rest for a while before the poking he'd hate would begin. There was a small smile on her face while she sent Fury a message to let him know that the patient was recovering and in safe hands.

* * *

End

* * *

(to avoid confusion - the sound Steve heard was Clint's feet hitting the door as he seized; a tiny thing, but just in case you wonder)

A/N: Awww! Let's give them a moment's rest. We all know that in a week 'SOS' will strike again. (smirks sheepishly and whistles innocently)

A funny side note? This chapter was saved to my laptop under the title 'insulin revenge'. Bad working titles are badass.

Soooo… Any good? At all? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from fellow Feathers fans. (I wonder how Clint would feel about that petname.)

 **TO COME NEXT (no promises about the order):**

Because I can't resist my own prompt, Clint gets into a trouble safe inside the Tower's walls. Also, how would guys feel about a 'Pietro lives' story? PLUS, I've received a prompt I can't resist, and we'll face an asthma attack from hell with Clint.

Awkay, I'll soon be off to dream up some more Clint-whump. (smirks) Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Thank gosh he made it! And even retired, to spend time and be happy with his most important people. (BEAMS)

I'll do my best to surprise you pleasantly!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: Quite emotional, wasn't it? (sniffles, and hands over tissues) But hooray to a happy ending!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: I'm OVERJOYED that you enjoyed it! (BEAMS) We'll see what the next one brings…

LOVE your prompt!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	83. The Sleeping Hawk (FEAT Pietro)

A/N: This idea came OUT OF NOWHERE, charmed me and took ALMOST TWO FULL DAYS to take shape. (giggles) We'll see what the final product turned out to be…

First, though… THANK YOU, so, so much, for all your reviews and love! GOSH. It feels better than you could ever imagine to know that so many people out there love Clint as much as I do! (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get too mushy… And because it's LATE… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **Get ready for a Pietro-lives tale!**

* * *

The Sleeping Hawk

* * *

Pietro and Wanda were still strangers to American traditions. Some of them they loved, others they found ridiculous. Valentine's Day was Pietro's guilty pleasure.

He liked the disgustingly sweet holiday that'd been created to sell stuff. (That was what Natasha told him, anyway.) So what? Since his parents died he only had one person in the whole world who really cared about him. Then he met a weird group in Halloween costumes, had everything he'd believed in smashed, got hit by several bullets that nearly killed him and all of a sudden he had a new… home. Somewhere to belong. People who accepted him and believed in him. It felt nice, to have a whole day dedicated to celebrating that.

Which didn't mean that he wouldn't rather get shot again than admit as much out loud.

Valentine's Day was only ten days away and every store was accordingly packed with cheesy romantic stuff. Clint agreeing to go shopping with him had been a pleasant surprise. Pietro smirked upon finding a set of Cupid's bow and toy arrows. "I'm definitely getting this for you", he announced. "It screams your name."

Clint rolled his eyes. "If you want an arrow to your butt cheek that badly it can be arranged. But it won't be a plaything."

"Like you'd ever be fast enough, old man."

"With the help of Stark's toys, I would be."

Only about six months earlier any mention of Tony Stark's inventions would've sent Pietro's mind reeling to dangerous places, would've turned his blood cold. Now he simply smirked. Funny how quickly things can change.

Well, if there's anything he'd never been afraid of it was speed.

A couple of strides later Pietro saw a box of Legos. He pursed his lips, considering. "You think the mini Hawks would like those?" There was no response. "Clint?"

Alarmed, Pietro peered over his shoulder. He frowned upon spotting no trace of his friend and mentor. Clint wasn't the type to just…

Then his gaze fell, and he could've sworn that his heart skipped a few beats.

Clint lay on the hallway, eyes closed and unconscious. There were no signs of injury, not a single hint to explain what might've happened. The archer had just collapsed.

And apparently the universe decided that it wasn't bad enough. That Pietro hadn't come close enough to a heart attack. Because then Clint started seizing. It lasted for a few fleeting moments the speedster would never, ever forget them.

"CLINT!"

Using his powers in public drew a bit too much attention. But even without them Pietro was still incredibly fast. The second he hit the floor beside Clint he was shaking the archer, desperate to get the man to wake up. The entire time his heart was racing, ten times the usual speed, and his chest was so tight that air didn't seem to fit in. His thoughts screamed so loudly that he didn't realize he was screaming out loud, too. "Clint, can you hear me? Clint!"

Pietro had no idea how long he kept doing that. Calling out, shaking his friend. Clint didn't react to anything he did, no matter how desperately he tried. Every second seemed to pass by in slowed motion. Until all of a sudden everything was far too fast.

"Sir?" The voice made him shiver and for a blink he hoped that perhaps it was Clint. "Sir, could you please move out of the way so we can assess him?"

Pietro blinked sluggishly while obeying, for once moving painfully slowly. Someone called an ambulance, then. He hadn't realized that they had audience until he saw all the people who'd gathered around. He growled, feeling an instinctive need to protect and shield his friend from the prying eyes.

"Sir?" One of the paramedics, a small young woman with the kindest eyes he'd ever seen, glanced towards him before continuing to work on Clint. "What's his name?"

Pietro swallowed thickly. When did he start to tremble? "B-Barton. Clint Barton."

The woman nodded, continuing her motions with practiced ease. Under different circumstances her incredibly fast hands might've been captivating. "Has he been ill recently? Headaches? Dizziness?"

Pietro shook his head. Unable to look away from his friend's unconscious face. "No, no. Or, well… He never tells if there's something wrong, so…" He was talking so quickly that he wondered if it was possible to understand him.

The paramedic nodded. Then began to spout out medical jargon at such speed that Pietro had no hope of keeping track. Every now and then there was a question darted his way. He answered them the best as he could. And then, so suddenly that he was caught off guard, they were taking Clint away. He followed, pleased that no one was protesting. Either they were in too much hurry to waste time on fighting with him or wondered if he needed medical attention, too. Maybe both. In full honesty Pietro didn't care. He just wanted Clint to wake up.

The Hawk never did. And then Clint was whisked away to the depths of the hospital, faster than the speedster could keep up. Pietro was left standing there all alone, aching, still trembling from adrenaline and lost.

And he wondered, no matter how much the thought sickened him, if he was about to lose another one of those very few people he'd dared to let close.

* * *

Pietro didn't quite know how he found the waiting room. Nor did he know how long he sat there. Until he finally more felt than heard Wanda approaching. "Have you heard anything?" she demanded the second she dashed in.

Pietro shook his head. He didn't know what to say and he wasn't used to that, not with her. Or anyone. "He wouldn't wake up", was all he managed. The words were hoarse and choked, and he didn't like the way his eyes felt. "He just… fell, and…" He trailed off.

Wanda took his hand tightly and said nothing. It wasn't until then he realized that she was trembling as badly as he was. This – waiting, bracing themselves, not knowing, soldiering on – was both easier and worse when it was just the two of them against the world.

Pietro blinked furiously against the intensifying stinging taking over his eyes. The world around him seemed a little blurry. "He'll be okay." He wasn't entirely sure which one of them he was trying to convince. "You… You've seen what he can… walk off, wasn't that how Rogers put it? He'll be…" The final word froze on his tongue.

Because just then Wanda tensed up, and upon looking up he saw a grim-faced doctor walking towards them.

* * *

The doctor said that the scans showed signs of several past traumas. Clint's thick skull had taken a lot of hits, and it was a small miracle that until now no symptoms were visible. It was impossible to tell how much the old damage had to do with this new… ailment, was the word the doctor chose delicately to use. Perhaps nothing. This kind of a problem was such that sometimes started completely out of nowhere, dramatically and without any forewarning. Whatever the truth was, all three doctors Pietro had eventually irritated and exhausted into talking to him were worried.

The newest problem was bleeding and the swelling it caused. The medical professionals had done everything they could to relieve the pressure inside Clint's skull. After that it was up to the Avengers' very own sleeping beauty to fight like hell and wake up so they'd see the full damage.

Once a kindly – and pityingly – smiling nurse made the mistake of letting Pietro take a seat beside Clint's bed the speedster refused to budge. Well, aside those brief moments when they were giving the archer a wash, because that was seriously not something he wanted to see. It was a waiting game, and Pietro had _never_ been good at waiting, even before he got his powers. It felt like time had slowed down and it felt unnatural to him.

The first couple of days it was waiting whether Clint would win the fight to stay alive. Medical professionals had frowns on their faces as they monitored the man's vitals and did a storm of tests to see if the swelling was going down. Pietro didn't need Wanda's powers to know that they weren't very optimistic the Hawk would pull through. Clint proved them wrong, either out of spite or stubbornness.

Through all the drama Clint appeared so peaceful that it was unnerving. Staring at the man's pale face the speedster fought the urge to poke at him. He would've liked to touch, really, but didn't dare to risk disturbing all the tubes, wires and machinery. "They shaved off your hair, you know", he revealed. "You're gonna hate it. And I can't wait to get to tease you about it. So, you…" He swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat all of a sudden. "So hurry and wake up, alright?"

Clint commented nothing. Didn't even twitch. It felt wrong and unnatural to see him so still. The archer was always on the move, drumming with his fingers or tapping his foot at least. Pietro wanted to beg the older man to do _something_.

"He's still there", Wanda murmured. She lay one hand beside Clint's head but she also didn't quite dare to touch. He wondered how badly she wished that her powers would've been enough to _fix this_. "We just… We have to wait."

Pietro leaned back on his chair with a heavy sigh. "Well… I hope that doesn't take too long. He knows how bad I am at waiting."

* * *

The twins didn't know that they were being watched.

Natasha had been so deep in thought that she shivered at the sound of Steve's familiar voice. "Hey." The soldier, who seemed far paler than usual, nodded towards the room. "How's he doing?"

Natasha took a deep breath. "Being stubborn. He's hanging in there."

"Have the twins still gotten any rest?"

Natasha snorted. It sounded fonder than she'd expected. "What do you think? They were also stubborn to begin with and Clint's made them worse."

Steve smiled. Just a little bit. "And you?"

Natasha groaned. "Just called Laura, to let her know." And it was every bit as pleasant as she'd known it to be. Those calls never got easier.

She was grateful that Steve didn't ask or comment. "Come on", the Captain suggested instead. "Those two aren't going to leave his side. Let's go and get us all some decent coffee. What they have in this place is worse than what I drank in the 40s."

* * *

When it began to look like Clint might stand a chance his primary doctor decided to give the archer a chance to try and wake up. Which also happened to be when the team was called to a mission. On that day the whole gang gathered to the still unconscious man's room.

"How did you manage to sneak in this cake?" Pietro inquired with genuine curiosity, far more of said treat in his mouth than should've fit there.

Tony smirked. Even if it didn't look right with the new worry-lines marking the man's face, even if those eyes didn't smile along. The billionaire winked. "It's the Stark-charm."

Natasha rolled her eyes. She also took a spoonful of cake although she didn't feel like eating, hoping that maybe the chocolate would be a hint of comfort. "I'm sure that Pepper would be thrilled to hear all about it."

Tony's panicked look made the rest of them laugh, which was a nice change to all the stress and worry that'd been weighing them recently.

And, as it turned out, it was also exactly what Clint had been waiting for. All eyes turned on the machinery surrounding him when it let out a set of beeps, announcing a change in vitals. The archer's pulse just sped up. They all tensed up, wondering what was going to happen next.

Apparently that faint sign of still being there had drained whatever little strength Clint had. Because nothing happened. His vitals stabilized and his pulse dropped to what it had been.

"Do you think he heard us?" Steve inquired quietly, as though fearing that he'd disturb someone.

Tony grinned, this time genuinely. "Of course he did." He sounded so childishly sure of the matter that it reassured them all. He looked towards the archer. "Glad to see that your sense of humor's still intact, Feathers."

* * *

Much later that evening, when Wanda was at the cafeteria to grab them something to eat and the rest of the team had headed for the mission, Pietro rummaged through his pockets. A pleased 'A-ha!' slipped past his lips when he found what he'd been looking for. His phone and a set of earplugs.

"It's already Valentine's Day", he announced. "That's how long you've been sleeping. And… Apparently that's some sort of a special day for you and Laura. The less details I know the better." He wrestled with the equipment until everything finally clicked into place. "So, she sent… something. Made me swear that I'd have you listen to it today." Still hesitant to touch his friend when the man seemed so fragile, he put the earplugs where they belonged. Clint's skin felt cool. He wondered if the man was feeling cold. "This had better not be something nasty, old man." With that warning he started the audio clip.

The volume was loud enough for him to distinguish a woman's voice singing softly. It took longer than it should've before he realized that it was Laura. When the immediate shock faded he also recognized the lyrics of 'As Time Goes By'. Clint made him watch 'Casablanca', once, while they were both recovering from the injuries they sustained in Sokovia. Pietro realized now that the man must've been feeling homesick.

Laura sang the entire song. Softly, tenderly. After that her voice dropped so low that Pietro couldn't catch what she was saying.

Whatever it was she said, the combination of those words and the song caused a reaction. For a while Clint's pulse sped up again. And a tear, just one, crawled down the man's cheek.

* * *

It took Clint three attempts to wake up properly.

The first time he was so irritated by the horrific beeping sound echoing everywhere that he groaned. Was it his alarm clock? He fought to reach out a hand to swat it away. His left hand and arm barely twitched.

Apparently it was enough, though. There was a painfully loud screech as a chair moved. "… hear me?" Whose voice was that?

Clint slipped back under before he got the chance to find out.

The second time he heard someone humming. It was a woman and the voice sounded torturously familiar but he couldn't quite recognize it. The song was comforting, though, as was the thumb rubbing soothing circles to the back of his hand. He felt safe.

Clint fell asleep to that thought.

The third time he was actually able to open his eyes. He swore under his breath and squinted when the painful hospital lights assaulted him. Slowly yet surely he began to distinguish a blurry shape at his left. He frowned, all his instincts telling him that this was a threat. Until he recognized Pietro.

The speedster looked like he hadn't slept in ages. But now, at last, the young man was snoring softly, curled up like a cat on an uncomfortable hospital chair. Dark shadows could be seen around Pietro's closed eyes and paleness made them stand out.

"Stop frowning", Wanda admonished gently from the other side of the bed. He should've known that she wouldn't be far from her brother. "He's okay. Just a little tired."

"I know." Clint didn't like how weak and hoarse he sounded. Although he only just woke up he was already exhausted. "… the second time I see him still…" And the first time the kid nearly died on him. For him. So sue him for worrying.

Deciding that he needed to be sure, Clint attempted to reach out to poke at the other's forehead. It took five furious attempts until he realized that it wasn't going to happen. His hand and arm… They twitched, even rose a little. But they refused to listen to his commands all the way through. The entire left side of his body felt… weird. Numb. The surge of panic following that discovery took Clint's breath away. He was in far too much shock to recognize a panic attack.

"Clint?" Wanda's voice barely registered. "Clint, what's wrong?"

* * *

A stressed-out looking doctor with sad brown eyes, old enough to be close to retirement, explained to him that sometimes this happened to those who suffered through his condition. What happened was a major trauma on his whole system. He was lucky to be alive. The loss of mobility, some bits of his memories being jumbled… He was lucky that there wasn't further damage.

At the word 'lucky' Clint asked, not exactly politely, the doctor to leave his room.

How was he supposed to cope if the left side of his body wouldn't recover? How would he hold his baby? Embrace his children properly? Shoot arrows? Join the team on missions? How…?

"Are you ready to finish up the pity party or will I have to handle these muffins on my own?"

Clint sighed heavily, shifting with several types of discomfort. He rubbed his face angrily with his still fully functioning hand. "I thought I made it clear to the nurses that I'm not exactly good company right now."

Pietro shrugged and claimed the chair beside his bed like its owner. The kid was already chewing on a muffin before his behind was all the way down. "Nothing new, there. Besides, you should know by now that I like challenge." There was genuine affection in the boy's tone.

Clint wasn't sure he was ready for affection at the moment. He looked away. "Sorry, kid. But I'm gonna nod off soon."

"No, you won't. Come up with a better excuse." After ten seconds of silence Pietro went on. "Thought so. Here's the thing, old man. There's a very, very perky physical therapist right outside that door, eager to get her hands on you. And I'm the only thing keeping her from bursting in. So you have exactly two options. Me, or her." The speedster licked his fingers after finishing up with the muffin, then moved on to a second one. "Which one of us do think you'd rather deal with right now?"

Pietro had him, there. Not for the first time Clint cursed how easily the kid got under his skin. He wished that he would've been able to smile. He sighed again, feeling marginally lighter at the thought that at least he wouldn't be facing… _this_ alone. He nodded towards the box of muffins the other was holding. "Gonne give me one?"

Pietro smirked in his own endearingly infuriating way. "No. Not before you've met Mr. Smiley."

Clint stared. And stared. "Dare I ask…?"

"Catch."

Something yellow flew through the air. Against all odds Clint succeeded in grabbing it with his good hand. It was a yellow stress ball that had a sickeningly wide smile looking back at him.

"You hate it", Pietro observed, sounding amused.

"I don't trust anything with a smile like that."

"Good." Pietro's mouth was disgustingly full of a muffin as the boy spoke. "A hundred squeezes a day. At first. The harder you work on your left hand, the faster you get rid of that monstrosity."

* * *

Less than two days later Clint was about to take his first steps since the _incident_. The archer had no idea if he was ready for it. Or if the twins were, because they still seemed to fear that he'd collapse again if they looked away for even a second. According to Wanda Pietro still had nightmares of what happened. Ready or not, Clint had to get to work. Not even trying wasn't an option.

The second he got started he wondered if he was completely out of his mind.

Now, when one starts moving on a leg that's gone a little numb while the person has been sitting down, it hurts. What Clint experienced… It was something a thousand times worse. The agony of being upright, straightening his body and supporting his weight was enough to make his head spin.

His physical therapist, who was every bit as perky as Pietro warned, had been close. But Wanda was still at his side faster. "Clint?"

"I'm fine." Of course he wasn't. But he would be. Somehow. Eventually. He blinked twice, slowly. "Just… wasn't expecting… that."

"Alright, Clinton", the physical therapist chirped, obviously having recovered from her startle. "Nice and slow, now…" She kept going but the words fell of deaf ears.

"Clinton?" Wanda whispered, barely able to suppress a chuckle.

Clint glared at the still babbling slightly older woman's back. After four full hours of that voice in two days… "I swear, if she calls me that…"

"Clint." Wanda's wide eyes were aimed at his left hand. "Look."

Clint did, her tone filling him with curiosity. His eyes widened as well. His left hand was squeezing the railing beside him so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

* * *

The Avengers received daily reports of Clint during their mission. Those bits and pieces created a rather bleak imagine of what was going on. They dreaded what they'd find when they'd finally get back home.

By then Clint had been transferred to the Tower. As soon as the team walked in a familiar computerized voice directed them to one of the training rooms. And warned them that there was a mess waiting.

Tony rolled his eyes. But also hurried his steps. "It's Clint _and_ Pietro. Of course there's a mess."

They weren't sure what they expected to find. What they encountered certainly wasn't it. The training room… was every bit as much of a mess as they'd feared. Several items that'd been left for Clint to train with had been toppled over, thrown at walls or destroyed entirely. In the middle of the devastation Clint and Pietro lay on the floor. Both of them bruised, panting heavily and chuckling hysterically.

Steve blinked with confusion. Tony could only stare. Natasha looked at the two with a dry, decidedly unimpressed expression. "What's this, a collective nervous breakdown?"

"Yeah", Clint agreed. Still panting and grinning. "Something like that."

* * *

There were a lot of very good days after that. And about as many days that, as Tony elegantly and much to Steve's dismay put it, completely and utterly sucked. There worst one, right after the first of course, came four weeks after Clint woke up.

Clint was headstrong. And strong. He threw his all into the recovery. But even his body had its limits.

He still had intense, crushing headaches. Blurriness of vision. And the left side of his body could only recover so quickly. Despite his best efforts he just wasn't ready to travel all the way to the Farm.

The rest of them knew where he went, of course. They gave him some time to lick his wounds before attempting to approach him. Pietro was the bold one to take on the task.

It wasn't much of a surprise that Clint had chosen one of the Tower's highest spots for his thinking place. Pietro approached with a reasonable amount of caution. "Are you sure that it was a good idea to come here? A long way down."

Clint shrugged. The archer didn't seem worried. "And a great view." The man sighed, his shoulders slumping as the weight of everything landed on them. "Look, kid… I'm not exactly in the mood for talking…"

"In case you haven't noticed by now, I don't do talks", Pietro quipped.

"Then what, exactly, are you doing here?"

"Making sure that you don't stumble down and break your neck. Would sort of ruin your reputation, wouldn't it?" Pietro stretched, his gaze lingering on the world flashing by below. "And I was in the mood for a good scream. I figured that you might be, too."

Clint looked at him as though he just gained a second head. "What?"

Pietro did say that he was in the mood for a good scream. So he emitted one. At the top of his lungs. When he was done he looked towards Clint with a wide grin that threatened to explode into a laughter at the look on the man's face.

"You've finally lost it entirely, kid."

Pietro shrugged, completely unconcerned. "Maybe. Now go for it. I know you want to."

Clint evaluated the thought for a while. And then decided to do it. This time they howled into the night together.

* * *

Two weeks later was finally the day Clint had been waiting for. Wanda stayed behind and watched with a smile on her face as the archer limped towards the Farm. Still a little shaky on his feet but determined.

The man never made it there. Two tiny figures were moving at a lightning's speed. Wanda barely had the time to recognize them as Cooper and Lila before they'd tackled their poor, unsuspecting dad to the ground. Clint didn't seem to mind. The man's laughter carried to where she stood, along with the children's excited squeals.

A few moments later Laura also reached the scene. She looked like she hadn't slept properly in ages but there was a wide smile on her face. If it wasn't for the baby in her arms she would've probably joined the human-pile on the ground. "Okay, you two, remember that daddy's still recovering", she scolded them with very little actual sternness.

The kids didn't make a move to back off. Not that Clint would've let them. He murmured something Wanda didn't quite hear. It was enough to melt away what tension there'd been on Laura. Tears could be seen in her eyes while she knelt beside her husband and pulled him from his collar to a kiss that made Lila giggle and Cooper wrinkle his nose.

Sensing something, Wanda looked to her side. Vision stood there, staring at the family with a thoughtful, almost longing look on his face. "Penny for them." Her soft words startled him. "Your thoughts."

Vision shook his head as though trying clear it. "I was simply… wondering."

Wanda smiled a little, understanding dawning. "Come on", she urged and took his hand, beginning to lead him away from the private moment. "There's a lot of equipment we need to carry."

* * *

Four days later, just before sunset, Clint stood in the barn beside the Farm, staring at the target board. Slowly and unnaturally tentatively his hand squeezed around a very familiar bow. After a while he dared to take a proper hold, then lifted the item. His left hand shook slightly while he prepared an arrow but the unsteadiness disappeared soon. With ease that made his eyes grow misty and had his heart singing the arrow found its home.

Clint had found his way back home, too, and it was the most wonderful feeling he'd ever experienced.

Or perhaps not quite. Because what went through him when Laura wrapped her arms around him from behind and kissed his neck, then his cheek tenderly… It didn't make only his heart sing, but every single cell in his body.

The following morning Pietro woke up to find Mr. Smiley stuffed into his bag and smiled.

* * *

Before anyone realized it five months had passed by. Clint's recovery was painstakingly slow but finally the archer had regained almost all of the mobility he lost. He even decided to spend a little time at the Tower to train and rehabilitate himself properly. Pietro, as it turned out, was even more merciless than the physical therapist Tony arranged.

"Come on, old man!" Pietro called out over his shoulder. "Still a mile to go! Or are those bones of yours aching already?"

Clint glared at him but it was half-hearted at best. "One day, Roadrunner… You'll find an arrow from where you least expect it." The man was panting upon catching up with him but far less than a week earlier. That was encouraging.

Pietro was about to fire back a witty remark when he saw someone. His eyes widened as he recognized the female paramedic who helped Clint. If her smile and wave of a hand were any indication she recognized him, too.

Clint patted him on the shoulder. "You know what? I'm leaving you to handle this solo. I'll just…" The man gestured towards a bench at a discreet distance. "… drag myself there, and pass out."

Pietro barely noticed the other's departure. Seconds later the woman reached him. "Hey." She nodded towards Clint. "Nice to see him up and about. I was left wondering."

Pietro smiled, feeling lighter than he had in months. Finally the whole nightmare seemed to be over. "He's old but tough", he remarked fondly. Then all his attention was on her, and all of a sudden he found himself at a rare loss of words. Did he… blush? He didn't do blushing! "I, ah… We never introduced ourselves, back then. I'm Pietro."

She gave him a smile that did funny things to his stomach. "Well, it was nice to meet you again, Pietro. I'm Mia."

"Maybe one day I'll ditch old man, and we can run together", he suggested, and instantly felt like a complete, utter moron.

"Maybe", Mia agreed, something dangerously alluring flashing in her green eyes. "You know where to find me. If you're fast enough to catch me." With that she was already running away, a long, blonde ponytail swinging teasingly behind her.

Pietro stared at her distancing back. Completely and humiliatingly mesmerized. Until he felt Clint's hand on his shoulder again. "Finally found someone fast enough for you, kid?"

"Maybe", Pietro breathed out, staring towards where Mia had already disappeared.

Clint groaned, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea how old this makes me feel?"

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awww! It looks like there's a happy ending in the horizon for everyone. (smirks) Pietro had better catch his girl…

THANK GOSH Clint made it through another one! We'll see what's up ahead next… Poor guy won't catch more than a week's break.

Soooo… Any good? At all? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you. **And do keep the prompts coming!**

Awkay, I REALLY need some sleep! Until next time, folks. I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I aim to surprise from time to time. (grins) I REALLY hope that you'll continue to enjoy this collection!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	84. Let Go

A/N: Pheeeeeeeeew, it's late! BUT, I can't go to bed before posting this, sooooo… Here we go!

FIRST, though… THANK YOU, so much, for all your reviews, love and affection for this story! I love typing these. BUT, it makes it a thousand times better to know that you're looking forward to the updates. (HUGS)

Awkay, because the clock's ticking… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

Steve's gonna be bullied a lot here, too, so brace yourselves!

* * *

Let Go

* * *

Steve's heart was pounding and his whole, hellishly pained body trembled as he lay on the icy ground, breathing sharp pants through his teeth because anything else hurt too much. He was exhausted, most likely about to lose consciousness soon and a million other things he couldn't bottle up as skillfully as he would've liked to. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, wanted to crush something so badly that it was unnerving.

"Steve…"

Steve shook his head. "Be quiet. You're distracting me."

"Steve, you're bleeding and barely conscious." If Clint felt any fear it didn't show. "You've gotta let go."

Steve shook his head fiercely although it made him feel dizzy and nauseous, in too much pain to try uttering words.

The whole situation was horrific, infuriating and just plain unfair. As merciless as the blood-stained snow Steve lay on and the brutal, icy wind biting at them. Steve held on to Clint's wrist with all his might although bone was sticking through the skin of one of his arms, signaling an open fracture. Because he was the only thing keeping Clint from plummeting down from a mountain, to painfully bright emptiness spreading down below. Neither of them had a clear idea of how long the fall was but Steve had a sinking feeling that there was no way his friend would survive hitting the ground.

" _Cap, I'm almost there!_ " Tony's voice was uncharacteristically tight and sharp. " _Do you think you can hold on a bit longer?_ "

Steve gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt. The pain helped him find new clarity and determination. "Yes." There was no way he'd let another friend…!

But his fingers were already slipping. Steve was exhausted and barely awake. And blood poured down his arm from where a bone had pierced the skin close to his right shoulder.

Clint seemed to notice as much, despite the man's own injuries. The archer attempted to move his free arm but the limb was useless, bent to an unnatural position and obviously broken. Clint swallowed hard, the sound carrying through the wind. "Steve, it's… It's okay… to let go…" The archer winced, the agony obviously becoming too much. Steve catching him must've dislocated a shoulder and hanging like this… Tears shimmered in the Hawk's eyes but only for a fleeting moment. The man held his gaze stubbornly, as though trying to get through to him or memorize. Perhaps both. "It's all okay."

Of course it wasn't! None of this was! Steve wished that he would've been able to articulate as much.

" _I can already see you guys!_ " Tony announced. " _Just a few more seconds. Almost there._ "

Steve tried to keep holding on. Dear god, he tried, fighting with everything there was in him. But the more he tried, the more slippery his blood made things. And eventually first Clint's wrist, then the archer's fingers, slipped from his grasp. Leaving behind nothing but one of the thin gloves the Hawk had been wearing.

Steve's mouth opened but in the end he couldn't utter a sound. Neither did Clint, aside a small gasp that disappeared quickly to the wind. For a few fleeting seconds Steve was forced to stare into his friend's wide eyes. The Captain didn't know if it was better or worse when the archer disappeared into the snowstorm and fog like a ghost.

The mental image of Bucky falling merged with Clint's plummet, the ensuing agony easily making any broken bones, bullet wounds and other injuries pale in comparison. Steve's lips opened again, for what he had no idea, but still he couldn't make a sound. Something warm and moist traveled down his cheeks and it wasn't until much later he found out it was tears, not blood.

Tony in his suit was there only moments later. Steve never saw the arrival. His lost consciousness exactly two blinks after Clint disappeared from sight.

* * *

Tony's blood pressure rose unhealthily the second he heard over ear comm that Steve was in trouble. Especially because he was busy with other hostiles and there wasn't a thing he could do to help. He relaxed only marginally when Clint announced that he'd go to the Captain.

They were dealing with a HYDRA-base full of agents who'd managed to create suits of armor of their own. Almost exactly like Tony's. They'd guessed that sooner or later this day might come. Now it was crashing down on them.

Fortunately they had a full team. Slowly yet surely they were winning against the massive threat. Which, of course, was when things headed downhill. Or perhaps rather down a mountain.

" _Cap's injured_ ", Clint's tense voice reported. " _I'm getting him out of… Ah!_ " There was a lot of noise Tony couldn't identify.

Tony's stomach dropped and knotted, right there. "Hawkeye? You okay?" There was no response.

After a decade and a half, after Tony had very nearly succumbed to a panic attack, Steve's breathy, pained voice floated through to make things worse. " _Iron Man, get… get here… now… can't hold on long…!_ "

On any other day Tony might've been pleased by how quickly he succeeded in destroying the final enemy suit attacking him. Now his mind was preoccupied. Pushing forward everything there was in his suit he dashed forward, praying although he wasn't the praying kind that he wouldn't be too late.

It looked like a warzone everywhere. Hulk and Thor were still happily smashing the few remaining suits. Inside the base building Natasha was working steadily to take down those poor souls who'd been left without an armor. Perhaps she'd even succeed in destroying the computer system and designs of the…

All thoughts halted in Tony's head. He could actually feel color draining from his face. "Shit…!"

Three suited figures lay mangled on the snow. Tony had no idea what, exactly, had happened. But Steve, who was clearly badly injured, lay on the snow, unnervingly close to the edge. And Clint had fallen all the way over, only Steve's trembling arm keeping him from…

The hold broke, and Clint disappeared soundlessly into the snowstorm and mist.

Tony dove down as well. At a speed that should've terrified him. There was no other choice.

" _What's going on there?_ " Natasha snarled, panic she would've never admitted to a soul sharpening her tone.

Tony had begun to tremble at some point. And there was something wrong with his eyes. "Cap needs a doctor. I'm… I'm going after Feathers."

" _Is he alright?_ " Thor's voice boomed, nearly loud enough to split Tony's skull. The Asgardian had never really mastered the art of using ear comms. No time to waste on a reminder, now.

Nor did Tony have an answer, because he didn't want to settle for an infuriating 'no'.

Tony had no idea how long he spent searching. His suit helped but only so much, especially with the intensifying storm. Eventually he was forced to rely solely on technology to avoid smashing against the mountain.

How could Clint possibly survive a fall like that? Was there any hope of finding his friend alive? What if…?

" _Sir, there's a faint heat signature._ "

As it turned out Tony had narrowly missed Clint's landing spot, a tine ledge, at least three times. By the time he finally got there the archer was mostly covered in snow. And far too still.

As soon as Tony landed he moved the facial part of his suit away. His chest was painfully tight and his throat constricted to a point where he could barely speak. "Clint, can you hear me?"

There was no response at all. Frantic to a nearly embarrassing extend Tony rushed over, inspecting although he wasn't sure he was ready for the results. The entire time a computerized voice rattled far more information than he could stomach. Only bits and pieces of it all truly sank in.

A broken arm. Several broken bones. A leg broken from two places. Fractured skull. Internal bleeding. Hypothermia. Damage to the spine…

It'd be a miracle if Clint lived until making it to a hospital. But Tony would've never forgiven himself if he didn't try. So, as gently as humanly possible, he scooped up the archer. Entirely too aware of how unresponsive his cargo was.

"You'd better hang in there, Feathers", he murmured. "Because if you don't… I swear, I'll figure out a way to bring you back, so I can kill you again myself."

There was no witty remark from Clint, not even a twitch, and it made Tony want to scream.

* * *

It was a tiny hospital in the middle of nowhere. The members of staff were used to mundane, fairly predictable workdays. They were in for a different Tuesday.

Because all of a sudden, through the worst snowstorm in a decade, the legendary Iron Man burst in. Carrying a man who didn't even seem to be alive anymore and an expression of such anguish that would've shattered anyone's heart. "Please…! Please, help him."

* * *

Steve had been the victim of nasty nightmares for most of his life. Why should it be any different when he was unconscious and heavily medicated? The haunting images wouldn't leave him alone.

Bucky fell, over and over and over again. Then it was Clint plummeting down, disappearing into the empty nothingness. Finally the faces of his two friends merged together. Two of his worst mistakes and two of his three biggest regrets rolling into one.

Sometimes Steve woke up briefly. Or at least thought he woke up. Once he saw Natasha's solemn face, but drifted away before he got the chance to ask anything. The second time he heard pacing but blacked out before finding out who it was. The third time he could've sworn that he was flying in something horribly loud. Oblivion was a welcomed change to the headache that threatened to destroy his skull.

Steve finally woke up properly to feeling cold. So horribly cold that he gasped and instantly regretted the reaction when hellish pain shot through him. It took a while before he realized that the ensuing moan came from him.

"Hey." Natasha's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Your injuries are healing incredibly quickly but you need to take it slow for a while."

He turned his head and felt his stomach tighten upon facing her. "'s wrong?" he mumbled. Because she looked like she hadn't slept in about a week. The realization made him feel even colder than before, and soon he was trembling. It was like he'd crashed into ice anew… "Clint…?"

Natasha sighed heavily and ran a hand through her hair. "He… was in a pretty bad shape, when Tony found him." Her eyes darkened. "It's been fourteen days, and they didn't dare to let him try breathing on his own until three days ago. That's when you were both transported to the Tower."

Steve's heart began to race with new hope. True, it sounded like Clint's injuries were gruesome. But… "He's alive?"

Natasha stared at him, seeming bewildered. Her features then softened in a way he'd never seen before. "Yeah, he's still alive. He's got more lives than a cat."

Steve's eyes fluttered closed although he would've wanted desperately to ask more, and this time he slept dreamlessly.

* * *

In a room not far away Tony frowned at the tenth crossword puzzle he'd tackled in an hour. He tilted his head. "You know way more languages than I do, Feathers. Do you think that's a word?"

"Maybe something in Hindi", a new voice startled the billionaire. Bruce Banner peered over his shoulder with furrowed eyebrows. "Yes, definitely. I think it's some kind of a flower. But why would there be a word in Hindi on a crossword puzzle in…?"

"I know, I know." Tony threw away the paper and it landed with a very satisfying thud. His eyes stung from lack of sleep and something he preferred not thinking about. "I hate crossword puzzles."

"Then why waste time on them?"

"Because Clint likes them." Tony glared at the archer but it was half-hearted at best and heartbreaking at worst. He swallowed against the huge lump that made a grand reappearance in his throat. "So far he hasn't been much help."

Bruce sighed heavily. After considering it for a while the scientist manned the room's second chair, dragging it to a discreet distance from him and the bed. Always on a lookout for Code Green, especially in situations that threatened to provoke emotional responses. "Tony… You need to sleep. And go eat something."

Tony gritted his teeth. "Banner, I appreciate your concern. But, right now, just… Just zip it."

Bruce wasn't planning on giving up yet. "You heard the doctor. He _is_ going to wake up when he's well enough…"

"Yeah, I know. And I'll be here when that happens." Tony went on immediately when his science brother's lips opened for an objection. "Those suits… Iron Man inspired them! And it's because of them Clint and Steve could've both…" He looked away and found the room's massive window. He hated how sunny it was outside.

"None of it was your fault", Bruce reasoned.

Tony groaned out of frustration and grabbed his hair with both hands for a moment. "Yeah, I know, on a level of reason. But, just…" He sighed, lifting his gaze so that he was staring at the ceiling. He'd have to do something about that color. After several days in this room he was seriously beginning to hate that particular shade of white. "Just let me sit here, and wait with him."

Bruce seemed to consider. Perhaps saw more than he would've wanted the scientist to discover. "Okay", was the eventual, horribly anticlimactic conclusion.

"Okay." Several minutes of pleasant silence passed, with one of them deep in thought and the other starting a yet another crossword puzzle. Until a finger poked at Tony's leg, which was stretched on the bed, and he groaned. "Yeah, Bruce, I know. I'll move them in a bit."

"What?" Bruce seemed genuinely confused. "I didn't say or do anything."

* * *

Clint's head was horribly fuzzy while he attempted to swim towards full awareness. There was something big and fuzzy in his line of vision. He frowned and attempted to swat it away. He was dismayed to discover that the arm which wasn't hurting hellishly was pathetically weak. His good hand barely moved.

"Seriously?" Tony sounded indecently amused. It took a moment to translate it to relief. "You've only been awake for a few seconds and you're already trying to punch me?"

"Hmph." Slowly but surely his line of vision cleared. "'look bad enough without a shiner, though." Because Tony seriously looked like crap. As well as intensely happy.

Tony's eyebrow arched. "You can't even imagine how many broken bones you're sporting. Trust me, you're not ready for Vogue, either."

Clint smirked, the intense relief radiating from his friend getting to him, too. Until he realized something that turned his blood to ice. His arm was on fire. His head felt like there was a series of explosions going on inside it. Most of his back was killing him, too. But… "… 'can't feel legs…"

"Only temporary, I promise." Tony's eyes spoke of sincerity, even if there was a great deal of sadness and guilt in them. "There's some swelling irritating your spine but it's already going down. Soon you'll feel everything. Including the broken leg you managed to get yourself."

Those words were a small comfort. Up until the point where he remembered something. "Steve?"

The Captain was injured, too. Yet still tried to help him. What if…?

"Already testing the patience of my whole medical staff. Do us all a favor and never worry him again." Tony took a more comfortable position and, to Clint's shock and amusement, started a crossword puzzle. "Now sleep or I'll tell Natasha that you've been acting up."

"You wouldn't."

"I'm tired and I've got muscle cramps in places I didn't know there were muscles. And do you have any idea of how many near heart attacks you've given me lately? So try me, Legolas. See if I'm bluffing."

In the end Tony fell asleep, too, for the first time in days. When he woke up with a small shudder he imagined that a still slumbering Clint had been asleep the whole time, too. Until he looked down at his crossword puzzle to discover that it was completed and that one of the three words he had the time to write down had been changed.

He grinned radiantly, finally breathing easily.

* * *

Steve's dreams were still far from restful.

He dreamt of the whole disaster. Of the men in armors. Of one of them snapping his arm like a twig. Of Clint coming to help him. Of the blast from the last suit's destruction sending Clint over the edge. Of the look on Clint's face when the archer fell, disappeared from view.

Steve woke up gasping, a sheen of cold sweat lingering on his forehead and his eyes stinging hellishly. His heart was hammering mercilessly and shattering all at once. A nightmare, all of this. And there was only one thing that might help.

* * *

When Natasha came to Steve's room an hour later she really, honestly panicked for a couple of seconds upon finding the Captain's bed empty. Not that she would've admitted such a reaction to anyone. It lasted until she reminded herself of two facts.

The Tower's system would've alerted them all if something was wrong, and she already had a suspicion as to where she might find her missing friend. She wasn't disappointed. The sight she encountered made her pause to a doorway with the kind of a smile she wouldn't have let anyone see.

Steve had somehow succeeded in completing the journey to Clint's room. Clearly Tony had anticipated something because there was a second hospital bed in there, now, almost right next to Clint's. The Captain slumbered on it peacefully, turned towards the also sleeping archer although it had to hurt the soldier's still healing injuries. Safe and sound, both of them. Healing slowly.

Satisfied with her discovery, Natasha decided that perhaps it was high time she had some proper rest, too. For the first time since that horrible day she wasn't afraid to leave Clint out of her sight. The Hawk was in good hands.

* * *

The recovery was horribly slow. And Clint's primary doctor and physical therapist made it even more unbearable with their constant reminders to take it slow. He'd never, ever been good at 'taking it slow'. He knew that Steve wouldn't rat on him because the Captain was just as bad.

It was an early morning and Clint was busy with exercising his toes now that they finally moved. The routine didn't falter when there was movement in Steve's bed. "Morning, Cap. So you decided to sleep in." He clarified at the other's confused expression. "It's eight thirty."

Steve blinked twice. Slowly. Looking distinctly like a baby owl that'd fallen from its nest. "Oh."

Clint gave his friend a minute or two. Then stopped exercising, deciding that after six days of a shared room this would have to be addressed. "You… seemed to have some pretty vivid dreams. You kept muttering my name. It was the fall again, wasn't it?"

Steve tensed up to an extend that had to be painful. Then swallowed loudly, refusing to meet his gaze. "Sorry." And it was for so much more than disturbing his rest.

Clint's jawline tightened as he decided that enough was enough. "What happened… It sucks. But it wasn't your fault, Steve. I chose to come and help you. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat." Their beds were just close enough for him to smack to other's shoulder gently with his fist. "That's what friends are for, in the 21st century and I guess back in the 40s, too."

Steve's smile was shaky. "Yeah. I know."

Clint wondered if he was pushing it too far. If this would be too much on his friend. But eventually he decided that this needed to be talked about. "And… You muttered another name, too. You've uttered it on a lot of nights, actually." Steve looked like a deer caught in the headlights and the archer could only hope that he wasn't making a huge mistake with pushing. "Bucky. Something you want to share?"

* * *

Hearing Bucky's name… It hit harder than any bullet. Steve shuddered as he felt his mind and memories being tugged back to days he'd been torn away from a long time ago. "Yeah. He…", the Captain half-whispered and cleared his throat. "My best friend."

This was incredibly painful. While to the rest of the world around him those days were decades away, to him they were still fresh memories. Fresh wounds.

But didn't he owe it to Bucky to remember the good times, at least? And the bad, too. Now that Bucky couldn't be there to remember them himself.

And so, for the first time Steve told someone the whole story of James Buchanan Barnes.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Poor Clint! And poor, poor Steve! To imagine the memories Clint's fall must've triggered… (shudders) Thank gosh he was finally able to talk about it all.

Soooooo… Any good, at all? Are you still in for more of these feathery adventures? PLEASE, do let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from you!

Awkay, I REALLY have to start heading to bed. (yawns) Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care, my feathery friends!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I miss Pietro, too! Intensely. (whimpers) Thank gosh there's fanfiction to bring him back to life!

I LOOOOOOOVE Clint with the twins! (BEAMS)

OOOOOH, WHAT AN AWESOME PROMP! ABSOLUTELY goes to my list. (smirks and high fives)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: I ADORE Clint and Pietro, too, so it was totally my pleasure! (BEAMS) Pietro's death was totally unnecessary. Which is why I can't resist the opportunity to bring him back to life.

OH YES, YES, YES, THAT PROMPT IS AWESOME! DEFINITELY happening in the future. (nods furiously)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	85. A Hawk's Unlucky Day

A/N: PHEEEEEEEEEEW! I've been at this pretty much through a night. But here we are, the chapter is ready! (grins) Yay?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for the INCREDIBLE amount of reviews, listings and love you've given this feathery collection! You can't even imagine how much it means to me. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I need some sleep… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Hawk's Unlucky Day

* * *

"I'm sorry, okay?"

A very unimpressed glare was the only response those huffed words received.

"It's not like I would've meant to drop you but those assholes wouldn't stop firing at us."

"Language, Stark."

"It speaks!" Tony's tone was far more relieved than the billionaire intended. "As happy as I am to hear your voice, Feathers, one language police per team is enough." He frowned at the already mighty bruise and stitched up wound on his friend's unhealthily pale forehead. He could see a rapidly forming bump. "How's the head?"

Clint's nose wrinkled in a manner that reminded the billionaire of a sulking five-year-old. "I'll probably have Thor smash it with his hammer. Might be improvement." Seeing the look on his face the archer rolled his eyes, one corner of his lips twitching just a little. "I'll live, Tin Can. So stop looking at me like I might keel over any second."

"You look like you're about to keel over", Tony pointed out, his voice tight from worry he would've never admitted out loud. "You're slurring and swaying. And you threw up on my shoes. I'd like to imagine that it wasn't on purpose."

"Consider us even." Clint groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. The man's knuckles were incredibly bruised. "When is that nurse gonna show up? I wanna get somewhere a lot less bright."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed. Where _was_ that nurse who promised to come back in five minutes, according to Clint's translation anyway? "You need pain meds. And a bucket. I don't like the color your face just took."

"I need coffee", Clint announced. Sounding and looking so much like a child that under different circumstances it would've been adorable. "Pain meds only make me drowsy and nauseous. I want coffee." It would've been a lot more convincing if the archer hadn't appeared so pained and miserable.

Tony scoffed. If he hadn't been so ridiculously worried about causing more harm he would've smacked his friend upside that thick skull. "You've got a watermelon on the side of your head. So quit with the macho crap."

Clint smirked sheepishly, then sighed and yawned.

A sting of panic flared through Tony instantly. "Hey! No snoozing on me with a concussion."

Clint muttered something _not_ flattering that didn't sound like English under his breath. There was a tiny, genuine smile on the archer's lips, though. "Thanks."

Tony blinked. Once, twice. "For what?"

"For being infuriating."

Tony couldn't help but smile. "Anytime, Feathers. It's what I do best." He went on after thinking about it for a moment. "Just, in the future… Try not to nearly crack your skull open."

Tony could practically feel Clint putting together a witty remark. But it never made its way past the archer's lips. Because all of a sudden the man paled even further although it should've been impossible and shuddered.

Tony swallowed, his stomach knotting. "Clint?" Where was that nurse with the pain medication? "Hey, Clint, what…?"

That was when he heard, too. A child crying. A man snarling in a language he didn't understand. And he caught a glimpse of a gun.

Tony's blood ran cold.

* * *

" _Daddy!_ "

" _… not letting you take my son away from me!_ "

The man was a local. A little too short cut dirty-blond hair, a pair of grayish blue eyes and clothes that'd seen far too many springs before this one. The reek of alcohol carried all the way to where he sat. The child, who couldn't be older than six, was a pretty much perfect replica of his father with a wild bush of fair hair and huge, scared blue eyes. The boy's right arm was supported by a cast. Both of them were bruised and the child had a gash on his cheek that'd needed stitches. And then there was a neatly dressed woman with impeccably tied brown hair and tired eyes of the same color. A social worker, he knew instantly.

The flashback was so sharp and sudden that it made him jolt.

* * *

/ _Clint trembled miserably as he sat on a hospital bed, curled up the best as he could. His arm, which was covered by a cast, ached horribly and he was covered in cuts and bruises all over. He was in pain, scared and miserable, and all he wanted to do was to go home._

 _He didn't remember much about the car crash. His mom turned towards him just before it happened, a forced smile on her bruised face. His father swore. Barney screamed. Then there was pain. A lot of it. After that there was darkness. Followed by a very faint memory trace of himself fighting the paramedics when they began to drag him away. He wanted to stay with his family, couldn't they understand!_

 _Since then no one had told him anything. He saw his father's head and it was something he'd never, ever forget. Despite his age he knew that the man was dead. That knowledge hurt far more than it should've after everything the man put him through. But what about his mom and Barney?_

 _The cast was put into place. He was rushed through a horrifying amount of x-rays and other tests. Several tubes of blood were drawn. One doctor murmured about a surgery, probably imagining that he wouldn't hear. A second stated firmly that they'd have to wait for a few hours. A nurse with a tight smile appeared and administrated pain medication. None of them answered his questions._

 _Clint had no idea how long he'd been there until a middle-aged woman in civil clothes entered the room. She sighed heavily and ran a hand through her disheveled oat-colored hair. "I'm Marissa, your social worker." Her green eyes were full of pity. "I'm truly sorry for what you've been through. I'm going help you find a new home…"_

 _"What new home?" Clint frowned, most of her words barely registering. "I'm not going to a new home! And I don't need a social worker! I'm going home, with mommy and Barney", he announced firmly and glanced towards the room's door. His stomach clenched painfully. "Where's mommy? She'll tell you." When the woman didn't answer, only blanched, the fear turned into utter panic. Tears began to roll down his cheeks, no matter how hard he fought them. "I… I want mommy! Where's mommy?"_

 _Marissa swallowed thickly. "Clint, I… I'm sorry. But your mother… She passed away twelve hours ago."_ /

* * *

Clint was torn violently from one of his most painful memories when the fighting escalated. The child was close to having a panic attack. The social worker was dreadfully pale as she stood there, her eyes huge and her whole frame shaking from shock and terror. The father no longer sat down but was standing tall, towering high above the horrified woman. With a gun pressed against her forehead.

People, the few there were around at such a ridiculous hour anyway, began to scream. Some retreated and hid, others dropped themselves to the floor for some feeble cover. Right behind Clint's shoulder Tony was also on his way towards the floor and tugged at his shirt in a desperate attempt to catch his attention. The billionaire kept muttering, or perhaps shouting, something but all the archer had ears for was the gunman. He stood there, paralyzed, the only one still upright aside the armed man and the social worker.

" _I already lost my wife and daughter tonight!_ " the man hissed, oblivious to the rest of the world. " _Don't you think that's enough? I'm not letting you take away my son, too! You'll have to take him over my dead body!_ "

" _They… They died because you drove under the influence of alcohol, with them in the car!_ " The woman's voice was high-pitched from panic and despair. Her eyes shimmered but no tears rolled. " _I have… My obligation is to ensure the safety of your son…!_ "

" _Shut up about obligations or I'll shoot your mouth shut_ ", the man snarled. His hand was trembling. One way or another control would be lost soon. Sweat lingered on his pale forehead while a couple of tears rolled. The gunman wiped them away angrily and blinked furiously. " _My son… I'm taking my son home. You have no right to steal him, too!_ "

The woman's lips began to open and Clint decided that he'd have to do _something_ before things would get even worse. Time was running out, anyway. The police station was on the other side of the street and from the corner of his eye the Hawk spotted three men in uniforms inching closer. This could get really ugly really soon.

Maybe it was the concussion driving him insane. Or the flashback. But rather than hiding himself or seeking cover Clint began to approach. " _I know what you're going through_ ", he assured the outraged father, his tone stunningly calm and even. Adrenaline helped and the slurring from before was gone. " _And I'm sorry, because you've lost too much. But… You need to consider your son. Think about how much he's already lost. Don't make him lose you, too._ "

The man stared at him incredulously. Sweating and shaking at the impact of a hangover and shock began to settle. " _Who the hell are you? And why would you care…?_ "

" _Because I've been in your son's shoes._ " Clint couldn't bring himself to look towards the child. It would've stung too much. " _And… If my father had any chance at all to make things right… I would've wanted him to take it._ "

The man's eyes filled with agony. Then hardened. " _I'm not letting them take him away!_ "

" _Look around you!_ " Clint knew that he was risking it with raising his voice a risk but couldn't contain himself. " _You need to stop this! You need help! Or you'll never get the chance to be a father to your son!_ "

It could've ended in a disaster. But this wasn't a psychopath or a hardened criminal. This was a deeply troubled man who'd lost far too much. This… This was like looking right into his own father's eyes again, after all the years that'd passed…

The gun wasn't moved from the by them crying and whimpering woman's head. But the man looked around slowly. At the terrified two nurses and a doctor who seemed desperate to protect and help their patients. At the five other patients aside Clint who'd gathered there and were now in various stages of shock. At the woman he was threatening, innocent as flawed as she was. And finally at his son, who was crying hysterically and begging his father to _stop_.

The man unleashed a pained moan, his eyes clouding.

Clint was only five steps away. Almost there… " _Put the gun away._ " His tone was soft but not pleading. " _You haven't lost everything yet. Put the gun away._ "

It took several endlessly long moments. During which Clint wondered, more than once, if he was out of his mind. Maybe he was. Or then it was just the concussion. But then, achingly slowly, the hand holding the firearm began to move. About to give away the weapon.

Clearly others didn't realize as much.

The police officers who'd been keeping an eye on the situation reacted instantly. Without a second's thought. Bullets began to fly madly and people were screaming again.

One hazardous bit of metal slashed at the father's arm. The man seemed to barely notice despite how much it had to hurt. " _PETJA!_ "

Out of the two of them Clint was closer. And he reacted instinctively. After only two steps he was able shield the panicked child from the line of fire.

There was a one more scream and then Clint knew nothing because pain, such that paled in comparison to the concussion, struck away everything.

* * *

Fixing the mess of their latest mission took far longer than Natasha had imagined. By the time she marched into the tiny hospital she felt ready to tear off someone's head. What she found didn't improve things.

The amount of chaos was unbelievable, especially considering how few people were present. A doctor was tending to a man who was handcuffed, trembling miserably and had his head hung. A little boy was crying hysterically in the arms of a clearly shaken woman who didn't seem far from tears herself. Clint was nowhere to be seen and she had a sinking feeling that the horribly large puddle of blood on the floor had something to do with it.

And Tony was restrained by two security guards. The billionaire raged at three police officers who didn't seem to know whether they should punch him, strangle him or run. Natasha didn't think she'd ever seen her friend quite as furious. "…start shooting when he was about to put the gun down!"

One of the officers lifted his chin. "Sir, we only did our duty", the man piped out in broken English.

"Your duty wasn't to endanger a child and to shoot my friend in the head!" Tony snarled, eyes moist and facial features twisted by wrath.

A bizarre feeling went through Natasha. Like she'd been falling or sinking. Or kicked to her stomach, very hard.

Clint… had been… Was he…?

 _NO!_ That idiot wouldn't… Couldn't…

While the officer became increasingly more petulant Tony's temper flared. The billionaire's threats were… rather impressive. But eventually Natasha decided that it was time to step in if she wanted any answers. "Stark, don't", she ordered while approaching, her tone tight from restrained emotions. "They're not worth it."

Tony opened his mouth a protest, then closed it, visibly reluctantly acknowledging that she was right.

Satisfied, Natasha shifted all her attention on the officers. She narrowed her eyes, memorizing each face for future reference. " _Leave_ ", she hissed in their native language. " _Now._ " She was hanging on to the last shreds of her self-control. She preferred not imagining what'd happen if that would snap. " _I'll ensure that the right people hear what happened today and you'll never work as police officers again._ "

Natasha glared at the trio as they scrambled away. Then, inevitably, she had no other choice but to force her mind on far more painful matters and… emotions, which she'd never been good at handling. "What happened?" she demanded at last. Still feeling like tearing off someone's head.

Tony's shoulders slumped while the billionaire deflated as all anger left him. The look in the man's eyes was so vulnerable that it was painful to watch. "That kid, over there? His father had a gun. Those… They started shooting, just when… when Clint had it under control. Clint, he…" The Iron Man shook his head, as though trying to convince himself that this was all real. "I think he tried to protect the kid." Tony swallowed hard while he stared at some spot, appearing nauseous. "Got shot in the head."

Natasha could barely even begin to process it. Her chest felt horribly tight and her eyes had gone blurry all of a sudden. If Clint would… Because of this…

Apparently the universe decided that the situation wasn't bad enough yet. Because just then she heard the child sobbing barely comprehensibly. _"… my toy gun. Why did they start shooting? It was just a toy. Why did they shoot?_ "

"Natasha?" Tony murmured when she began to walk away.

"I'm getting some fresh air", she announced far more sharply than she'd intended. She needed to get out. Before she'd do something she wouldn't even regret.

* * *

The whole thing played in Tony's mind at least a thousand times while he sat there, waiting.

Clint falling in the first place, slipping from his grasp, and hitting his head with a sickening sound. Clint staggering towards the gunman. Clint talking the man down with words of which Tony didn't understand a single one. The shooting beginning. A bullet smashing at Clint's head. The archer slumping to the floor like a ragdoll, blood pooling from his head.

No matter how badly Tony tried to stop his friend it still came to this. And what did he do, really? Stood there, useless, when…

"Stop that. Now." When did Natasha come back? For some reason he noticed that there was still a single drop of blood on her boot from their mission. He snapped back to the present when she went on. "We both know what that boneheaded moron is like. There would've been no stopping him. And if you'd stepped in I'd soon be babysitting two injured teammates instead of one."

On a different day he might've teased her about how adorably apparent the supposedly heartless former assassin's concern was. At the moment his jaw tightened as he looked away sharply. "I let him get hurt twice today. How am I supposed to be okay with that?"

Natasha inhaled sharply. "I've almost gotten him killed five times. We just have to convince ourselves that one day we'll be able to repay that debt."

Tony tried to find comfort from that thought. It didn't quite work out, especially when the pool of his friend's blood still hadn't been mopped from the floor. "What if…?"

"He won't." He could tell that Natasha was staring at the blood, too. "Not today."

"Not today", Tony repeated and tried to believe it.

* * *

The beeping was infuriating but Clint didn't want to wake up just yet. He'd been having such a good dream, too. He was already fast on his way to sinking under when…

"It's time to wake up, son." His father's voice seemed to come from so far away… "You don't belong here, yet. Go home."

Clint groaned. There was so much he wanted to say… Needed to…

"I know." That couldn't possibly be a hand caressing his hair. "Now open your eyes."

Clint did as he'd been told, even if a part of him wanted to rebel against it. There was a blurry shape in front of him and for a few moments his heartbeat sped up. As did the beeping.

In the end his line of vision cleared enough to reveal Natasha's tense, exhausted face. Her eyes narrowed at him. "Do you have any idea how rare it is that someone survives getting shot in the head?"

Clint groaned. A headache was rolling in like a tsunami. "Not… exactly common to… get shot… in the head…", he muttered, hating how heavy each word was on his tongue.

Natasha shrugged. "True." She sighed like the mom of misbehaving children. "Be glad you have such a thick skull. I may just bash it in for this, though."

Clint grinned despite the horrific amount of discomfort he was in. He was lucky to be alive, wasn't he? Just then, with his mind clearing slowly, he remembered something and tensed up. "Tony?"

"Perfectly fine. Physically, anyway." She nodded towards the other side of his bed. "I'm pretty sure that this is the first time in five days he's sleeping."

Clint looked towards the pointed direction. Instantly a smile appeared to his lips. "You took a picture, right?"

"Five."

"Good."

Beside his bed Tony, who looked every bit like one who hadn't slept in days, was slumbering soundly. The man's neck was twisted to such a position that was bound to cause a nasty awakening but the billionaire didn't seem to mind. There was a blissed smile on Tony's face.

In less than two minutes Clint followed Tony's example. And so the two dreamt peacefully. Gathering strength. Recovering.

Knowing that no one would see Natasha gave herself the permission to smile, too, relief flowing through her in a warm wave. She watched her friend's face until her eyelids became too heavy. "I'm glad that you have a thick skull, too", she murmured.

* * *

Clint recovered faster than anyone would've dared to hope. And pushed himself far harder than anyone would've advised. Of course he did.

Although, there was something that took its time to begin to heal…

Against all advice Tony escorted Clint towards the cafeteria. His options were to do so or let the archer stagger there alone. What was he supposed to do?

Something had been bugging Tony since _the incident_. Now he saw how Clint shivered and looked away upon spotting a Father's Day poster on the wall. This might be his only chance, his only opening.

"Look… I'm horrible at this, but…" For once Tony actually contemplated his words carefully. "I… saw the way you looked at that father and son. And… Well, I know something about messy father and son relationships. So…" The billionaire shrugged, trying adorably hard to make it seem casual. "If you wanna share… I'm cool with it."

Clint nodded. Even managed to smile, just a little bit. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready to talk about _those things_. But it meant a lot that Tony offered.

He wasn't alone in the world anymore.

"C'mon", he coaxed, trying to pick up pace. "This calls for a cafeteria special. My treat."

"How generous of you, Budgie", Tony praised with a smirk.

"Zip it, Tin can, or I'll make you eat one of those tuna sandwiches."

* * *

Time passed by in a flash. It was a rainy morning when a TV-reporter visited several locations. Nine months earlier they'd all been almost destroyed by two rivaling criminal organizations before the Avengers arrived. Now the last of them, a small school, was finally re-opened after massive renovation. The reporter and her cameraman ended up to an art class.

Very quickly a small, constantly smiling boy caught their attention. " _Hey._ " The reporter, Katia Iegov, moved a strand of long, nearly black hair behind her ear. " _Can I ask your name for the story?_ "

The boy nodded and smiled politely at her. Then refocused on the work. " _I'm Petja._ "

" _I'm glad that you've been able to return to school._ "

" _Me too. I like school._ " Petja wrinkled his nose. " _Not math, though._ "

Katia smiled. " _I see._ " She nodded towards the child's drawing. " _So you're drawing the Avengers, too?_ "

The boy nodded eagerly, not looking away from his work.

" _Who's your favorite?_ "

" _Hawkeye_ ", Petja announced without a beat of hesitation. The genuine joy on his face would've melted anyone's heart. " _Because he saved daddy._ "

* * *

In a prison not that far away Petja's father watched the footage. Savored every word, and especially the happiness and steadfast faith on his son's face. The man smiled for the first time in years, through the tears filling his eyes.

* * *

Far away, almost as though in a world of their own, a different family slumbered peacefully. Laura with a protective arm wrapped around her husband, as close to him as her four months along pregnant belly allowed. Cooper and Lila were occupying both sides of their parents, smiling in their sleep just like their mom. And in the middle of the family pile slept Clint, an utterly serene expression on his face.

* * *

/ _In his dream he was once again in his mom's beloved garden. She was working busily on her roses until she sensed his presence. She peered over her shoulder and smiled widely upon seeing him._

 _She was exactly the same, and a stranger all at once. There were no bruises on her face. She appeared ten years younger than he'd remembered. She was finally genuinely happy. And very, very proud of him. He sensed that, rather than saw._

 _She gave him a wave before focusing on the flowers, humming that song he still remembered so well that it hurt._

 _Clint watched her for a while. Memorized the details. Then turned and began to walk away, each step lighter than the last._

 _He knew that she'd never visit his dreams again. The realization was both painful and comforting. They'd finally found peace, now. And maybe one day he'd get to where she was waiting._ /

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awwww! Poor Clint. Such a sad past! BUT, thank gosh he's now come to terms with it. (sighs)

Soooo… Any good, at all? Deletion worthy? PLEASE, do let me know your opinion before ya go!

Now, I REALLY need to go to bed. Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Poor boys, right? GOSH that was so brutal on them both. (shudders) Awww, there'll be PLENTY of Steve-heavy additions to this collection in the future! LOVE the guy. (smiles)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: LOOOOOOOOOL! BUT, I guess that it was sort of heartbreaking. Poor boys! (whimpers) But at least Steve was finally able to talk about Bucky. (sighs)

It'd AWESOME to have Pietro back! He was snatched away from us too soon.

And MY GOSH, I REALLY hope that they NEVER make the mistake of killing off Clint! (reveals fangs)

Humongous thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	86. Under the Sweltering Sun, FEAT Coulson

A/N: PHEW! Finishing up this tiny chapter took longer than I expected. BUT, here it is! Yay?

BUT, first… THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews and love! Soon we'll hit 100 chapters and you're all still here. It means A LOT! (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get nauseatingly sentimental… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE BEFORE 'The Avengers' -movie, which means that Coulson will be included.**

* * *

Under the Sweltering Sun, FEAT Coulson

* * *

It'd been a harsh mission. Which was nothing new for Strike Team Delta. It didn't make things any easier that their environment was painfully warm.

And like far too often in the past it all came to an explosion.

Clint fell on his back and all breath was struck from his lungs as he landed harshly on his arrow-case. For a long moment the whole world spun uncomfortably in front of his eyes. Until his mind locked on a single thought.

"Widow?" There was no response. No wonder because he barely recognized his own voice. He coughed, then tried again. "Widow, do you copy?"

No answer, and despite the sweltering heat his blood ran cold as ice.

* * *

The first thing Natasha became aware of was feeling uncomfortably warm. Her ears were also ringing painfully and there was something seriously wrong with the pounding of her head. She groaned and coughed instantly, hating how dry her throat felt. Her eyebrows furrowed.

What…?

"Tasha?" Clint's voice barely managed to reach her. "Tasha, open your eyes for a bit, will you?"

Natasha really, truly just wanted to go back to sleep. But something about Clint's borderline desperate plea got to her, no matter how little she liked to admit it. She cracked her eyes halfway open and regretted it immediately when light slashed like a knife. "… happened?" she hissed.

"We missed a group of three hostiles." Clint's voice still sounded quiet but at least the ringing of her ears was easing. "They blew up the safehouse."

Natasha's head wasn't working straight yet. But she was starting to remember. She'd been approaching the safehouse when she saw three men keeping an eye on it. It didn't take a genius to notice the matching tattoos on the backs of their hands and to realize what they were doing. Natasha was running moments before she saw the shadow of someone falling from a balcony. And then the explosion happened.

Finally Natasha's eyes agreed to open halfway. She frowned upon noticing how suspiciously red the skin of her friend's face seemed and the nasty cut on his left cheek. "… jump off a balcony again?" How many times would they need to have this conversation?

Clint shrugged, decidedly unapologetic. "It was that or getting blown to bits. Felt like better odds." He sighed, appearing exhausted all of a sudden. "I took care of them. Made one of them report their boss that we're goners first."

Natasha nodded, attempting to process. So they completed their mission, even if they didn't manage to reach the highest branches of the organization. And somehow they were still alive. She looked at her friend again, this infuriating feeling that she was missing something swelling. "You okay?" She was starting to sound like herself. Good.

Clint nodded, even if he didn't seem strictly speaking okay. "A few cuts and bruises but I'm good." They both knew that he'd continue to claim so until he'd be missing a limb. She shivered from surprise when he held something to her lips. "C'mon, drink up. With all the diplomatic crap we've got a few more hours of waiting to do before med-evac gets here. We have no shelter anymore and it's really warm. Keep yourself hydrated."

The water was lukewarm and had been in the bottle for too long but it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. She took several long, eager gulps, then sighed. She pushed the bottle towards Clint with a stubborn hand. "Your turn."

"Nah, I already had some before you woke up." It was impossible to tell if he was lying or not. His lips were parched. "Now enough with the frowning. We're almost out of here."

* * *

Clint had been running around in the sun for the past three days. Literally. A great deal of that time fighting and then carrying Natasha while she was unconscious. His outfit was as light as possible in his line of a job but still heavier than would've been advisable in such a weather. His bow and arrows, along with the rest of his weaponry, also didn't weighed considerably. The heat was definitely getting to him. And they only had enough water to sustain one person after he used his share to clean up her head wound before it got infected.

 _Suck it up, Barton_ , he told himself firmly. He'd walked away from worse. _Much_ worse. If he already survived that fall earlier with fairly small injuries he could handle feeling too warm for a while.

And… he wasn't feeling that warm anymore, actually. He'd even stopped sweating at some point. He ignored the small voice somewhere in the back of his head trying to tell him that those weren't good things. His head hurt horribly and he was feeling incredibly dizzy as he sat trying to shield Natasha from the sun, realizing too well that neither of them would walk another step. His heart was pounding fiercely, as though to remind him that he was still alive, and he curled up the best as he could.

"Next time…", he murmured, narrowing his eyes against the painfully bright light. "… we'll have Fury send us to Siberia. Or Alaska."

"Yeah." It was comforting to see how Natasha was becoming more coherent. She nodded decisively. "I like Alaska."

Clint blinked once. Twice. The world swayed nauseatingly in front of his eyes. "When have you been to Alaska?"

Natasha tensed up. As she always did when she thought about the time when she was under Red Room's control. "Before."

Clint knew better than to try to pry further. Not that he would've had the energy for a lot of questions. Especially with how dry and sore his throat was.

"Hey." Natasha's tone startled him almost as badly as the finger poking at him. "No going quiet on me. What's going on in that head of yours?"

Clint shrugged. His head was killing him and his heart was still doing all sorts of weird things. "Just pissed off." He offered her the water bottle and nudged at her demandingly. "Drink or I'll help."

Natasha's glare was halfhearted at best. "Do that… And I'll shove the water bottle down your throat."

Clint grinned despite all physical discomfort, knowing full well that she'd be capable of doing just that.

* * *

Natasha tried. She really did. But she couldn't remember when she would've seen Clint consume a much-needed sip of water. And she felt ready to punch him over such stupidity. Herself, too.

They'd been partners for two and a half years – _when_ was she going to learn…?

"Barton." Her tone was always harsh when she… didn't quite know how to feel. She swatted his head lightly with the water bottle. He deserved it. "Drink. Now."

Clint shook his head. Then, before she could protest, he threw up what very little there'd been in his stomach and dry heaved painfully. And slumped limply against her.

"Hey!" She didn't panic because if there was _anything_ that Red Room didn't allow it was panicking. He didn't react in any way. "Clint, eyes open!"

Still no reaction. And it wasn't until then she realized just how warm he was. Like he was on fire.

Natasha swore loudly under her breath and looked around, considering possibilities. Some distance away at her right was the town they fled from, crawling with who knows how many hostiles. Not an option. Looking the other way she saw nothing but desert. Perhaps there was reliable help, somewhere out there. But she could tell that her leg was broken, and even if she had been able to walk she couldn't leave Clint. So she was stuck in the cave he'd found, which provided barely any shelter from the sun, in a tiny valley that had nothing but the cave and a few thorn-filled bushes.

Natasha gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt. Didn't Clint say that he called for a med-evac? They'd just have to wait.

She glared at the man who'd somehow wormed his way deep enough under her skin to become her friend. Feeling great many things that she'd never had any training for. "You'd better hang in there, do you hear me? You didn't let those bastards kill you. Don't you dare let the sun do it instead."

* * *

Phil Coulson knew that he was in a trouble the second he lay his eyes on Clint Barton. The young archer was so full of anger and fire that most people immediately deemed him a lost cause. Phil saw hope and potential, buried somewhere under layers and layers of thorns. And he was determined to dig it out for the whole world to see even if it killed him. Watching the Hawkeye grow and emerge was like watching a phoenix bird rising from the ashes. Phil wondered if it was the closest he'd ever get to feeling a father's pride.

Clint always saw more than everyone else. Phil wasn't surprised when the young man dragged home a woman he was supposed to kill. Irritated and worried for his protégée's sake, yes, but not surprised. And once again Clint did the impossible. Piece by a sharp piece the archer began to tear apart the cocoon Red Room created, revealing brief and small glimpses of the Natasha hidden underneath. It warmed Phil's heart to watch those two become a team, to see two people with enormous trust issues begin to rely on someone. First on each other. Then, eventually, on him.

There were days when that trust and the ensuing bond felt like one of the greatest accomplishments in Phil's life. And then there were days, such as this, when it felt more like a curse. One day those two would cause him a heart attack…!

The second Phil heard Clint's voice he knew that something was wrong. Yes, the mission was over. But S.H.I.E.L.D lost a safehouse and Natasha was injured. The tone of the Hawk's voice as it asked for a med-evac sent Phil to motion instantly.

As soon as Phil's feet touched the sand covered ground he felt the merciless heat wrapping around him. His brows furrowed. How long had Clint and Natasha spent out here? Were they…?

That was when he saw. The two had done their best to find cover and hide from potential enemies. But there was only so much they could do in that environment and in their physical condition. Clint, who looked like he'd been to hell and back, was unconscious and Phil didn't want to imagine how bad things were.

Natasha, who had a lot of blood coating one side of her face, was very much awake, at least. She glared at him until she recognized him properly. "Finally." The uncharacteristically apparent relief in her voice and on her face tugged at his heart.

"Lazy old man, I know." Phil scanned through her with his gaze, then moved on to Clint. His stomach knotted at how unwell the archer looked. Were they too late, after all? "Let's get you home."

* * *

Far too long later it was still unclear if they were too late. While a very reluctant Natasha was examined and tended to at S.H.I.E.L.D's medical wing a solemn faced Phil listened to a doctor's report on Clint. Four broken ribs, possible internal bleeding, a horrific amount of deep bruising on the back… The heatstroke was, however, their greatest concern. Clint's temperature was through the roof and nothing they did seemed to be enough to bring it down. The archer was dehydrated. There was also a great deal of worry over what lasting damage might've been done to the man's body.

But as it was all they could do was to wait and see whether the archer would be stubborn enough.

"Barton is the most boneheaded person I've ever me", Nick Fury commented while they observed a group of medical professionals starting a new round of bringing down the Hawk's temperature. The director's arms were folded tightly. "He won't let something this idiotic bring him down."

A little over an hour later Phil attempted to find comfort from those words as he took a seat beside the still unconscious archer's bed. "I'm right here", he announced, his voice softer than usual. He revealed a Jane Austen book. There was a very uncomfortable lump in his throat that nothing chased away. "You'd better hang in there and wake up soon, or I'll start reading this out loud."

* * *

Waking up from a heatstroke isn't pleasant, Clint discovered, especially when one had further injuries. He groaned and writhed, attempting to get away from the discomfort. What…?

"Stop wiggling. You'll irritate your broken ribs", Phil advised, sounding exhausted. "You're safe but it'll take a while before your injuries heal."

Well, still alive, then. That was enough for Clint. Almost. "Tasha?" he muttered, trying to open his eyes at least a little.

"A concussion, a broken leg, some mighty cuts and bruises. But you know her, she's fine. So far two nurses have announced that they'll resign if they have to tend to her any longer."

Clint smiled, just a little. At last his eyes succeeded in opening and instantly took in his handler's appearance. "You look worse than I feel", he rasped.

Despite looking like he hadn't slept in a week Phil smiled. "Good morning to you, too." The man checked the time. "Well, I guess that it is morning, since it two o'clock."

"Hmh." Clint knew that he wouldn't stay awake for long so he decided not to waste time. The archer followed an instinct and looked to the other side of his bed. There, on a second hospital bed, slept Natasha, curled up and turned towards him. Clearly she'd been keeping an eye on him for as long as she could. The thought… was oddly touching.

"She kept sneaking here whenever she wasn't watched so we decided to have her moved here, for everyone's sake."

Clint grinned fondly. He felt tempted to reach out a hand, just to see her eyes open and to know for sure that she was okay, but he managed to control himself. "She can be stubborn."

"You should know." Was that a compliment or scolding? Phil's voice was both weary and fond. So was the agent's expression. "What you did there, for her…"

"I know, I know." Clint grinned. It wasn't as sheepish or apologetic as he'd hoped. "Stupid crap. Won't be doing it again."

"So you assume that you know what I would've said?"

"Yeah. Because the second option was sickeningly mushy, and you don't do mushy any more than I do." Clint's eyelids were already drooping. He fought for a while before getting the following words out. "Phil? Thanks. For coming."

"Anytime." Phil then seemed to reconsider and gave him a stern look. "And that wasn't a permission to pull off these stupid stunts."

Clint chuckled, broken ribs be damned.

"Okay, about time you get some sleep", Phil decided when his breathing began to wheeze and his eyes barely stayed open. "Or I'll wake up Natasha and let her do all the yelling she's wanted to do these past couple of days. She may even want to smack you upside the head. Just a few times."

"You're bluffing."

"Do I look like I'm bluffing, Barton?"

* * *

Phil considered leaving the two so they'd get some rest. He had a lot of paperwork and a not exactly happy Fury waiting, after all. But his plans came to an abrupt halt before he even stood up. He looked down slowly, and a smile appeared to his lips.

Most likely without realizing what he was doing Clint had grabbed his hand and was now holding on determinedly. The archer was sleeping soundly, a beyond serene look on his face, but the request was clear. The man who hadn't asked anyone for anything since he was a child was asking him to stay.

How was Phil supposed to ignore that?

With a sigh that had no heaviness or gloominess to it Phil settled properly. Clint could blame it on a heatstroke and a concussion all he liked later. His handler – and, as it felt at times, babysitter – wasn't going anywhere.

Five minutes later all three of them were asleep, and for once none of them had any dreams.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Oh, those two/three… Let's hope that they can be reunited with Phil one day! (sighs)

BUT, the question goes… Was the chapter any good at all? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know! **And remember that requests are always welcome.**

Awkay, I SERIOUSLY have to go and get some sleep. Until next time, fellow Hawkeye fans! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: (smirks sheepishly and hands tissues) I've gotta admit that I'm REALLY flattered and happy that the chapter moved you so! We'll see what's up next…

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I know, right? Clint's just TOO AWESOME. And Tony and Natasha are precious! (grins, and sighs happily) Hooray to all around happy endings!

There'll TOTALLY be more daddy-Clint coming – I LOVE daddy-Clint! (BEAMS)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	87. The Value of a Hawk's Life, part 1 of 3

A/N: Phew! It's pretty late. Again. But I just couldn't go to bed without updating! (grins)

THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews and love! I LOVE seeing how many of you have been sticking around for such a long time, and happy about each new Feathers-fan joining in. You can't even imagine how good it feels to write to you! (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! BRACE YOURSELVES, this may hurt…! (winces apologetically)

* * *

The Value of a Hawk's Life, part 1 of 3

* * *

Nick Fury was no stranger to unpleasant negotiations. He had a feeling that he was in for one when he received an announcement that someone had hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D's computer system. He was forced to admit that he hadn't expected the face he encountered when his computer screen came to life on its own.

The woman looking back at him was small in size but no one would've made the mistake of deeming her frail. Her large, hazel eyes were filled with a chilling amount of lava as they looked at him like he was a lower lifeform. Her long, dark brown hair wasn't enough to disguise the chilling amount of scarring on the other side of her face. She was of his age but somehow, even with the imperfections, she appeared a couple of decades younger. Like time itself had stopped laying a finger on her. "You've been on to me for three months, now. And I've never stopped keeping an eye on you. I figured that it was high time to say 'hi'." She waved at him, showing that she'd lost two fingers. "Hi."

Nick gritted his teeth. Dread echoed in the back of his head like a fire alarm. "You died."

Emilia Snow. Once a member of his team, until he made one of his very few mistakes and failed to see a threat. The enemies got a hold of her and soon enough they had every reason to assume that she'd died. Mistake number two. Never, ever assume.

"I did, in every sense that counts. Which is why I decided to give you a special gift for abandoning me to die." Her voice held a chilling amount of malice. She nodded at someone, and the camera attached to the computer was moved enough to show what was beside her. "I'm giving you a similar choice you had back then. Give me what I want… and I'll send him home alive."

Firmly strapped to the chair beside her was Clint Barton. How she got her hands on him was anyone's guess. How she knew exactly what leverage to use against Fury was suspicious. The archer's face had been beaten horribly. A broken nose was apparent, and one eye was swollen to a point where the young man probably wasn't able to see through it.

It was a small miracle that Fury managed to keep his expression in check. His face or voice betrayed none of the unwanted feelings swirling inside him. "I'm truly sorry for what happened to you, Emilia." And he was, especially now. "But I didn't negotiate then, and I won't now."

Emilia's first response was to shoot the gun he hadn't been able to see. Clint trembled and groaned, nearly unconscious to begin with, when the bullet hit his leg. Emilia's feelings were almost as invisible as his, if he hadn't seen the flames of wrath in her eyes. "Hawkeye's very sorry to hear that", she commented, then lifted her chin. "Reconsider. And keep in mind that if S.H.I.E.L.D finds me he's dead. If the Avengers come after me they'll all die." Any fool could see that it wasn't an idle threat. "Oh, and if you still hesitate to respect my rules… My men have placed ten bombs all over the city. A single trace of your agents or the Avengers and those will go off. Do you value your Hawk's life above those of hundreds?" She cut the connection.

* * *

Those torturous contacts happened without a forewarning daily for the next four days. Fury used up a ridiculous amount of resources trying to locate Emilia. He even used the aid of an unsuspecting Tony, revealing that he was tracking down a missing agent. Using the Avengers would've been tempting but he knew Emilia. Or well, the monster she'd become. Slaughtering the remaining team would be child's play to her. And their involvement would've been a death sentence to who knows how many people, Clint included.

At least he wouldn't involve them until he had enough information. Fury kept telling himself that he still had time. That _Clint_ had time, even though the archer appeared more and more beaten every day. He wondered how much more violence the Hawk would be able to handle before…

Still, Fury – stubbornly and foolishly – imagined that there was time. That he'd be able to come up with a solid plan against Emilia and all her men. Until she decided that the game was over.

A brand-new video feed began, and she stood beside Clint holding a syringe that had suspicious looking substance inside it. An I.V. line had been opened on the back of the archer's hand. "Your last chance", she announced, a hazardous edge to her tone. "Will you give me what I want? Or is he going to die knowing exactly how little he means to you?"

Fury gritted his teeth. And not for the first time really, truly hated himself. Hated not having a choice. "The answer is still 'no'. He'd agree with me." Which one of them did he try to convince?

Looking at Clint's horribly battered face, he saw the angry boy Phil Coulson once dragged in. The angry and traumatized kid who became one of those very few people he felt confident to trust with his life. A man who, after a very long time and through far more patience than Fury expected to find from within himself, learned to trust him in return. And how was he going to repay that trust?

Fury didn't know if it was better or worse that he saw understanding and acceptance in Clint's eyes. The archer took a deep breath, resigned to his fate. Knowing all too well the value of his life. "It's okay", the Hawk murmured in a detached voice, already somewhere far away. "I…"

Emilia rolled her eyes and took a meaningful step closer to the archer. "Enough with this crap." Her eyes flashed as they met his, and it felt eerily like she was in the same room. "You made your choice and I'll make sure that you get to live with the consequences for the rest of your miserable, lonely life." For a second or two it looked like her eyes grew misty but it might've been a trick of imagination. "Maybe soon you'll get a taste of how you made me feel."

Fury wanted to send a team. Wanted to use a few old favors to sort out this mess. At very least he wanted – for once in his life – to say how sorry he was, to explain how much he would've in fact been willing to give to save the younger man. But as it was all he could do was stand there, his face a stony mask of indifference. Years upon years of experience helping him wipe away all emotions.

Only a careful eye caught the trace of fear Clint hid remarkably well. The Hawk sat there, his bruised face set to a grim acceptance. A soldier facing his final battle.

Then Emilia injected whatever was in the syringe, and time was ticking out.

For two long minutes everything was absolutely still. Fury even nearly tricked himself into believing that perhaps this was all a hoax, after all. Until the violent tremors began. It was far too easy to see how much they hurt the horribly beaten Hawk but there was nothing the archer could do to stop them. After that it didn't take long before Clint's breaths became little more than pathetic, wheezing pants. At that point their eyes met, and unlike Emilia the Hawk seemed to be infuriatingly, painfully far away. Out of reach for any further attempts of comfort.

They continued to look at each other, both hanging in there furiously, until Clint's eyelids began to flutter closed. The archer gasped for breath, his lips beginning to turn blue while the spasms grew worse and worse. For a one more time the younger man's lips opened with a visible amount of effort. "Nich…" What Clint had wanted to say, Fury would never find out. Because the stubborn fight was lost.

Clint's eyes closed and didn't open again. All traces of breathing and life vanished. Hawkeye was gone.

Whatever Emilia saw on Fury's face, she enjoyed it. A frosty little smile appeared to her lips. "This choice was yours alone." She stroked Clint's hair gently, making his head loll without will, and Fury wanted to… "Now live with it." She nodded at someone, and the connection was lost.

And Fury realized, with a horrific amount of certainty, that he'd never, ever see Clint Barton again. The archer would never come to his office, half-dead from a yet another ridiculous mission and that infuriating grin on his face. The archer would never again drag home people who were supposed to be his enemies, seeing something in them most people wouldn't have. The archer would never come back home again.

Fury's heart, the one most people imagined he didn't have, shuddered a little as he knew what he'd have to do next.

A step behind him Maria Hill swallowed loudly. Even without looking he knew that there were tears in her eyes. "I should…"

"Then do", he growled far more harshly than she would've deserved, his infamous self-control strained and cracking.

* * *

Maria took two steps from the room before she heard the noise. Several heavy items hit either the wall or the floor and broke. She didn't shiver, instead allowed herself a rare moment of weakness and wiped her eyes before continuing on her way.

* * *

When the Avengers realized that Clint was missing they grew worried. No matter how secretive of a mission, the archer didn't usually disappear without a word. When Fury claimed that their friend was, in fact, on a mission suspicion sparked to life.

The whole remaining team was trying to decide what they should do next when a computerized voice announced that they had a visitor. They all frowned at the look on Maria Hill's face when she appeared, her steps slow and reluctant. "Maria? What's wrong?" Steve didn't sound sure whether he actually wanted an answer.

Maria gulped. And for a couple of seconds they could've sworn that they saw tears in her eyes. "Clint… He's gone."

It took seven seconds before those words sunk in. The moment they did Wanda clasped a hand to her mouth, her eyes overflowing. Natasha left the room before anyone could catch a glimpse of her face, her steps sharp and elegant. Steve shuddered like someone who just got shot.

And Tony… Tony could only stare. His whole heart and soul denying the unbearable truth with child-like stubbornness. "What do you mean, gone?"

* * *

Laura Barton was just chopping carrots when she felt it. A brush of cold air that made her shiver and caused her stomach to knot. Something incredibly heavy settled on top of her heart and it hurt so much that her eyes grew blurry.

She lifted her gaze slowly, slowly, a part of her she hated already knowing. From the reflection on the kitchen window she saw Fury's somber face. No words were needed to confirm it. This was the visit she'd always been dreading.

Laura's howl of anguish carried a long way from the Farm.

* * *

On a white, nauseatingly clinical table Clint's body lay still and lifeless. Until his eyes flew open and he gasped painfully, desperately, on his way back to life. His head spinning and his heart racing madly.

 _What the…?_

Emilia gave him a sweet smile that the look in her eyes made predatory. "Did you imagine that it's over already, little hawk? Oh, no." She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "We've only just gotten started."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So… Yeah… Uh huh. What a highly unpleasant person! (shudders) GOSH, poor Clint – poor EVERYONE! How in the world is this going to be resolved? Will Clint make it back home?

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER we jump ahead six months in time, and see what sort of an impact this had on everyone…

Soooo… Any good? At all? Wanna read the rest of this one? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from fellow Hawkeye/Renner-fans!

Awkay, it's high time I head to bed. Until next time! I really hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: Phil and Clint are the sweetest, aren't they? (beams) I miss him, too! (pouts)

Colossal thank yous for the review! I really hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as much.

* * *

Guest: Really?! That's an AWESOME prompt! (grins) I can TOTALLY see someone (mainly Tony) feed him chocolate secretly, unaware of the allergy.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I was so sad when he died in the movie! Thank gosh they brought him back! Now, if only he'd be able to go back to Clint (and Natasha). (sighs)

I'm SUPER HAPPY that you enjoyed the chapter! (BEAMS)

Oooh, a LOVELY prompt! I'm still taking my first steps with 'Agents'. (Yeah, I'm a bit slow, LOL.) BUT, as soon as I feel like I know the team well enough, ABSOLUTELY!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	88. The Value of a Hawk's Life, part 2 of 3

A/N: Phew! It's late and I dozed off twice while proofreading this. But I was determined to update before going to bed. (chuckles) So, here we are.

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE reviews, love and support! I can't believe how many friends this collection has gained. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I fall asleep ahead of time again… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Value of a Hawk's Life, part 2 of 3

* * *

What Fury and Maria didn't know immediately was that the footage of Clint's supposed death hadn't been meant solely for private viewing. Emilia had known that it'd be their last little chat and decided that the whole world would get to see. What even she hadn't anticipated was who, exactly, would see the video feed.

It was the restless period of time between classes but no one went outside. Cooper frowned when he saw five boys from his class gathered in front of a computer, staring intently at the screen. "What did you find?" he inquired, beginning to join them.

"There's… They actually kill a guy on this video!" the tallest of them, Eric, spluttered with wide eyes, gesturing animatedly with one hand. "You've gotta see this, before they delete it!"

Cooper really, seriously didn't want to see anyone dying. But he also didn't want to be bullied about being a coward, so he stepped forward reluctantly, his nose wrinkled. "You guys are disgusting."

One of the others may have said something but it was all lost on the Barton. Because that was when he had a clear view to the computer screen. The ground seemed to disappear from under his feet.

Cooper went to school by his mom's surname for safety reasons. No one knew of his family ties to Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. And with how horribly his dad had been beaten… It would've been impossible to notice any resemblance between them. Even Cooper barely recognized the man. Only, he did. And he wondered if what he experienced was what getting shot felt like.

Whatever that substance was getting injected… His dad fighting with his all… And then…

"Is he… Is he dead?" a small and timid boy stood at Cooper's right, Tim, whispered. "For real?"

"What does it look like, stupid?" A fist nudged at Cooper's shoulder. "Hey, Earth to Coop? What's with the face?"

Cooper didn't even hear. Despite the video feed having turned black all he could see was his dad's lifeless form. His chest felt impossibly tight and he gasped desperately but his lungs just wouldn't function properly. Nothing functioned. He wanted to scream. To run away. To deny that any of this was really happening. Tears he was unaware of ran down his cheeks.

When a teacher finally showed up, lured in by the ruckus, the boy in a shock fainted to her arms.

* * *

Seven hours after returning to his office from meeting Laura and breaking the news, Fury received a report that his agents had found only five of the bombs Emilia had set. She was making them run around like fools instead of going after her. He knew that she was enjoying it, wherever she was, and the thought made fighting the impulse to smash something to pieces almost impossible to resist.

Fury hadn't slept in three days and he'd honestly imagined that this very day couldn't get any worse. Until there was a knock and Tony stepped in without really giving him the time to answer. The billionaire's suspiciously bloodshot eyes were ablaze. "So… Did you know that you're the star of the internet's newest viral video? I've spent the past two hours trying to get rid of it but it's been reposted and copied so many times that I have no idea if it's even possible to have it erased permanently. Apparently _the whole fucking world_ wants to watch an Avenger die." The genius' voice tightened until it shuddered and broke from an emotional overload. "Do you…" The man cleared his throat and folded his arms, face hardening to the iron hard mask of a warrior. To most the façade would've seemed flawless. "Do you know what that video is called? 'The Value of a Hawk's life'."

Fury didn't have to ask what Tony was talking about. With a spike of newfound rage – directed at two people at once – he realized that he should've known Emilia would do something like this. Clint's death wasn't enough of a punishment for Fury's disobedience.

The air in the room became heavy and loaded with a hazardous amount of electricity. Both men were too on the edge. This talk wouldn't end happily.

Fury sighed heavily. His knuckles turned white from how tightly he squeezed the edge of his desk. "I take it the whole team knows."

Tony scoffed with disbelief and wrath. "The whole world knows! Even Cooper saw it!" There was something truly dangerous on the younger man's face.

Of all the things Fury felt none of them showed. The director took a breath, then another. "I'm truly sorry, for what happened. That… things had to go there." The man gritted his teeth for a couple of seconds. "But I don't know what you imagine to find here…"

"Just one answer. That's what we all want. Be glad Romanoff didn't come to get it, because… Honestly, I don't know what she would've done."

Fury nodded tersely but made no promises.

"That killer psychopath… The thing she said she wanted… What was it?" Tony's voice was tight from barely restrained rage and the man's balled fists shook. It was anyone's guess if the billionaire was aware of the tears filling his blazing eyes. "What… What was it, that was worth more than Clint's life? What did he die for?"

Fury's jawline tightened. The director inhaled two breaths before answering in a voice that to pretty much anyone would've sounded emotionless. "I can't tell you that." No apologies. No further explanations. The verdict was grim and final.

So was Tony's answering nod. "You can't tell me? You don't think I deserve to know why…?" The Iron Man trailed off and gritted his teeth loudly. "Yeah, well… In that case I can't be an Avenger anymore. I can't work for someone my friends and I mean nothing to." The decision made and unwavering, Tony turned sharply and marched out of the office. He paused only for a few seconds, not looking over his shoulder. "Never set your foot into the Tower again. I want it to be a safe place, now." He didn't have to slam the door. The sound of it closing was final enough.

* * *

Of course Steve knew that Natasha was more than capable of looking after herself. And that it was… unwise to go after her when she was in a certain mood. But he was the team-leader, and his team had already lost one member. He needed to make sure…

It wasn't a big surprise to find her from a training room. The punching bag she was beating was very close to falling apart entirely. Sweat ran down her face as she let her emotions flow in the only way she was comfortable with.

Steve knew that an intrusion wouldn't be welcomed. But he also knew that if he'd let her get lost into _this_ … "Natasha, I'm…"

"Whatever you're about to say… Don't." Her eyes flashed with pain and fury. She panted, her badly bruised fists tightly balled. "You want to help? Let me keep punching."

Steve nodded after considering it. "Okay." He took a stance, then went on at her frown. "We both know that a bag won't do. So let's get started. I can take it."

Natasha didn't hesitate. They sparred for the grand total of two hours, one venting out anger and grief, the other pale hint of relief from the penance. Steve would've never, ever mentioned out loud that he noticed how a few traitorous tears mixed with the sweat on the redhead's face.

* * *

Since finding out about Clint's death Wanda had been in too much of a shock to understand properly what was happening. To truly comprehend the loss. It all crashed down on her with a brutal amount of force on the day of his memorial service.

Clint had been stolen away. And they didn't even have a body to bury. After everything he'd done they couldn't even honor his memory by laying him to a peaceful rest. All they had was a photograph and a few candles.

There were no speeches. He would've detested those and the people who truly mattered to him weren't much for talking. All the remaining Avengers – old and new – and their friends were present. Only Fury shone with his absence and Wanda didn't know what to make of the relief she felt over not having to face him. Despite the amount of people the chapel was unbearably quiet as they all took their turns to leave a single white lily by the picture.

 _Clint_ was never quiet, until the very end…

The thought made Wanda shiver and she bit her lip as tightly as she could to keep a whimper from escaping. From the corner of her eye she saw a grim-faced and unhealthily pale Steve sitting next to Sharon Carter. Had she been a little less emotionally overrun, she might've wondered if the two noticed that they were holding hands. In front of her Pepper grabbed Tony's hand when his shoulders began to quake and held on tight. The billionaire's fingers curled back with the despair of a drowning man. Natasha, who'd been the first to leave a flower, sat at the very back with her arms tightly folded, like the gesture and distance would've been enough to keep the grief and pain away. Wanda knew that the older woman would leave as soon as the memorial service was over and didn't blame her. She would've left, too, if she'd had any other place in the world to go to.

/ _"Doesn't matter what you did, or what you were. If you step out that door, you are an Avenger."_ /

The memory made Wanda shiver from an unexpected slash of ache and she wiped her eyes. Clint coaxed her into embracing who she could be, showed her that she had a place where she belonged. With him _gone_ … It felt almost as bad as after her parents…

Wanda shuddered when a gentle hand was laid to her shoulder and lifted her gaze to meet Maria Hill's sorrow filled, tiny smile. It was her turn to leave a flower. To say goodbye.

Wanda swallowed thickly, pointedly holding her gaze on the flowers instead of the picture as she approached. Her hand trembled while she lay down her lily. "Thank you, for everything", she whispered, the words only meant for one person, and wiped her eyes yet again. Another gulp didn't erase the lump sitting in her throat. "I…" In the end the words didn't come out. She hoped, from the bottom of her aching heart, that he knew, anyway. Wherever he was.

Somehow Wanda made it to a seat. Did someone help her? She had no idea. Nor did she know how long she sat there, staring at the flowers although her eyes hurt horribly. Trembling to the core of her being. One by one the others began to leave. She imagined that she was alone until she sensed a presence and turned her head.

Beside her sat Vision, a look of sadness and uncertainty on his face. This time it was him staring at the lilies, pointedly avoiding meeting her eyes. "Are you… alright?"

Wanda shook her head. A rather embarrassing, loud sob slipped through her throat. "Too many funerals", she murmured. Anyone she'd ever considered a family…

Vision shifted and she wondered briefly if he'd leave. He didn't, nor did he look at her. "I…" He cleared his throat and shifted again. "I'm a little uncertain what the proper course of action…"

Wanda cut him short by grabbing one of his arms and wounding it around her shoulders. Then, testing the feel of it, she moved just a little closer to him, until she was able to lay her head against his shoulder. The feel of another person was a flicker of comfort.

"Ah, I see", Vision murmured and risked tightening his arm a little.

Just then a tiny beam of sunlight made its way through the window, shining directly at her face. Wanda could've sworn that somewhere out there Clint was grinning, watching them. And that thought finally made the tears fall properly.

* * *

Fury's office was completely dark. Only the slight movement of the room's owner sipping a sharp drink gave away that someone was present. Until a phone began to ring. He picked up instantly upon discovering that the caller was Maria. "Is it done?" he demanded. Because he didn't imagine that she'd be calling in a report on the memorial service.

" _Gibs just found the last of Emilia's bombs, we're ready_ ", she announced.

Fury lifted his chin and took a deep breath. "Good. Send the teams a word." His eyes flashed menacingly. "Tell them to tear her network to pieces."

* * *

Clint didn't know how long he'd been held captive. Strapped down, unable to even sit up. Beaten and tormented. Until Emilia found a brand new way to cause him pain.

The second she entered the room with a wicked grin he knew that it wasn't good news. She was holding a Tablet. "I'm not entirely estranged from human emotions. I know that you must miss your family." She fiddled with the device, then turned it towards him. "So, here they are."

It was footage shot by a high-quality video camera. A cemetery, and a certain grave. It took a few seconds for Clint's brain to recognize, and once he did he wished he never had.

There, by his grave, stood a heavily pregnant Laura, appearing so pale and sick from grief that it felt worse than getting stabbed. The children… It took his all not to break down to tears.

Cooper stood there staring at the stone, looking like a ghost. His son had always been a quiet child but now the boy seemed like nothing more than a shadow. Lila, on the other hand, shook her head furiously and screamed something at her mommy, tears running down her cheeks.

Clint felt like his heart had been torn to pieces. His heart was still somehow able to race, broken as it was. "I swear", he hissed hoarsely. "If you as much as…"

Emilia gave him a far from impressed look. "I have no intention of harming your family. And I'm far more merciful than Fury. I'll even let you go back to your family, to that silly little farm. If you do something for me first." She leaned forward. "So, Hawk… Will you do what I've asked you? Or will you continue to make this unnecessarily hard on yourself?"

A few minutes later Clint's scream of agony carried to the hallway, past the guards standing outside the door who didn't even flinch. A few moments later Emilia emerged, a perfectly serene look on her face while she wiped blood from her hands. She didn't give the guards a single glance before making her way to her office.

Someone was already waiting for her. She sighed with irritation. "This had better be important."

The young man in a S.H.I.E.L.D uniform nodded frantically. "Fury, he… He's found all the bombs you had set. His agents are coming after you."

Emilia stared at him. Then began to laugh. "Haven't you gotten it already? I have no intention of taking over the world. I'm not interested in running a criminal empire, either." She shrugged, still smiling. "Chaos was all I wanted. So let it all burn, everything I've built. I'll watch laughing how his pathetic agents run around like rabid dogs."

* * *

Six Months Later

* * *

It never failed to shock Steve how quickly people and the whole world moved on, forgot. Decades flew by and when a man woke up from ice the world he'd known was nothing but a thing in the distant past. Six months crawled by and the Avengers were barely even mentioned anymore. Hardly anyone still remembered that there once was someone called Hawkeye who helped save both New York and Sokovia.

Six months, and to most of the world it was like Clint Barton never existed, like the man never made any difference.

Steve swallowed thickly and restrained a wince from how the fast healing bruises on his face and around his neck hurt. He knelt with some difficulty to place something on a grave he knew, with a disheartening amount of certainty, to be empty. A bow and arrows. "I…" He breathed. "I still didn't find you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't bring you home. But…" He nodded towards the items. "At least this time I found something. I had to bring them to you. I couldn't leave them to the enemy."

A cold breeze of wind blew, making him shiver. There was a great deal of things he would've wanted to say but… "I'll go and look, again. As soon as the bruises heal." He couldn't give up until his friend's body would be found. Until the man was safely back home. "I'll find you, I promise." And Captain America didn't break his promises.

Steve had barely left the cemetery when a boy he suspected to be about nine-years-old ran into him. A pair of strikingly blue eyes, almost hidden by a bush of brown hair, widened at the sight of him. "You're Captain America, aren't you? You're back in New York!" The boy's eyes shone with excitement. "You're gonna put the Avengers back together, right?"

Steve felt like he'd been shot. Repeatedly. It took all his willpower to not utter something unwise. "Sorry, kid", he settled for instead, continuing to walk away. "You've got the wrong guy." It was far gentler than pointing out that the Avengers and Captain America didn't exist anymore.

* * *

Not even a single day passed by without Lila missing her daddy. But she refused to give up, no matter what Cooper and all the adults around her said. She wouldn't believe that he was gone. He wasn't supposed to just _leave_ , like this.

Which didn't mean that the waiting would've been easy or painless. On the worst of all days there was only one thing that gave her any semblance of comfort. Today had been a very, very bad day.

Certain that no one noticed, Lila snatched her mom's phone, then crawled under her bedcovers before starting the search. She continued until she found the number of 'Uncle Jeremy'. Then pressed dial and waited.

Until her daddy's familiar voice could be heard. " _You tried to call Clint Barton. Sorry that I couldn't pick up…_ "

Lila called the answering machine three times, desperate to hear his voice, until she was finally ready to leave her own message. "Hi, daddy." She swallowed, tears blurring her eyes. "I… I just wanted to say that… That I'm not mad at you for taking so long. You… You said that you'd be home soon, but… It's okay. I know that you didn't mean to take this long." She wiped her eyes with her fists, unable to restrain a couple of sobs. "So… So you can come back home, now. Please, daddy, come home. I miss you." With that she hung up, afraid that if she continued any further she would've really started to cry. And big girls weren't supposed to cry.

She called his answering machine four more times, until she finally fell asleep to the sound of his voice.

Lila had no idea that she'd been observed the whole time. Stood at the doorway, Laura wiped her eyes although more moisture appeared immediately. After six months the pain was still so fresh and raw that…

"Did you hear that, you idiot?" she whispered barely audibly with an unwanted amount of bitterness. Entirely too easily imagining that she could still feel Clint's presence beside her. "I… I really wish that you could come home. Your son's so angry that his teachers are worried and I don't know what to do. Your daughter's breaking her heart a little more every day you're away. I'm so lost that half of the time I don't know what I'm doing, and I can't sleep in that stupid, huge bed you insisted on buying us. It still smells too much like you. And you… You never even got the chance to see Nate…"

"He'd be here if he could be", Wanda's quiet, gentle voice pointed out from behind her, startling her. The younger woman, whose eyes held far too much grief for someone of her age, was holding a sleeping baby Nate in her arms.

Laura sighed and gladly accepted the baby. Nate sighed but didn't stir as she held him close. "I know", she admitted, her gaze shifting to where Lila was fast asleep. "I just… I always feared that I'd lose him, every time he walked out the door. And then, when he was supposed to be retired and safe…" She trailed off, fighting to get a hold of herself. Unfair, all of this.

"I know", Wanda murmured.

Anxious to get her thoughts elsewhere, Laura looked towards the young woman who moved in a couple of weeks before Nate's birth and hadn't returned to the Tower since. And once again she saw it. A soul that was similar to Clint's. No wonder he chose to save her, even if her powers scared him to death after Loki. A very small, melancholy smile curled one corner of her lips upwards.

Wanda noticed and frowned. "Laura? What is it?"

Laura shook her head. "Nothing." _Just thank you, for keeping a small piece of him alive._

* * *

The Avengers was no more. Iron Man didn't exist anymore. And for the past six months Tony had been wondering what he was without his suit. Without his friends.

Because Clint's departure had been followed by many others. Natasha was the first to disappear, right after the funeral. Wanda took off not long after, and at the same time Pepper announced that she couldn't bear watching him drinking himself to death any longer. Steve lasted a few weeks longer due to some sort of loyalty but after a mysterious meeting with Sam, Sharon and Maria the Captain left as well. And the Tower that was once full of life began to feel like a grave for the living.

Over the months passed Tony had done a spectacular job at feeling sorry for himself and wallowing. He altered between being too depressed to get out of the bed, searching manically for anything that'd lead him to Emilia's goons and drinking.

On that very morning he was suffering from a royal hangover when his phone began to ring. His mood didn't improve when he noticed that the caller was Fury. "Haven't I made it perfectly clear…?"

" _Emilia's teams just attacked two top secret S.H.I.E.L.D facilities._ " Fury's tone was even harder than usual. " _I already have agents on the way but you may get there faster._ "

Tony felt a shiver. Finally something was happening! "Give me the locations and I'm on my way."

" _Hang on!_ " Fury sighed heavily. " _The other facility's eye scanner recognized one of the intruders as Barton._ "

Tony saw blood red.

He chose the location with the ghost of Clint first, eager to let those people pay for their bad joke. What he found could've easily been mistaken for a simple house at the suburbs, if it wasn't for all the security cameras. The front door was wide open, however. He entered with a healthy degree of caution and shivered at the sight of the place's guards sprawled on the floor. Until he noticed, with some curiosity, that they were all alive. Why would Emilia's men…?

All other thoughts vanished when he realized that he wasn't the only conscious person in the house.

On the other side of the massive, bleakly decorated room a man who'd covered his head by a black fabric mask was working on a computer. Typing. Seeking.

Clearly he'd been spotted as well. "Get away. Now", a ridiculously gruff, quiet voice commanded.

Tony gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well… Fat chance." He raised his hand, prepared to defend himself and the facility. Hell, ready for revenge! His mouth was open, as it tended to be far too often, and prepared for a biting remark. But before he could as much as twitch a _pulse_ struck his suit from behind, hard enough to make him shudder. It froze him to the spot. _Everything_ about his suit failed to function. All high-tech systems in it shut down entirely and the iron that was supposed to shield him became a prison. In that very moment Tony wasn't too proud to admit that he panicked.

"Sorry about the cheap trick", a male voice that decidedly wasn't apologetic quipped. "We're sort of on a clock here, before backup for those poor suckers arrives. But hey, at least you're luckier than they were."

Three more sets of steps appeared. "South part's all good", a new male voice announced. "Hey, how 'bout that. We got ourselves some company."

"Sure did", the first man who spoke confirmed. "Decided to zap him. He was getting annoying, and he would've become a problem."

Several people grunted their approval. Three of them, if Tony was able to count correctly. "We've gotta move it, now. Hey, you done with that piece of crap or what?"

The man who'd been working on the computer nodded. "Yeah", a distinctly familiar voice confirmed gruffly. "Done." Tony's eyes widened when, without a warning, the masked enemy turned towards him, a gun that'd appeared out of nowhere at hand. A gun that might have what it took to damage…

Four shots were fired before that thought was completed.

For a few seconds, five or six of them, Tony Stark was absolutely certain that this would be when he'd die. Until there were thuds… everywhere behind him. And he was still breathing. Still very much alive.

 _What the…?!_

The other still standing man holstered the gun. Then grabbed the mask and removed it. Revealing a face that Tony had expected to never see again.

There were new scars. And the haunted look in those eyes would've broken anyone's heart. But the _fire_ in them was familiar. The man in front of him was very much alive and breathing.

Tony blinked. Once, twice, thrice. And gulped loudly, the whole world spinning in front of his eyes. He wanted to dash forward, wanted to…! "Clint?" He was too shocked to notice how his eyes stung horribly.

Clint nodded, slowly and curtly. There was a sea of remorse, ache and relief in the man's gaze. "Hey."

They were both so lame that under different circumstances it would've made Tony laugh. Not know. Not when the billionaire's whole head was able to comprehend just one word.

 _Alive… Alive…! ALIVE!_

Clint sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. "Tony… I'm so sorry…"

"Well, isn't this touching." High heels clicked hazardously upon approaching, and the hair in the back of Tony's neck stood up. Emilia. "You're a stellar actor, I'll give you that. But I always suspected that your heart's too big for your own good. Time to bring it to a stop." Two new gunshots rang out before the echo of the final word faded.

Clint, who'd almost managed to grab a gun, shuddered but didn't make a sound. Tony's mind was in such a state of chaos that it took too long before he realized what was happening. Sickening understanding didn't dawn until he saw two thin trails of blood beginning to meander down Clint's chest and the archer slumped down like a puppet that'd had its strings cut.

"CLINT!" Tony bellowed at the top of his lungs, desperate to break free. To move. To do something, anything!

Emilia, on the other hand, made her way to the computer Clint had been using. The second she saw the screen her eyes became terrifying. "What the hell have you done?"

Clint managed to smirk, despite the blood staining his teeth and how his breaths wheezed. "Don't know… what was on that file… but I couldn't… let you have it."

* * *

Over the past six months Emilia's organization had diminished to nothing but a memory. Yet somehow the woman herself had managed to avoid every single agent Fury sent after her. Infuriating, all of it.

He'd just been handed a report from one of his teams that'd taken down two of her cells when he received a message. He frowned, opening it. Cold filled all of him.

 _FILE FOR PROJECT EVE BREACHED_

In a heartbeat he'd picked up his phone and was dialing numbers.

* * *

Emilia's eyes changed. Became colder than winter. Without any warning she'd picked up her gun and fired a one more shot, this time right at Clint's stomach. The Hawk shuddered and groaned, his whole body arching under the brand new assault of pain. "I could've finished you off with a headshot", she pointed out without any emotion. "Instead you get to die a slow, painful death." With those chilling words she left, leaving Clint bleeding out and Tony unable to as much as lift a finger to stop it from happening.

Just minutes after he got Clint back he was losing his friend again.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh boy…! (whimpers) Just when they were about to get him back! Let's hope that help gets there QUICKLY. Poor EVERYONE!

Soooooo… Thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do leave a word or two to the box down below! I ALWAYS love hearing from you. (smiles)

Awkay, because I'm in a desperate need of sleep… Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Uh huh, right? (gulps) MY GOSH, poor Clint and EVERYONE else! They're all in for a REALLY tough one. (shudders)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: (offers tissues) Quite sad, wasn't it? Those poor people! Let's hope that by the end of this Clint finds his way back home. I'm baffled and flattered that the chapter moved you so!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	89. The Value of a Hawk's Life, part 3 of 3

A/N: MY GOSH, this chapter ballooned! (chuckles and shakes head) Which is why it took me longer than I planned to post.

BUT, before unleashing the beast… THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your amazing reviews, love and support! I can't even put into words how much they mean to me. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the chapter.

A LOT OF TEARS AHOY!

* * *

The Value of a Hawk's Life, part 3 of 3

* * *

Clint's head spun as he lay on the floor, gasping desperately for each agonizing breath and struggling with every little bit of him to hold on. He was too far gone to feel pain but he was aware of the pool of blood growing underneath him. Shock. He was going into a shock. Soon enough he wouldn't be able to function at all.

He had to… Needed to… He couldn't…

"… you dare check out like this …!" Tony's voice carried faintly to his ears, and despite his current condition that archer was able to hear the sheer terror.

Tony. Tony was still there, frozen, helpless. More of Emilia's men might come storming in at any given second. And he hadn't endured these past six months of pure hell, fighting and waiting for the moment when he could finally step out, just to get his friend killed when it was almost over!

Emilia's ice-cold chuckle echoed in his rapidly shutting down head. It was a sound he now associated to every single torture session during his time with her. / _"Stubborn little fool", she ridiculed him._ /

Yeah, he was.

He had no hope of staunching much of the bleeding just with two hands. Hell, with the injuries he had he probably didn't have hope, period. And Tony needed him. So he began to drag himself towards the dead masked man who still held the device which immobilized the billionaire.

There couldn't be more than fifteen steps separating them. He could do this. He had to do this.

Because he couldn't let it all end like this.

* * *

Emilia's heels kept clicking sharply and evenly as she made her way out of the building, ignoring the deafening, screaming alarm someone had the time to trigger. It didn't matter. She wasn't about to get what she was after from here, so it was time to go.

All of a sudden Emilia's steps paused. She sensed a presence, and her eyes darted to the side to find a shadow. "Well. I was wondering where you were today, since you've been a thorn in my side for months."

"I've been on to you for the past four months." Natasha's voice was cold as ice, devoid of all emotion. Professional. Pure Black Widow in all her glory. "I would've come after you sooner but first I wanted to make sure that there's nothing left of your network."

Emilia smiled. "Congratulations, then. This is a day of victory and celebration for you, Natalia."

Frost could be felt in the air between them. The shadow inched closer to her soundlessly. "I won't celebrate until you're dead."

Emilia knew that she had no escape from this. She miscalculated and she'd been too slow. But she could make victory hurt as much as humanly possible. "We both know that you won't kill me. That'd be letting me off the hook too easily. Did you imagine that I wouldn't be as merciless?"

She could actually feel Natasha's frown. "What are you talking about?"

She shrugged, the corners of her lips twitching upwards to a poisonous little smile. "Check security footage from room A5. Then hurry. This time you may get the chance to say goodbye."

The cruel smile didn't falter even when two shots were fired. Or when the bullets hit her legs, bringing her down to her knees. "Don't go anywhere", Natasha hissed.

* * *

Tony felt sick, terrified and a million other things as he watched helplessly how Clint made his way onwards. There was a nauseating pool of blood on the floor and more red followed the Hawk's trail. How much blood could a person lose, before…?

Clint was fighting a losing war and there was nothing Tony could do to help. The sheer helplessness was the worst part. Unacceptable. Maddening.

And then Clint just couldn't go on any longer. Paler than anyone Tony had ever seen the archer slumped all the way down, a heart wrenching mixture of a moan and a groan slipping through the man's throat. The wheezing, visibly painful panting breaths were growing more and more shallow, fewer and farther in between. Still the Hawk reached out towards the device he'd been trying to get to. Less than a hand's measure away but unreachable. This time a whimper of rage and frustration escaped Clint as the man's eyes, fluttering on the verge of closing, remained locked on the unattainable item they both needed.

Tony wished, more than pretty much anything, that he would've been able to move the part of his suit that covered his face. That he would've been able to truly face his friend. "Clint." Perhaps he wasn't able to move or do much of anything. But he had his voice. "Just a little further, okay? You're almost there, you stubborn bastard. Don't you dare stop now!" There was a tremor in each word but the billionaire decided that he didn't care.

Especially when a tiny, faint ghost of a smile found its way to Clint's lips. What was that raspy noise, a chuckle or desperate gasp? Their eyes met as well as was possible with one of them forced to wear a mask, holding on tight. "Missed you", the archer murmured barely audibly.

A huge lump formed in Tony's throat, making it hard to even breathe. He coughed twice, trying to find his voice while his stomach twisted to knots. "Stop that", he ordered hoarsely. "You're causing a chick-flick moment." He really, really needed Clint to stop talking like that. Because he was either about to have a panic attack or burst into tears and he couldn't afford either, not when… when…

"Sorry." Clint's voice was so faint that Tony nearly missed it. The Hawk's eyelids were drooping heavily but the man seemed determined to not let go just yet. "For all this."

Tony wished that he would've been able to shake his head in a manner his friend would've seen. "Not your fault", he announced, firmly even though his voice broke. "Just… Just hang in there, Feathers. Because I'm going to give you the unmanliest hug ever when this whole crap is over."

Clint swallowed thickly and shivered visibly. The man's eyes wandered before struggling to meet his, even if they were barely open. "Not over yet."

Tony's eyes grew misty. "That's right. Not over yet."

They were startled when running steps were heard all of a sudden. For a second Clint twitched in an instinctive need to protect them both. Trapped inside metal, Tony did the same.

Instead of enemies, however, Natasha burst in. Only to freeze just two steps into the room upon seeing the familiar person lay in a puddle of blood. Even the infamous Black Widow wasn't able to hide the hurricane of emotions that ravished her.

Tears filled Clint's eyes, although none of them spilled. The frail smile which followed was chillingly remorseful. "Tasha…"

His voice finally snapped Natasha into motion. "Shut up", she growled, a wounded edge to her voice. "Shut up. We're going home."

Clint finally lost consciousness to the promise of those words.

* * *

If the phone call would've come from anyone else but Natasha, who sounded nothing like her usual self, Steve would've thought that it was some kind of a cruel joke. It took three repeats before he finally comprehended what was said to him. And froze, entirely.

Clint… was alive?

Honestly, Steve wasn't entirely sure how he made it to the hospital. He didn't even properly register the flight it required to get there. His screaming, chaotic mind came to a screeching halt at the sight of Natasha and Tony.

Natasha stood in front of a window, glaring at the world outside. Her back was towards the room's doorway but still it felt like she was keeping an eye on anyone walking in. Tony had slumped to a nearby bench, face buried into his hands. Steve's racing heart plummeted and he gulped while a sickening taste rose to his mouth. "Where is he?" he eventually uttered.

"Still in surgery." Natasha sounded terrifyingly angry and heartbreakingly pained. Her arms remained tightly folded, likely to hide how her hands trembled. "They don't know if…" She trailed off.

Steve shivered, wanting to curse the injustice of it all. They lost Clint, and now… They couldn't be losing him again, not after just getting him back. Usually he was fairly good at inspirational speeches. But at the moment only one sentence succeeded in crawling out of his mouth. "What happened?" How was any of this possible? How could any of this be happening?

Tony and Natasha had next to no answers. And so they waited in a silence. All of them much too aware of a certain thing.

For the first time since Clint's funeral the Hawk was bringing the Avengers together.

* * *

Clint remembered, very distantly, closing his eyes. When he opened them again he was in a train full of passengers who stared ahead, none of them saying a word. Everything was gray, and when he peered through the window he discovered a world covered entirely in fog. It was eerily quiet.

How did he get on the train, and where was it headed?

"Don't be dumb, old man." That voice… "Of course you know what's happening."

Clint turned his head very slowly. Something inside him shuddered when he faced… "What are you doing here?"

Pietro Maximoff shrugged. "You tell me." The younger man reached out two fingers and tapped his forehead with them. The touch was light and cool. "That's where I came from."

So… A dream, all of this? No. Slowly, slowly, it all began to make sense to Clint. The kind of a cold he'd never experienced filled him, going all the way to his bones. "Am I dying?"

Pietro shook his head, looking around. Appearing so alive and real that it was chilling and painful. "I think you're already dead." It was said with the nonchalant air of someone looking at things from the outside. Or of someone who was already gone. "Whether you stay that way is entirely up to you, old man."

Clint frowned. His head felt fuzzy, and the further the train advanced the harder it became to think coherently. "What do you mean?"

Pietro shrugged. "You can sit right there and keep me company until this journey's over, see what is or isn't at the end of the rabbit hole. Or, you can get off at the next station and see if you can go back or if you get lost for all eternity."

Clint swallowed thickly although his mouth was utterly dry. The fog outside the train was growing thicker and thicker. Would he even be able to find his way back, if he chose to get out?

"That's the risk you have to take for a chance." Pietro's eyes were exactly the same as they were moments before the speedster's death. "Do you want to spend forever with the ghosts? Or would you rather try to get back to those who are still alive? Because there's quite a bit of people waiting for you."

Clint gulped again. He was glad that tears didn't seem to exist… wherever he was. "Is that why you took all those bullets for me?"

Pietro shrugged. "This is all in your head, remember? How should I know?" The younger man's ghost them gave him a sharp glare that somehow reminded him of Wanda. "Now stop stalling and make up your mind."

The train began to slow down before stopping entirely.

In the real world a doctor's shoulders slumped as he stared at the screen, at the straight line that'd persisted far too long. This was the part of his job he'd always hated. He expelled a great sigh. "Time of…"

He was interrupted by a sudden, angry beep and the jump of a green line.

* * *

The trio sitting in the waiting room was exhausted but none of them managed to sleep. Constant flashbacks of the recent events plagued Tony and his hands trembled when he looked at them. Impossible as it was, he could've sworn that there was blood coating his skin.

If they'd lose Clint a second time, like this, it'd be his fault and he didn't know how to handle that knowledge.

What Tony did know was that he couldn't hold still, just thinking, especially after Steve and Natasha had sunken deep into their thoughts. At first he consumed so much coffee that he ended up feeling sick, because the temptation of something stronger was something he couldn't afford losing against. Then he paced, circled the uncomfortably small room until it was a surprise his footprints didn't cause holes on the floor. And finally, after thinking about it a hundred and two times over, he grabbed his phone.

"What are you doing?" Natasha inquired, her voice strained and sharp.

Tony took a deep breath that shuddered. "I'm, ah… I'm calling Wanda. Laura… She needs to know…" _That her husband is still alive._ _That he's been hanging in there alone all this time, waiting for a chance to go back home. That he needs her._

"Tony… Don't." Natasha's voice was uncharacteristically soft, which froze to oncoming objections into Tony's throat. He'd never seen the kind of a look in her eyes as he did at that moment. "She already lost him once. We can't make her and the kids go through that a second time, if…" She refused to voice the rest.

Tony opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. Perhaps he knew that she was right. But he didn't have to like it, even one bit.

They were both startled when all of a sudden Steve, who they'd imagined had finally dozed off, stood up abruptly, eyes sharp and unnaturally alert. Looking towards the room's doorway, Tony tensed up upon finding the solemn face of Clint's doctor.

"How is he?" Steve demanded.

The doctor sighed, rubbing his exhausted face with one hand. "The bullets did a dramatic amount of damage. We did everything we could to fix it. The next day or to will tell if our work was enough." The man seemed to contemplate whether they'd be able to handle hearing more. "He's… been through a lot. We discovered a great deal of scarring, bruising and… other trauma." They really, really didn't want to know what that might mean. "There was also such a cocktail of drugs in his bloodstream that medicating him is a challenge." Clint must've _hated_ that. Being drugged against his will, losing control…

Tony shivered and gulped. "But… He's gonna be okay, right?" Because after _all this_ anything else would've been too unfair, too cruel.

The doctor's eyes were a little too sad to their liking. "His condition is very critical. Like I said, the next day or two will tell. We'll have to wait and see how stubborn he is."

The doctor probably wondered if any of them was sane when they burst into a laughter, the stress, pain and terror of the past six months along with this new frail hope becoming too much.

* * *

When Steve sent her the message saying that Clint had been found alive Sharon stared at her phone for the grand total of five seconds. Then ran. Fury and Maria were both at his office when she burst in after a hasty knock, the two staring at a computer screen with grim, somewhat disbelieving expressions. "Did you hear…?"

Both nodded. "Just going through the security footage", Maria replied, paler than Sharon had ever seen her. "How is he?"

Sharon shook her head. "I don't know. I'm on my way there right now."

Maria's mouth opened before she changed her mind. "Keep us posted, will you? And tell that idiot to hang in there because I want to yell at him for scaring us like this."

Sharon left quickly after that. It wasn't until then Fury spoke, eyes never once straying from the computer screen. "Why didn't you go with her?"

Maria's eyes darkened. "Because we both know that Emilia was just brought in. And I have a feeling that I'm needed here more."

* * *

Even though both her legs were out of commission the S.H.I.E.L.D agents bringing her in Emilia strapped her firmly. She received a confirmation why when a much too familiar man walked into her holding cell. A woman with brown hair attempted to follow him but had the door closed and locked at her face.

"Hello, Nicholas." Emilia's eyebrow arched. "I have a feeling that the security cameras have been switched off. We're alone, then."

Fury took a single, threatening step closer. Then another. "You're not going to die today, Emilia. But this will be the last time we'll ever see each other." All of a sudden he was so close that their noses nearly touched. "So we need to have a talk about Clint. And Eve."

A few seconds later Emilia's howl of anguish echoed through the hallways.

* * *

The first time Clint woke up he had no idea where he was. But he did realize immediately that he wasn't with Emilia and her men anymore. That knowledge alone would've been enough to soothe the tension and lingering terror caused by the horrible nightmares he just had. Then he saw Steve's face. The soldier was worryingly pale and clearly hadn't slept properly in ages. But real.

This wasn't just another hallucination, Clint was actually safe this time.

Steve frowned, the worry on the man's face becoming palpable. "Clint? Are you alright?"

Clint nodded the best as he could, dazed and overwhelmed. "You're here…", he rasped, wondering if his voice was even audible. "You're really here…" How could he not be okay when he just made his way back from the hell?

Steve's lips parted but a young, petite nurse appeared and cut the soldier short. "Why don't you wait in the hallway for a bit?" she demanded firmly but gently. "I'm going to adjust your friend's pain medication. I'll call you in as soon as he's more comfortable."

Steve didn't want to leave him out of his sight any more than Clint wanted his friend to go. But there was fairly little either of them could do, with the archer having exhausted himself to a point of being unable to speak. Clint didn't even have enough strength to turn his head.

As soon as they were alone the nurse's attention was on him. She gave him a small, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. But… You're overwhelmed, and in pain. You started to cry." Sensing his shock and embarrassment she went on. "Hey, after everything you've gone through you're allowed to feel overwhelmed. I also know that you're exhausted. I'll just adjust your pain medication and you can go back to sleep, okay?"

No, it absolutely wasn't okay! Clint didn't want to go back to sleep, back to the never-ending loop of nightmares. He wanted to stay here, where his friends were, awake. But he was badly injured and his body had gone through too much. He was out before the added medication kicked in.

* * *

In the hallway it finally began to dawn on Steve what was happening. Everything that'd happened over the past unbearably long half a year crashed on him with the weight of a tank, nearly dropping him to the floor. He didn't realize that the pathetic whimper came from him.

Clint was still alive. He thought that if he ever found his friend he'd have to take home a dead body. Instead the archer would be flying back to New York unwell but alive.

"Steve?" Sharon's voice startled him to a point where he jumped a little. She froze at the sight of his expression and swallowed. "Is he…?"

"He woke up", Steve managed, only just starting to believe it himself.

Sharon needed nothing further. She took the six steps separating them and wrapped her arms firmly around him. And there, in an embrace he hadn't realized he needed, Steve finally allowed himself to break down to tears for the first time since Clint's alleged death.

* * *

Three hours later Laura and Wanda were just about to serve dinner when a crash could be heard from the kitchen. Alarmed, Laura dashed there to find Wanda stood frozen in the middle of the room, face drained of all color and trembling miserably. One of the woman's unsteady hands held a phone, and four plates were smashed to pieces at her feet.

Laura frowned, bad omens knotting her stomach. "Wanda? What's wrong?"

"Natasha… just texted me." Wanda's eyes were wider than the older woman had ever seen them, full of unshed tears. "He… He's still alive. Clint's still alive."

It took almost a full minute for those words to sink in. And then, in slowed motion, she slumped to the floor, in too much shock to even cry. It tends to be a little too much when the one thing you've been desperately begging and praying for comes true.

An hour later they ate charred roast that'd already gone cold. The kids didn't complain. The dinner was a silent, almost dream-like affair. Cooper and Lila clearly noticed that something was going on but neither asked. Two and a half more hours later instead of sending them to bed Laura gathered her two oldest into her arms. After she whispered to them that their dad was alive, finally able to come back home, the first tears fell.

* * *

The next time Clint woke up he heard a very familiar, small sound. Fingers drumming. He knew someone who always started drumming their fingers when stressed out. After the dream he just had the familiarity was a great comfort.

He forgot his injuries and began to turn to his side. Only to regret it instantly when a hellish amount of pain flared everywhere in his body. He groaned and instinctively attempted to curl up, only to discovered that it was an even bigger mistake.

"Stop that!" Natasha scolded him. "You'll hurt yourself." Her hand was heartbreakingly tender, almost cautious, as it pushed him back against the mattress. "Hold still and breathe. In, out… That's right, nice and slow."

Clint opened his eyes halfway because he didn't manage anything more. It took a while before he managed to focus enough to actually distinguish his friend. "'s with the face?" he croaked.

Without asking or commenting Natasha took a glass of water and placed a straw to his lips to help him drink. She waited for a long moment before speaking out, her tone giving away far more than she probably would've wanted. "You died. And came back. Only to nearly die again. That's what's with the face."

Clint winced and coughed. Then winced again, biting back a groan. He _hated_ this…! "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." To most Natasha's voice would've sounded harsh, even hostile. Her eyes spoke the truth. "Get better."

Clint wished that he would've had the energy to smile. Anything that would've made her less tense, less worried that he might slip away again if she as much as looked away. "Will do."

"Good." Natasha sighed heavily, for a fleeting second allowing him to see her vulnerable side. "Look… I need to go for a while, to take care of something." Or more likely 'someone'. Her eyes hardened. "I'm expecting you to be waiting when I come back, Barton." _I expect you to be alive._

Clint did his best to punch her arm gently, playfully. "Hey. Stop with the mushy stuff. 'm not going anywhere."

Natasha nodded, her shoulders dropping from relief. "Good." She revealed a bag of… chocolate chip cookies? "In that case you've earned two of these. Pepper bakes when she's stressed out. Or relieved. Or pissed off." Seeing his apprehension, she went on. "Don't worry, Vision didn't help this time."

A tiny grin appearing, Clint accepted a cookie. Even if he was already so exhausted that he could barely bring it to his lips. "Only two?" he whined.

Natasha rolled her eyes and glared at him while stuffing three cookies to her mouth. "You almost scared us to death, Barton. Be glad you get even that much." He wondered if she noticed that the hand which wasn't busy with the cookies was holding his tightly.

The contact was enough to lull him to a much needed peaceful, dreamless slumber.

* * *

The third time Clint woke up he was inside something painfully loud, and the… pressure, he figured, inside his skull seemed to be killing him. He groaned and attempted to wiggle away from the discomfort. No such luck.

"Hey, look who's up!" Tony was grinning widely, which was a vivid contrast to the paleness and the dark circles around the billionaire's eyes. Was that… a full-grown stubble? "Guess what, Feathers? We're going home."

That one word was nearly enough to bring Clint to tears. It took a while before he realized that the pathetic, wheezing sound was coming from him. "Home…?" He wasn't dreaming or hallucinating again, was he? This was actually happening. Had to be.

"Yeah. Your doc wasn't happy about you flying all the way to New York but I told him that I have a full medical team waiting for you. You've already been away long enough."

Clint's chest tightened at that. He swallowed, wondering if he wanted to know. "How long?" How long had he lost? How long had those he cared about…?

Tony hesitated uncharacteristically. Then, at last, braced himself with a sigh before spitting it out. "Seven and a half months."

Clint stared. And stared, an unimaginable cold filling him. Somewhere at his left a beeping sound was intensifying.

"Hey, hey!" Tony's eyes were comically wide. "Don't panic, okay? Calm down!"

Clint shook his head the best as he could, so dizzy that the whole world was spinning in front of his eyes. "Not panicking", he managed with a great deal of difficulty. "Need to… to breathe… To sit…"

Tony nodded, processing. "Okay, okay… Give me a sec…" Gently, gently the inventor used a shockingly tender arm to help him to a sitting position. "You'd better not pass out, you hear? Or throw up on me. Or something."

Clint rested his forehead against his friend's shoulder because holding his head up proved to be too much of a challenge. And breathed once, twice, savoring the feel of his chest loosening. "Not making promises."

Clint expected a witty remark. Or at very least a scoff. What he didn't anticipate was a hug, as tight one as his injuries allowed.

Tony sensed his surprise, of course. "I promised you the unmanliest hug ever, remember?" The billionaire's voice didn't sound right. "If you tell _anyone_ about this I'll pluck your feathery ass."

What was Clint supposed to say to that? He didn't have the strength to respond properly. Instead he wrapped one arm around his friend. The relief over being on his way home and being safe, over making it back to his friends, flowed through him like a tsunami.

And that was how Clint fell asleep.

* * *

There's a special place for criminals like Emilia. For people so dangerous that they have to be cleaned up, out of the way, out of sight, out of mind. It was a place only a handful of people knew about. And even fewer knew the full truth. It was a prison island called Valhalla.

Winter's first snow was falling while a small ship sailed soundlessly. Emilia sat in a wheelchair on the deck, her eyes dark as they gazed at the black waters spreading around the vessel. The woman still looked like she was in control, like she had a few hidden cards she hadn't played yet. And Natasha, who'd offered to escort the criminal, hated it from the bottom of the heart she liked to pretend she didn't have.

"Such a beautiful night", Emilia commented almost serenely. "I suppose I should thank Fury for choosing this particular one." Their eyes met, and the criminal appeared amused. "You do realize that I played this agent-game long before you, don't you, Natalia? I know that there's no Valhalla."

It was the truth of Valhalla few knew. It didn't exist. There was only one place where criminals like Emilia could go to safely. Only one prison cell that'd hold her securely.

"Quick and painless or slow and savoring?" Emilia inquired airily, as though they'd been discussing the weather.

"The exact same manner as you killed Clint. Only in your case death will stick." Natasha's voice was still detached, even though a storm of rage and sick pleasure swirled inside her. "Fury's choice as well." She would've gone for something far more painful. But perhaps this had some poetic sense of justice.

"When…?" Then it seemed to click, and Emilia released a small 'Ah!'. "The orange juice."

"Yes."

What was there to say? A seagull's scream broke the quiet seconds before Emilia did. "Does it really not bother you? How easily Nicholas sacrifices allies for some greater good?"

Natasha gritted her teeth. She'd been manipulated enough throughout her life. She wasn't going to listen to this. "It bothers me a lot more that you were ready to kills hundreds of people and actually killed my friend."

Emilia's chuckle was almost fond. "Oh, Natalia… If only I found you first. We would've gotten along splendidly. And I would've been able to offer you so much more than secrets and lies." The woman's eyes were unnaturally bright, those of someone who had their very life slipping away. "Do you know why I really have to die tonight?"

"Because you're the head of a criminal organization that has killed countless of people all over the world", Natasha responded flatly and without hesitation, although a small tingle of alarm sparked to life under her skin.

Emilia seemed to sense it, because a flash of pleasure could be seen in the dying woman's eyes. "No. It's not because of the deaths I've caused." The woman lifted her gaze towards the stars and inhaled an easy breath, then another. "One day, just for entertainment… Ask Nicholas about Project Eve."

Natasha frowned but didn't ask. Didn't rise to the bait. Instead she stood beside the criminal in a grim silence that was colder than the night. She didn't look to the side when, eventually, Emilia slumped down, never to rise again.

Fifteen minutes later Natasha took her phone and typed a quick message. ' _Cargo reached Valhalla. On a voyage home._ ' She wanted to ask. Because alarm bells were screaming loudly in her head.

Instead she pocketed her phone as she stared at the restless waters spreading everywhere with a frown on her face, and shivered from cold she was suddenly far too aware of.

* * *

Clint began to wake up to the sound of someone humming. Which was a very, very pleasant change to the sound of his own screams that echoed in his dreams. "Hey", a familiar, soft voice whispered. "You back with me?"

Clint nodded, struggling to get his eyes open. "'think so", he mumbled. Then frowned. "Back…?"

Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was disheartening how she seemed to have aged several years over the past seven and a half months. "You… were almost conscious a couple of times. But you didn't seem coherent."

Clint wanted to ask what he'd done. To ensure that he hadn't done or said something… bad. But he ran out of courage. "You okay?" he uttered instead, hating how off his voice still was.

Wanda shook her head firmly, her eyes shimmering before she blinked it away. "No, I'm not. And neither are you. But we will be."

Her honesty was refreshing. Enough so to make Clint grin, just a little bit. Not caring if he was ready for it or not, he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Missed you", he admitted, trying to cover a grimace when it felt like his stomach, side and back had been set on fire. His proclamation was honest as well.

Wanda smiled. Did she notice the single tear running down her cheek? "I missed you, too, old man." She squeezed his hand and he wished that he had the strength to hold back more firmly. "But I have a feeling that you missed someone else more. So I'll step out for a bit." Faster than Clint could figure out what was going on, let alone ask, she was up and about to leave. But not before placing a brief but heartfelt kiss to his forehead. "Welcome home." With that she walked away, her whole body radiating the same relief he felt.

Clint had no clue what to expect. Somehow he didn't manage to foresee it although he probably should've. When Laura appeared to the room's doorway he wondered, not for the first time, if this was a yet another cruel trick of Emilia or his mind. That fear vanished when she burst into tears, then rushed to him and pulled him into a hug his body wouldn't have really been ready for. Her scent, the one he'd dreamt of a million and one times in hell, filled all of him. And at that moment he couldn't hold it back any longer. He buried his face into her hair and broke down to tears as well, embracing her far more firmly that he should've been able to.

Neither knew how long they just sat there, hugging each other. It was Laura who broke the silence. "Hey", she rasped, grabbing his shirt with all her might.

"Hey", he murmured back, pulling her just a little closer. "Stop crying. You're making me cry, too." Or then it was the pain medication.

Laura chuckled, the sound mixing with sobs, and somehow it felt like they'd said everything that needed to be voiced.

* * *

Vision found Wanda from her room a little later. She was sitting on her bed with her eyes closed, trembling while a few tears shone on her cheeks. He hesitated and nearly fled, worried that he might interrupt something private. But apparently he'd already been spotted. "You… You can come and keep me company. I don't mind."

Vision wasn't used to the people around him being willing to reveal their emotions. He approached hesitantly, then sat down on her bed, as far away from her as he could. "You are upset", he observed.

Wanda nodded and finally wiped her eyes. "I am", she admitted. "And I… I think I'll be for a while. It's…" She shook her head, most likely trying to sort out her thoughts. "It'd been a really, really long year." No further explanation was needed.

Vision didn't quite know what to say. Or do. In the end he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, slowly, tentatively. It worked the previous time, after all. To his shock the sounds she was making intensified, grew louder. Was he doing this wrong? Making things worse?

But then Wanda looked at him. Her eyes were still full of tears but she was smiling. "You're learning", she stated fondly.

Vision felt his face twist free of his will. It took a while before he realized that he was smiling as well. "I have a very good teacher."

She took his free hand and squeezed it, and the gesture said enough to ensure that no further complicated words were needed.

* * *

Facing Laura and his friends was a huge emotional overload for Clint. But it paled in comparison to the one more reunion there was left. He braced himself for it for two days, endured the torturous wait for a moment when he was feeling well enough to handle it. When that moment came he discovered that nothing could've prepared him for it.

Lila stood as close to her mom as possible and held her hand with all her might. At the sight of him the child froze, her eyes widening. Clearly the reality of him being still alive chose that very moment to hit her properly.

Cooper stared at him. And stared, more and more color disappearing from the boy's face with each second. Then spun around and ran.

Clint was a lot of things. But first and foremost, he was a dad. Sensing the pain and upset radiating from his son in waves he reacted instantly. Although he hadn't even taken a walk since getting shot repeatedly he attempted to get up from the edge of the bed and sprint to a chase. Desperate to ease the hurt he'd caused.

In a flash Laura was there, stopping him. "Honey, don't, don't", she whispered gently, combing her hand through his hair in an attempt to comfort him. "He's perfectly safe here and he'll come back when he's ready. We just need to give him a little time."

Clint squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He had no idea which ache was worse, the emotional or physical. The thought that he was doing _this_ to his family, to his kids… "I'm sorry", he rasped. "I'm so sorry."

Laura sighed, but before she could say another word a much younger voice whispered. "Daddy?" The girl still stood by the room's door, frozen to the spot. "Are you… Are you really back?"

Clint nodded. It took some time before he found his voice. "Yeah, sweetie. I am." There was no breath enough in the whole world for everything he wanted to say.

Children have a funny way of seeing and knowing more than they're expected to. Maybe Lila did, at that very moment, staring at his face. Or maybe she'd missed him too long and too bitterly. Because before he ever saw it coming she was there, clinging to him so tightly that he trembled from his injuries being irritated. And burst into such sobs no proper parent would ever want to hear from their child. Eventually she fell asleep in his arms, not loosening her hold on him even as she slumbered.

A few minutes later, just when Clint had managed to regain some composure, a brand-new voice made itself known. A tiny, impatient whimper. Such that made the archer's heart jumped erratically. He turned his head, very slowly, to see something he'd been too preoccupied to notice before. A baby boy, supported by Laura's gentle arm.

He stared at the child, then looked at Laura as though seeking a confirmation. She smiled while murmuring to the baby's ear. "Nate? Say 'hi' to daddy."

* * *

Cooper had no idea where he was going. Or what he was planning on doing when he got there. He just knew that he needed to get away for a bit, until he could breathe, until he could think.

In the end he was sitting in the corner of a darkened training room, legs brought tightly against his chest and trembling, feeling as cold as if he was in the freezing temperatures outside. His head was spinning. Only one thing made sense. And didn't.

His dad was still alive.

He was incredibly happy, of course he was. But he was also terrified and angry, and hated himself for it. His dad fought so hard to get back to them. Why couldn't he bring himself to say anything? To even look at the man? Why couldn't he feel like he was supposed to?

"I was going to eat this myself." Wanda entered the room slowly, as though worried about disturbing him. She was carrying a chocolate muffin. "But I have a feeling that you need this more than I do."

Cooper looked away. He didn't like the way shadows circled him. "Did mom and dad tell you that I panicked?" he muttered.

"They did say that this is all a bit too much for you", Wanda confirmed while taking a seat beside him, and actually sounded like she understood.

"Dad's alive", Cooper whispered, saying those words out loud for the first time.

"I know. But before that you thought that he was dead for almost seven months. That's why you deserve the muffin."

Cooper really didn't think he did. He'd pictured so many scenarios for what he'd say and do when he'd meet his dad, and he screwed it up. But he couldn't deny the need for comfort so he accepted the delicacy. It tasted every bit as good as it looked. "How did you find me?" he asked at last. "Did you use your powers?"

Wanda smiled. "No superpowers needed. This is your dad's favorite training room."

Cooper looked away again. Still feeling ashamed. "He… does know that I'm happy he's… back, right? That I…?" _… love him._

Wanda sighed and wrapped an arm around him. He melted against it. "Don't be silly. He'd never doubt that, for even a second."

Whether he deserved it or not, Cooper was happy about the comfort. An hour later he made his way to the room where the rest of his family slept. There he crawled cautiously into the bed, settled as close to his dad as possible and allowed himself to be just a dumb kid. The nightmare was finally over.

* * *

Of course it wasn't over yet. Couldn't be. For any of them. Especially for Clint. He had violent nightmares every night. Quite quickly the archer insisted that the kids would sleep as far away from his as possible, because he wasn't planning on traumatizing them any further than he already had. It wasn't much easier when he was awake. Flashbacks could be triggered by almost anything. The worst was when Laura kissing his neck sent him to a panic attack. Laura refused to even touch him for a week afterwards, fearing that she'd upset him again, and it was torture on them both.

Physical recovery also took a tremendous toll on the archer. Something as simple as eating was a challenge with the damage done to Clint's intestines. There were a lot of times when the Hawk was certain that the pain alone would kill him.

But once again Clint's stubbornness overcame everything else.

Eventually Clint was laughing openly at Tony's stupid jokes. A day came when the archer took his first incredibly painful, shaky steps with his daughter holding his hand determinedly, so hard that her knuckles turned white. And finally the Hawk was comfortable enough with himself, felt enough like himself, to start teaching Cooper archery.

There were bad days, good days, absolutely horrible days and incredibly amazing days. Clint didn't have to face a single one of them on his own. He had a therapist he even listened to on occasion. As well as a small army of friends and family.

Said friends and family were recovering as well.

Pepper woke up in the middle of the night and sighed, instinctively rolling towards Tony's side of the bed. Only to find it empty. She panicked for the grand total of two seconds before realizing that she knew exactly where to find him. With a sigh she left the comfort of a warm bed and tiptoed out of the room.

Following a hunch, she made her way to the Tower's main common space. Steve and Clint had slumped on the couch, and Tony just appeared through the other doorway with three mugs of coffee. The other men greeted the beverages with grateful grunts.

"Seriously, Steve?" Clint sighed, taking the first sip. The archer did a remarkable job at trying to hide a wince at the taste. "'Twilight' again?"

Steve shrugged. Completely and utterly unashamed. "It helps me sleep."

"So you don't just have a thing for sparkly vampires?" Tony teased.

"Leave Cap alone, Stark. He's almost a hundred years old. If he wants to watch sparkling vampires then let him have his sparkling vampires", Clint commented almost fondly.

Tony rolled his eyes and flopped down with a dramatic sigh. Steve smiled a real, honest smile. Clint relaxed and in less than a minute was soundly asleep. Tony and Steve both cast worried glances towards their friend before becoming assured that the man was alright, then went back to their banter over the movie.

Maybe one night Clint would be free of nightmares. Maybe one night Steve would be able to relax without doing at least five rounds around the building to assure himself that everyone was safe. Maybe one night Tony wouldn't have nightmares, either, over imagining twice in six months that he was watching Clint die. But tonight wasn't that night.

So Pepper greeted the two still awake men with a quiet 'hi' and a smile. Then made her way to Tony and kissed his cheek. He grinned, obviously pleased. "What did I deserve that for?"

She kissed his lips this time, with all the love that was swelling in her heart. He tasted like bad coffee, never having discovered that art of preparing the decent kind. She found that she didn't mind. "Nothing", she murmured against his lips. "Absolutely nothing."

* * *

Two nights later it was Natasha who discovered Clint wide awake. She frowned at the sight of him sitting at a kitchen table, glaring with haunted eyes into a mug of long ago cooled tea. Upon approaching she made sure to cause enough noise to avoid startling him. "A long night?"

Clint nodded, still not looking away from the drink. "Yeah. You?"

"Hmm." She prepared herself some tea in a silence, then took a seat as well. And waited.

When he finally spoke it seemed to be more to himself than her. "Emilia… She found out that she hadn't broken me after four and a half months. So… She decided to try breaking me again." He rubbed his face angrily with both hands. "I have no idea how, but… She knew of Laura and the kids. And… She told me that if I was stupid she'd…" Clint's breathing pattern was changing towards something unhealthy. His eyes weren't dry when she was finally able to see them again. "That's… That's what I dreamt of, tonight. Again. That I… That I messed up and she…" He trailed off, choking on the unbearable words. On the verge of breaking down.

Natasha didn't know what to say to that. To have someone toying with Clint's absolutely worst fears like that… If Emilia wasn't already dead… "They're safe. And so are you", she stated firmly, needing to reassure them both. She went on at the look aimed her way. "I know that you don't feel that way yet. But I'll make sure that you will. Isn't that what friends do?" It was what he did for her, anyway, once upon a time. When she was still a different person.

Clint didn't quite smile. But his eyes softened. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

There was only so long the Barton family could spend at the Tower. And as his wife and kids prepared to leave Clint came to the conclusion that he couldn't bear being away from them any more than they could stand the thought of leaving him behind. And so the archer braced himself for the departure, hoping that he was physically ready for it.

When he entered the private jet Tony had readily promised he could borrow, he froze upon discovering that it wasn't just the Barton family leaving.

The rest of his team was there as well. Natasha shrugged. "What? You've been telling me for ages that I should have a vacation."

"Strap in, Legolas", Tony ordered from the pilot's seat. There was a familiar grin on the billionaire's face. "We're taking you home."

"I'm sorry about this", a visibly embarrassed Steve sighed at Laura. "This… was Stark's idea. We'll only stay for the weekend. You won't even notice us."

Laura chuckled. It felt good to breath easily again. "Somehow I don't think that's even possible. And I don't mind", she pointed out fondly. Her eyes went through the team. They'd all been grieving. They all suffered a loss as she did. It'd take a while before they'd dare to let Clint out of their sight. And while she'd always been terrified of where her husband might end up with them it warmed her heart how much he meant to them. "Stay as long as you need to."

The team ended up staying for two full weeks.

* * *

It wasn't until on Nate's first birthday Fury finally faced the archer for the first time since… Well. The party was in full swing when Clint felt that someone was watching him. He saw the shadow of a long coat and knew immediately who it was.

The Avengers were keeping the world safe once more, without their Hawk but at least knowing that they hadn't lost him. But Clint knew that to this day their trust towards Fury was in shambles and forgiveness was fragile at beast, nonexistent for some of them. So he announced that he'd get a yet another camera, despite there already being six to witness the occasion, and made his way to where Fury waited. "Well, this was a surprise", he commented, doing his best to keep his tone light.

It was impossible to tell what Fury felt or thought as the man greeted him with a curt nod. "I happened to be nearby and remembered that it was Nate's birthday." Now that was almost adorably clichéd. "I… decided against bringing a gift."

Clint shrugged. "That's okay. He's got too many of those already."

Fury nodded a second time. A piercing case studied him. "You look well. Are you alright?"

Clint sighed. "Not yet." He looked towards the friends and family gathered to celebrate with his son. And really, truly smiled. "But… I'm working on it." And he did feel better every day, even in the bad days.

Fury exhaled a heavy, weary breath. "I… received your letter of resignation last week. And… I wanted to let you know that I understand." Which was quite possibly the most pathetic apology in the history of mankind.

Clint, however, heard the unvoiced after all the years he'd been following the orders of this man. They locked eyes. "No, I don't think you do understand", he pointed out without any malice. "Those six months I was away… They were pure hell, but not only for me. And…" He looked towards where his kids were. Cooper was smiling freely for once, Lila was giggling and Nate was far too excited for anyone's good. "I promised them that I'd fight with tooth and nail so I'd never, ever have to leave them again. And… I intend to keep that promise."

They both watched his family in a silence. Until there was a palpable shift in the air. "You're a lucky man, Barton."

"Trust me, I know." Clint's eyebrows furrowed. "Are _you_ okay? Because…" By the time he turned his head Fury was already gone. He groaned. "I hate it when he does that."

* * *

Nicholas Fury had always liked Paris. Something about the city made him find it easier to breathe. So when he shocked everyone with taking a day off, was it any wonder that he headed to his secret favorite place in the world?

There he sat in a park, a random guy enjoying the sunlight. No one there knew him. He was so careful that no one even realized that he wasn't just sitting there. He was watching.

Twenty-five steps away a strikingly beautiful, twenty-years-old woman who looked too much like him laughed heartily and squealed when her boyfriend scooped her into his arms and spun her around. Then, gently, the young man allowed her to catch her footing and placed a loving hand on her heavily pregnant stomach while kissing her soundly. Their freshly purchased engagement rings shone radiantly, triumphantly, as sun caressed them.

She was far younger for any of this than Fury would've approved. But who was he to deny her? He could only hope and pray that she'd be a lot luckier than he was.

He didn't know that Emilia was pregnant with his child when the enemies got their hands on her. Ten weeks pregnant, to be exact. There was a reason why she chose that amount of bombs. He found out on the day he imagined that she died, with him listening on the other end of a phone and making the same impossible decision he did with Clint. He didn't relent, even when they sent him her fingers. Instead of agreeing to release ten incredibly dangerous prisoners he sacrificed her. That evening, as he practically trashed the tiny apartment they'd secretly shared for a week, he encountered the positive result of a pregnancy test. On that incredibly dark day a piece of Fury died, never to come back to life again.

To this day he didn't know how Emilia escaped her captors. Or what she did to them. Just that the being which survived was a monster, molded by at least three years of constant torture. And when Emilia walked back into his life five years after her death, slaughtering ten S.H.I.E.L.D agents as she did, all she wanted was her daughter. The one she named Eveline, Eve, in those brief moments they had together.

Because apparently one of her captors hadn't been without a conscience. On the very same day a baby-girl was born a young man escaped with the child, ignoring Emilia's desperate pleas. And no matter how badly Emilia tortured the man when she eventually found him he refused to reveal where the child was. Only that she'd grow up in a loving family. Emilia then came to Fury because she imagined that he might know where their daughter was.

Fury didn't. And that was when Project Eve began. To locate the child before Emilia would. Because Fury knew that no little one could be trusted to the person the woman he once loved had become. An innocent girl had to be kept as far away from her influence as possible. There was only one method safe enough.

And so a car-accident was staged. Never giving away who he really was, Fury himself explained to Eve's shocked adoptive parents that if they wanted to keep their daughter safe, they'd have to disappear, entirely. Without anyone realizing as much he said goodbye to his child, expecting to never see her again. Only a carefully selected few knew that the family of three was, in fact, still alive and the truth of what the girl meant to Fury was his alone. The family was safely in Paris. There was a reason why it was Fury's favorite city, even if it broke the heart that he wasn't supposed to have.

His secret was safe until days before Emilia got her hands on Clint, until she learned the truth. She'd also known that she could only find leads of her daughter's whereabouts from the building in which Clint nearly lost his life. Fury still didn't know how. But he was determined to find out. And he'd destroy absolutely all remaining evidence of Project Eve.

Not today, though.

Today, for just these few stolen minutes, Nicholas Fury was a father. When he eventually stood up and left, something deep inside aching horribly, he knew that he'd never see her again. Nor would he ever meet his grandchild. But he knew that Eve was safe and happy, and that'd have to be enough for the rest of his life.

He disappeared from the park like a ghost and decided that he'd never visit Paris again if he could avoid it.

* * *

End of short story

* * *

A/N: MY GOSH, that was a monster of a chapter! (chuckles) But I felt like all that needed to be added.

AND, I FEEL LIKE THIS STORY ISN'T QUITE FINISHED YET, SO I HAVE A QUESTION FOR YOU. What would you say if I typed a separate fiveshot revolving around this and Clint's recovery? Because I felt like I couldn't cover enough in just one chapter. Would any of you like to read it?

AND A SECOND QUESTION! The grand 100 special is fast approaching! Do you have any requests as to the content?

Aaaaaaaaaand, of course… Any thoughts of comments about this chapter? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know!

Awkay, I REALLY need some sleep. Until next time, my feathery friends! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: It certainly was emotional, wasn't it? (whimpers) I'm THRILLED that you enjoyed it, anyway!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: (howls with laughter) I can't blame you even one bit, ya know? That was CRUEL of me.

BUT, my gosh, how happy and flattered I am that it moved you so! (BEAMS) We'll see what the closure for this tale brings…

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	90. Silence (DEAF CLINT)

A/N: PHEW! Guess what, guys? It's THAT time of the week! (grins) BUT, before we take a look at what our favorite Hawk gets into this time…

THANK YOU, so, so much, for your absolutely amazing reviews and love! MY GOSH. It warms my heart SO MUCH that so many people love Clint Barton as much as I do. (BEAMS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go!

THIS ONE'S based on a prompt from a very dear reader. (smiles fondly)

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS HINTS TOWARDS SOME REALLY DARK STUFF, BUT THERE WON'T BE ANY ACTUAL DESCRIPTION.

* * *

Silence (DEAF CLINT)

* * *

/ _A seven years old Clint trembled as he sat in the corner of a basement. It was winter and the room had barely any heating, so the cold was slowly but steadily creeping to his bones. His ears were hurting, as was his cheek, and he bit his lip so hard that it bled to keep himself from crying or whimpering. Neither would've done him any good. He was also hungry and tired. How long ago was it his dad sent him here? He needed the toilet, too, but didn't dare to move until he was given the permission._

 _He couldn't hear anything, of course. And the only thing providing him any light was a tiny, constantly flickering lightbulb. When it'd die out he'd be all alone in the dark._

 _But maybe his loneliness wouldn't last long. His dad had a few friends visiting and Clint saw them drinking fairly heavily before he'd been thrown into this room. Sooner or later they'd need a refill and the basement had a lot of alcohol stacked on wobbly looking shelves._

 _Clint had almost dozed off – stress induced exhaustion leaving him with no other choice – when all of a sudden the door opened, letting in a wide beam of light. He lifted his gaze hopefully. It didn't matter how drunk his dad was, he just wanted…_

 _It wasn't his dad. Or his mom. It was a man he recognized as his dad's friend, drunk enough to be swaying. Tim, wasn't that his name? Their eyes met, and Clint raised his knees against his chest while his blood ran cold._

 _The lightbulb flickered a one more time before dying out._ /

* * *

Clint woke up from a nightmarish memory to another bad dream. To the feel of someone's hands squeezing at his neck and throat, hard. To the feel of someone strangling him.

Clint reacted instantly, his mind going wild from fast spiking up adrenaline. He shoved fiercely with his hands and attempted to sit up, to face the threat properly. Only to discover that something was restraining him. The weight of another person, sitting on top of him.

Rage and panic melted together, forming an explosive cocktail, and Clint found himself fighting even more furiously. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, he could feel it wheezing in his throat. Lack of oxygen pushing him to a frenzy, he fought a war to get his eyes open, needing to see his attacker. The betrayal was like a stab when he fully took in the familiar but uncharacteristically grim, pale face looking down at him.

 _Tony…?!_

Why was Tony strangling him…?

The billionaire's lips kept moving at a frantic speed and in his current state of mind Clint had no hope of keeping up. Which only increased his anxiety level. What the hell happened to his hearing aid? Why was Tony attacking him?

Nothing was making any sense and he was starting to feel drowsy, which most likely wasn't a very good thing. With the last remains of his determination he observed the billionaire's lips, trying to read the words flying through them.

'… _stop_ … _stop the bleeding_ …'

Was he bleeding from his neck? That didn't sound like a good thing, Clint realized with a rather alarming amount of detachment. His eyelids were drooping heavily.

Well. This… made a lot more sense than Tony attempting to kill him. He wondered vaguely what happened. Did it matter?

'… _get you out of here_ … _just hang in there, you hear_ …"

Clint felt like laughing at the irony. Hear? No, not a thing. He scoffed unwillingly, and his Adam's apple bounced as a response.

Tony's lips were moving frantically. '… _don't talk, Clint_ … _quiet and still_ …'

Quiet and still? Yeah, he could do that. Since it didn't feel like he had much of a choice, anyway.

Clint didn't remember closing his eyes. But he must've. Because they fluttered open, barely, at him being jostled.

'… _not that still_ …' Was that how Tony looked like when the billionaire was scared? What reason was there to be so scared? '… _stopped breathing_ …'

Ah, that might explain the fear.

Clint was drifting again until the pressure on his neck and upper body grew. Breathing became a real challenge and he gasped, feeling a really bizarre bubbling in his throat. It hurt. It really, really hurt, everywhere – inside his ribcage, somewhere deep within his neck… Tony was talking again. Quickly, hysterically. Pain, inability to breathe properly and not understanding anything of what was going on did their trick. Clint was starting to panic. Using up what little willpower and strength he had he used both hands to try and push Tony away, to ease the pressure that was killing him.

Maybe he made a sound. Or maybe there was something wrong with his eyes, because they began to hurt as well before they grew blurry. With great effort he caught some of what his friend tried to say. '… _calm down_ …' Understanding seemed to dawn when the billionaire tried and failed to meet his eyes. '… _can't hear, can you_ …'

Clint would've wanted to nod but didn't think moving his head was a very good idea. He also wanted to swear that everything would be okay. Because Tony looked like he might have a panic attack soon. Clint himself was finally very calm. Too calm.

Tony's lips continued their endless motions. The sight was oddly comforting, like a lullaby. '… _dare leave_ …'

Clint frowned, or at least thought he did. Leave? He wasn't going anywhere. Just resting his eyes for a bit…

His head must've shifted despite his best intentions and he didn't have the strength to move it back. All of a sudden he was staring at the ceiling of a basement, where a lonely lightbulb kept flickering, about to go out at any given second. Everything his mind could comprehend were that light and the suffocating silence. Cold filled him, and his lips parted.

The lightbulb must've died, because suddenly there was nothing but darkness.

* * *

Dr. Alice North had chosen to work at ER because she loved challenged. Challenges, such as a man who had a nasty cut across his throat along with other injuries. Quite often she found herself questioning her own sanity.

 _How the hell is he still alive_ , she wondered while starting the work. And decided that if he was stubborn enough to have kept hanging on for this long she wouldn't be giving up, either. Following her firmly barked commands a team began to prepare the patient for surgery.

"Dr. North?" A young nurse who'd just cut open the man's shirt looked at her with wide blue eyes. "I think we may have another problem."

Eyebrows furrowing, Alice looked down. Her stomach plummeted and she swore colorfully under her breath. Like things hadn't been bad enough already…

There on her patient's side a massive bruising continued to form, signaling an internal bleeding.

* * *

In the waiting room Tony had no idea how much time had passed while he sat with his face buried into his hands. Some company might've done his sanity a world of good but the rest of the team needed to wrap up the mission and Pepper was far away at home. So there he was, with nasty memories keeping him company.

It was supposed to be a straightforward mission. To shut down a small terrorist cell that operated from three different locations in a massive city. Splitting to smaller groups felt like a good idea, so Tony and Clint headed towards a seemingly harmless house at one of the city's least attractive parts. Although they faced a heavy amount of resistance everything actually went smoothly for a while. Until everything was going anything but smoothly. Until they reached the building's basement where all the computer systems were supposed to be. Instead they found a child's playroom and a five-year-old who burst into tears of sheer terror and _screamed_ for her daddy when she saw the Iron Man. In that house the Avengers were the bad guys.

Tony decided that he'd never, ever agree to split up again as the unwanted flashbacks continued.

Over and over again he saw how the child's call brought a small army of enemies into the room, a man who had to be her dad barging in first with a truly chilling look on his face.

How he saw Clint fighting four enemies all by himself and almost winning until a fifth one appeared, slitting the archer's throat.

How Clint slumped almost immediately with a dazed look on his face, and one of the enemies kicked the Hawk's head before the criminals left with the child.

How he was sure that Clint was already dead when he got there, then began the desperate work to keep his friend alive. No matter how stubbornly the archer eventually fought back. No matter how much blood eventually coated his hands, Clint and the floor.

How Clint looked at him with wide, accusative eyes, obviously imagining for a few fleeting moments that he meant harm.

How Clint made those horrific, choked wheezes.

How Clint lost consciousness for the second time and Tony was sure, so sure that his stomach knotted and breathing became a challenge, that…

Unable to just hold still any longer Tony got up much faster than his head was ready for. He paced and paced, round and round in broad circles. His thoughts spun around in a dark loop.

According to Clint's doctor the man had several broken ribs, one of which had caused internal bleeding. Tony couldn't keep himself from looking back on how he restrained his friend, firmly enough to keep a trained field-agent down in order to keep the man from bleeding out. What if his actions caused more harm than good? What if…?

"Your friend suffered traumatic injury and needed the bleeding to stop quickly." Dr. North looked at him with eyes that succeeded in being stern and tender at the same time. "If you hadn't been there he'd be dead now. So whatever you're thinking, stop."

If only it was that simple. But seeing her and the hints of relief on her face renewed Tony's hope. He froze and swallowed hard. "How is he?"

"He lost a lot of blood and scared us a couple of times. But he's a stubborn one, isn't he?" The doctor smiled. "If he avoids complications he should be just fine. I understood that you'd wish to transport him to New York where you'll have a full medical team? Right now things are looking good and in a day or two he should be stable enough to travel safely."

* * *

A few long hours later Tony was finally allowed into Clint's room. The billionaire had no idea what he'd been expecting. The sight he encountered paralyzed him by the doorway.

The bandage covering Clint's neck… His friend's paleness and that deep frown of discomfort… How fragile his friend looked, so unnaturally still…

Tony took several deep breaths and kept his focus on the machinery monitoring the Hawk's vitals. They were strong and steady. Clint was still there.

Those conclusions were enough comfort to convince Tony into moving again. Slowly, slowly he approached the bed, one hand rummaging through his pockets until he found something. A hearing aid, which had been knocked out of Clint's ear in the heat of the fighting. His hand was so gentle that under different circumstances he would've made a joke out of it when Tony placed the item right where it belonged. His friend didn't even twitch upon contact and the lack of response shattered at least a little of the calm the billionaire had barely managed to find.

Tony looked away, focusing on the ridiculously white wall, and cleared his throat. "This time you're gonna listen, Pigeon. Because… I'm planning on not shutting up until you're done with the beauty nap, okay? Consider it a payback for startling me."

Tony hadn't expected Clint to just wake up magically. And such didn't happen. But the frown faded away, slowly but surely. Tony found his own tense shoulders relaxing as well, some of the endlessly long day's weight disappearing.

Yeah, it'd been a long day. Tony sighed, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. "Fine, sleep for a bit. But when you wake up I'm going to yell at you for forgetting to mention that you're deaf. It's definitely something you should share with the class."

* * *

Close to falling asleep, Tony didn't know that he had audience. Bruce was sleeping off a post Big Guy exhaustion and a gigantic headache. Thor was still going through the three locations they'd found. (If Tony knew, the billionaire would've joked that the hammer wielder was looking for another person to smack with his weapon and might not have been wrong.) Steve and Natasha, on the other hand, stood right outside Clint's hospital room, relief and tension fighting over room on their faces.

It wasn't easy to let go of the terror caused by Tony's announcement that Clint just had his throat slit.

"Why didn't he tells us that he's deaf?" Steve asked quietly once the billionaire nodded off. The Captain's eyebrows furrowed. "What if…?"

"The big idiot knew the risks. But he decided that he didn't want anyone coddling him and you know how stubborn he is." Obviously Natasha wasn't a fan of the archer's decision, either. "I knew, Fury knows and Coulson…" The redhead cleared her throat, her eyes narrowing for a few seconds. Her voice sounded different once she continued. "According to him that was enough."

A plausible explanation. But Steve had a fairly good nose at detecting when something was kept from him, and in a few seconds it clicked. "He still doesn't trust us, does he?" They'd been a proper team for five months, now. It wasn't a long time but…

Natasha's facial expression softened. She sighed heavily. "I'm not sure if you've noticed but that guy over there… He doesn't have exactly the best luck. It applies to people as well." She frowned, clearly wondering how much she was at liberty to reveal. "Most of the people he's met so far can be divided to three categories. They leave, they stab him in the back or both. He needs some time to get into that thick skull of his that you guys are different."

Steve stiffened, the events of the day catching up with him. He gritted his teeth when the weight of guilt settled on his shoulders. "If I hadn't decided that we should split up…"

"… fate would've found some other way to bully him." Natasha's eyes held a hint of rare, unhidden sympathy. "Take the word of someone who's been his partner for ages. The sooner you accept that you can't always keep him from getting hurt and that it isn't your fault when he's injured the better. You need to let go of laying the blame on yourself or you'll lose your mind."

Steve took a deep breath that hurt with how tight his chest area was. He couldn't look away from the bandage covering Clint's neck, no matter how much he hated the sight. "How did you do it?"

"I'll let you know when I have."

* * *

Clint's dreams were far from pleasant. They were closer to quick flashes than anything else but still enough to sends his heavily medicated body and mind into a state of chaos. He began to tremble, despite the hearing aid unaware of the whimpers breaking through his tormented throat.

A lightbulb… A door closing… A sneer full of yellow teeth… A hand pressing against his neck…

He wanted to scream, needed to…

"Hey, hey, hey! Calm down. Barton! Clint!" That voice… How did he hear it…? "Calm down, you're hurting yourself."

There was an absolutely horrible sound echoing everywhere. It took some time before Clint realized that it was his own voice screaming. And it was tearing his neck as well as his throbbing skull to pieces.

Reality began to settle in, and Clint finally quieted. Making all that noise had exhausted him and he panted desperately for a some much-needed breaths, no matter how much it hurt his side. With great effort he wrestled his eyes open, needing a visual confirmation before he could let go…

Tony seemed a little shaken but unharmed. The grin aimed at him was shaky but genuine, full of relief. "Look who's finally awake!" Something about his face, or perhaps the frantic beeping sound, revealed a little too much because the billionaire winced. "The pain meds mess with your dreams, don't they?"

It wasn't just the meds. But Clint was feeling far too vulnerable already to revealed as much, so he nodded the best as he could. Then groaned – or perhaps rather whimpered – at how much the gesture hurt.

Tony sighed heavily. Like someone who'd been drowning and finally got back to surface. "Go back to sleep, Pigeon. I'll keep watch."

Clint didn't want to sleep. Didn't want to risk facing those dreams again. But it didn't feel like he had much choice over the matter, because his eyelids were already drooping heavily. "Thanks", he murmured with as much volume as he could muster. Which was a fairly pathetic amount. "And sorry."

"You'd better be. You nearly gave me a heart-attack. And when you don't look so miserable I'm gonna yell at you for not telling us that you can't hear. But for now sleep or I'll sing a lullaby."

Clint smirked. It probably turned into a grimace of agony while he rasped out a few more word. "… cruel and unusual punishment, Tin Head …"

"I'm a cruel and unusual man." A chair moved slightly while Tony shifted to a better position. "Go… to… sleep, so I can eat your jell-o."

Clint would've glared. But his eyes were already closed and trying to open them again felt like too much effort. "Don't touch the jell-o." Was that even audible?

"What are you gonna do to stop me?"

Clint fell asleep with a tiny smile on his face, and this time slumbered dreamlessly.

* * *

A few days later Clint announced that he was sick of lying in bed doing nothing. And that there was somewhere he needed to go. Tony relented, mainly because he knew the patient and realized that without his co-operation the archer would attempt to take off alone.

So off to a road trip they went, against every single advice of any medical professional ever. Tony offered a jet but Clint preferred a car. The Hawk even offered to drive but a good, hard glare from the billionaire and a visible wave of pain were enough to bring the man to his senses.

The journey advanced in a companionable silence, with both of them deep in thought. Tony had the time to come up with a lot of guesses as to their destination. A secret family? Some top-secret agent stuff?

Whatever Tony expected them to encounter, a graveyard wasn't it.

Tony frowned. His head drew several blanks before he finally succeeded in speaking. "Uh, what… are we doing here?" Honest enough.

Clint's jawline tightened to an extend that would've hurt even without the man's injury. The archer refused to meet his gaze. "I just… need to see someone." With those cryptic words they abandoned the vehicle and began to walk on.

They passed by a lot of graves that'd been tended to with a great amount of care and love. The one they stopped in front of certainly wasn't one of those lucky ones. Over the years grass and weeds had grown so high that it was almost impossible to read a man's name on the stone.

 _Timothy Randall_. Just that name, and the dates of birth and death. No words of affection. Like the person six feet under never meant anything to anyone.

Except maybe to Clint. Because the archer was shaking from something far beyond simple rage while glaring at the stone, a baffling amount of wide open emotions in his eyes. It was easy to see that the man's mind was somewhere far away. Until it clashed back into present. Clint drew in a sharp, thick breath that had to hurt, then wiped his eyes before turning and beginning to walk away. Leaving behind something Tony couldn't even begin to imagine.

In a few seconds Tony's confused head cleared enough for him to hurry after his friend. Even a single word wasn't spoken until they reached the car and the billionaire licked his lips. "You okay?" Because the Hawk didn't seem to be okay.

Clint didn't answer in any way. Instead drew another one of those horrible sounding, agonizing breaths. Then relaxed visibly, shoulders slumping. Some of the emotional turmoil could still be seen in those eyes that glanced towards him. "Thanks, for bringing me here." _For helping me…_ do whatever the hell Clint just did there by the grave.

Tony had always been a curious person. Too much so for his own good. And he was itching to ask what just happened, what he just witnessed. But he knew that he wouldn't be getting any answers yet, not before Clint trusted him a little more. His friend had allowed him to see this much, and for now he was content with that. And with the knowledge that although the Hawk was obviously far from okay, inside and out, the man would get there eventually. Tony would make sure of it. "No problem." He started the car, thinking. "Shawarma?" he suggested hopefully.

Clint's nose wrinkled. The man's tension seemed to be melting away, little by little. "Never again."

"Chinese?"

Clint shrugged. "Okay. But this time I'm choosing the restaurant. The one you picked last time gave the whole team a food poisoning."

Tony rolled his eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "One misjudgment and I get to hear about it for the rest of my life."

"Do I need to remind you how ugly it got?"

Despite the pain from Clint's injury they continued the journey towards home with the friendly bickering. The sun was setting slowly on the ghosts of the past they were leaving behind.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awww! Clint's gonna be just fine. (BEAMS) He's got nurse-Tony to look after him.

Sooooo… Any good at all? Back to the drawing board? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you.

A TINY ANNOUNCEMENT! A short-story based on the last three-parter is going to be published, because several important parts of Clint's recovery were left out and several dear readers expressed desire to read more. (BEAMS) The first chapter will be published later today. If you're curious, do check it out!

AND I'M STILL ACCEPTING REQUESTS AS TO THE BIIIIIIIIIIG 100-CHAPTERS SPECIAL!

Awkay, I've reeeeeeeally gotta go. I really hope that I'll see you next time!

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Feels indeed! THANK GOSH Clint made it home. (sighs happily) Poor Fury, though! (winces)

I'm ABSOLUTELY OVERJOYED that you enjoyed the tale so much! You have no idea how happy your kind words make me. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next whump-time.

* * *

Guest: OH, how it makes my heart sing that you've enjoyed this insane collection so much! (BEAMS) We'll see just what's up ahead…

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: Oh dear! (giggles, and offers a couple of tissues) The chapter touched you in the feels, then? I'm RIDICULOUSLY happy that you enjoyed it so!

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	91. Connected, part 1 of 2

A/N: I was already typing something else entirely when this silly little idea came to me out of nowhere. (chuckles) Before getting started, though…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your amazing reviews, love and support! DAAANG. Almost a hundred chapters and so many of you are still sticking around! It means A LOT. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Connected, part 1 of 2

* * *

Clint had always been a fast runner. There was a time when he did a lot of things he wasn't proud of to take advantage of that talent. These days it was one of the few things that, in his own mind, made him worth a damn to his team of gods, monsters, super soldiers and men in iron suits.

Kick. Spin. Punch. Another kick, such that shattered a set of teeth. Repeat. Five enemies were down in a flash.

Clint inhaled a single breath, then lifted a perfectly steady hand to his ear. "The party was lame, here. I'm in."

" _Any trace of the target?_ "

"No." His hawk's eyes scanned through the massive, painfully brightly lit laboratory. "This looks like the set of some cheap sci-fi flick, but…" His voice died into his throat while the hair at the back of his neck stood up. His jaw tightened. "I have company."

There was a medical table only steps away. On it lay a man who couldn't be older than twenty. Unnaturally pale, almost angelic with his shortcut nearly white hair and perfect facial structure. The serene expression on the stranger's face seemed sickeningly out of place with all the tubes and wires connected to his lithe, fragile looking frame.

Like something ripped from an alternative reality.

" _Hawkeye?_ " Natasha's tone was tight and impatient. He heard someone earning a swift, merciless punch. " _Do you need backup?_ "

"No", he denied after considering it for a moment. "There's… Those assholes have performed human experiments. Or that's what it looks like."

Tony swore loudly. For once Steve didn't comment. Somewhere in the building Hulk's rage boomed louder than thunder.

They'd come to find something of immeasurable value from this HYDRA-base in the middle of nowhere. But now… This was an actual human being. Clint couldn't just…

He was moving before that thought was finished. With a healthy amount of caution, keeping a constant eye on possible traps and further company. Until he eventually reached the bizarre young man.

Clint was shocked to discover that the poor soul was, in fact, alive. Breathing slowly and evenly as though someone sleeping. He was possibly out of his mind but he also wanted to be a decent human being. So he began to pull off the tubes and wires, trying not to imagine what they were all for. He had no idea what his next move would be but he knew that he couldn't just…

All of a sudden he felt that he was being watched. Instinct taking a hold of him instantly, he looked down to find a pair of surreally blue eyes staring up at him. Alert and determined. Clint had no hope of reacting before cold fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist. One of them found his pulse point and tapped, like morsing or feeling.

Then he felt a hellish electric jolt.

* * *

Cold filled Natasha when Clint stopped answering her. She didn't panic – she was the infamous Black Widow, after all. She got mad. Very, very mad.

She took down four hostiles with a degree of eagerness most people would've frowned upon, ensured with a frosty glare that they'd stay down and continued on her way without missing a beat. The two more enemies she encountered weren't any luckier than those before them.

Annoyed by the time she'd let slip away, she raised a hand to her ear. "Hawkeye? Do you copy?" There was still no reply. She decided that if he was perfectly fine she'd punch him for making her…

All thought process halted when she finally made it to him.

Clint stood with a dazed, agonized look in his eyes, fists balled so tightly that it had to hurt. And beside him on an examination table sat a strange looking young man with something like excitement on his face, one hand wrapped around her friend's wrist. Even without the ominous purple glow she would've known that something was _wrong_.

Her chest tightened, and without wasting a beat she took her gun and pointed. "Whoever you are… Let go of him _right now_ or I'll shoot you." And she'd enjoy it.

* * *

Those who first created him named him Angelo. Because he was their very own angel. Until he wasn't. Until not long after his sixth birthday he discovered his ability and formed his first connection.

He was no longer an angel after that. He was homeless, aimless. Until he was discovered by a woman who had a strange skull-symbol on her coat and a kind smile on her face. She took him to people who created him again, slowly and incredibly painfully. They didn't give him a name. Instead they made him more powerful than he'd ever been. Fed him, gave him orders and missions. Until the bleak things they exposed him to became all he knew. He was a very good, efficient service hound. But like any wild animal in captivity he dreamt of freedom.

And today, with the help of some of the people who'd been named his enemies, he got his chance.

As always he felt the mind approaching him. So many emotions, so much heart… He sneaked in to the mind and searched. Until the person approaching was close enough. Faster than a lightning bolt, he reached out a hand and grabbed, knowing that this would be his one and only chance.

The stunned, outraged mind he also grabbed a hold of trashed violently against his invasion. Formed such a shield that for a long moment Angelo wasn't sure he'd be able to hang on. Desperate and growing angry, he made sure that the connection he was trying to form would hurt as much as possible. Until he was in, all the mental shields of his opponent slammed down with a brutal amount of force.

The mind he entered was unlike anything he'd encountered before. Wild, full of secrets and contradictions… He searched through the memories like a kid in a candy store, amazed by how much this person could _feel_ and still remain perfectly under control.

Love… Rage… Loyalty… Friendship… Betrayal… Grief… Joy… And at last…

Ah, Angelo wasn't the first one to temper with this head – no wonder it attempted to resist him so viciously.

Angelo might've continued searching and strengthening his hold on the still fighting mind a little longer. But he sensed that they were no longer alone. Opening his eyes slowly, he found a redhaired woman with smoldering eyes who had a gun pointed at him.

* * *

Natasha had faced a lot of reactions when approaching a person with a gun held high. She'd never seen the kind of a smile she gained from the enemy. It carried something that chilled her to bone. "I would put that thing away, if I were you", the young man advised in a thickly accented, velvet smooth voice. Long, thin fingers tapped at the side of Clint's head, making the archer flinch and the younger man chuckle. "I'm already in there, Natasha. We're one and the same, Clint and I. So, unless you wish him to be harmed as well… You will allow me to go, and you will make sure that I'll stay safe."

Natasha shivered, her eyes narrowing. Of course it was entirely possible that HYDRA had introduced this boy to all of the Avengers, but something in those eyes… "Get away from him", she hissed. "Or I will kill you." It took all her self-control not to do so already.

The boy tilted his head, pursing his lips. "Clint has so many violent memories of you… Did you know that sometimes he worries what all that anger will do to you, what it may turn you into?"

"Shoot him", Clint growled. Under his breath, low and pained, as he still fought with all his might, even when it was far too little and hopelessly too late. He met her eyes, desperate and furiously determined all at once. "Remember… the deal… after Loki? End this."

The boy seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh…! You two really are fascinating." He stood up fully, beginning to head towards her. Behind him Clint fumbled for a weapon but wasn't in enough control over himself to succeed. The enemy didn't seem to care. "It might be interesting to play around with you, too, Widow. But right now there's somewhere I need to get to."

Clint attempted to reach a gun again. But the boy had such a firm hold on his mind that he didn't manage. Instead he cast a pair of demanding, pleading eyes towards hers. He was asking her to do _something_ , because he wouldn't be able to go through _this_ again. And they couldn't let this enhanced escape.

Natasha gritted her teeth while she turned, shielding Clint protectively from their enemy's sight. The boy had already reached a window and was planning on jumping down despite two stories separating him from the ground. She took her last chance at the exact same second he did, and fired as he jumped. He disappeared from sight with a loud groan.

Natasha moved to follow until there was a soft gasp behind her. She spun around just in time to see an expression of pain and surprise appearing to Clint's face. She frowned, dread swelling in her stomach. "What's…?" She never managed to finish that sentence.

Because just then Clint slumped down, barely conscious while blood meandered from a gunshot wound that'd appeared to the exact same spot where she put a bullet on the boy. With a sickening amount of clarity Natasha began to understand. The connection between the two went far deeper than just basic telepathy.

She was moving before she'd decided to do so, and crash landed to her best friend's side with enough force to bruise her knees. Her heart hammered furiously and keeping herself together was far harder than she would've wanted it to be. "Hawkeye?" She helped him sit up although it meant that his blood soaked her clothes and tapped at his cheek harder than she'd meant to. "Clint, eyes open! Don't you dare pass out on me!"

Clint groaned. He was trying, so very hard that it showed, but he was slipping. "Ouch…"

Natasha rolled her eyes, adrenaline driving her whole system wild. "Yeah, ouch." Keeping a stubborn hold on her friend with one hand, she reached the other to her ear comm. "Anyone out there listening?" she called out, her voice harder than steel with how hard she was trying to block her emotions. "Clint's been shot."

" _What?_ " Tony's voice didn't sound right. Even though the man would've never, ever admitted to having been… concerned. " _Who the hell shot him? I thought that he had everything under control._ "

Natasha's jawline tightened painfully while she fought a war to stem her friend's bleeding. And scolded herself fiercely for not thinking things through, for not realizing… "I did."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear… This kind of a connection will DEFINITELY be a problem… (winces) We'll see just how badly Clint will suffer for it.

SOOOOO… Thoughts? Comments? Rants? PLEASE, drop a line or two to the box below! I'd LOVE to hear from you!

AND GUESS WHAT? EXCITING NEWS! (Well, I hope that you find them exciting, anyway, LOL.) The companion story for 'The Value of a Hawk's Life' is in full swing! It's called 'The Five Stages of Fixing Broken Wings', and I just posted chapter 2 of 5. (BEAMS)

Awkay, I REALLY need some sleep. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I wanted to be a bit nicer to Clint and readers after the previous emotional roller coaster. (grins) I'm SO HAPPY that you enjoyed it and the interaction between Clint and Tony! I LOVE those two.

I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the chapters to come!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: (giggles and hugs) It DOES make me happier than I'm proud of that these chapters have moved you so! We'll see just what Clint goes through next…

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	92. Connected, part 2 of 2

A/N: I was traveling this week, so it took me a bit longer to update than usual. BUT, here I am, at last! Yay?

THANK YOU, a thousand times over, for all your reviews and love! DAAAAAAAANG. So many of you are still on board! You can't even imagine how happy it makes me. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get so sappy that Natasha would want to punch me… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Connected, part 2 of 2

* * *

Angelo had never, ever felt the kind of a pain he did when the bullet hit him and he slammed against the cold, hard ground. He gasped, and his breath fogged up the air as he stared at the night sky spinning above him. He blinked slowly, twice.

The stars… The last time he saw them he was a little boy. Sat on his father's shoulders while the man chopped wood. He still remembered the scent of the late autumn forest. It reminded him of death and decay.

His father was the first person he ever connected to. The first mind he ever brushed. It was the first and the last time he heard the man _scream_.

Steps approached him, snow scrunching underneath them. He moved his head listlessly and for a few moments he was almost tricked into imagining that it was his father, coming back to claim him. Then he distinguished the familiar skull-shaped symbol.

"Hello, little pet." The female voice was almost gentle. "We couldn't possibly leave a treasure like you behind, now could we?"

Pain and shock swept him into darkness.

* * *

Clint dreamt of a late autumn forest, and somehow knew immediately that the dream wasn't his own. Everything was quiet as he made his way through the thick walls of trees all alone, fog gathering quickly everywhere around him. Soon he was lost, the mist becoming so thick that if he outstretched his arm he couldn't see his fingers. He tilted his head and stared in wonder at the missing fingertips.

' _Clint?_ '

Somewhere in the distance a woman's voice screamed in horror, grief and rage. He lowered his hand and listened. A wolf's cry responded to the woman's despair. Soon more human voices appeared, loud and angry. More wolves could be heard, too.

He began to run, from the humans and wild animals alike, knowing that neither would show mercy.

' _Clint, wake up._ '

He ran and ran. Through the constantly thickening fog, stumbling more than a handful of times. Until something grabbed his neck and he had no idea if it was a fist or a set of a predator's teeth.

He screamed.

"Clint!"

He opened his eyes and gasped, the ceiling above him spinning nauseatingly. He had no idea where he was. It took some time before he even remembered who he was.

 _Clint Barton… Clint Barton… Clint Barton… Clint Barton…_

Clint chanted his own name mentally like a mantra. He couldn't let the now chaotic mind wrapped around his take a hold. He couldn't lose himself, couldn't forget himself. Not this time. Not again.

Tony's face loomed above him. The billionaire appeared exhausted. "Feathers? You in there?" The man's eyebrows furrowed. "I mean… Really, _really_ there?"

Clint nodded although it required a ridiculous amount of strength. "Yeah, Tin Can", he rasped. "I'm here."

Tony seemed genuinely relieved. For a moment. "And… Mr. Creepy?"

Clint gritted his teeth and looked away. "Still here, too." The presence was like an octopus wrapped around his brain. Listening, watching, roaming around his head.

Clint wanted to rub his face with both hands, as hard as he could bear. Even if he knew that it wouldn't chase away the intruder. But he couldn't lift his hands. This time the block was physical, not mental, made of solid metal. Still the restraint sent him to a frenzy. Filled him with the urge to fight like it was his second nature.

"Calm down, calm down! You're gonna hurt yourself." Tony swallowed hard, a deeply troubled look in his eyes. "Look… If that guy has a hold of you…"

"… I can't be trusted." Clint understood it and agreed, no matter how little he liked it. The last thing he wanted was to hurt someone. To be forced to fight friends. Again. He gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt and glared at a crack on the ceiling, doing everything he could to distract himself from the current moment's chilling familiarity. "The boy?" Still alive, obviously, if he was.

"Gone before we got there." Tony seemed genuinely apologetic. And pissed off. "Cap and Widow are looking for him."

Clint nodded, his head hurting and tingling as the monster who made home in his mind began to wake up. "How long…?" How long had he been out? How much did he reveal before the gunshot? And how much longer would he be… himself? How much knowledge had he ended up giving…?

"About five hours." Tony began to pace, never much for holding still when things got hectic. "The wound looked nasty but as long as you don't let it get infected it shouldn't be life threatening."

The thing was, Clint wasn't even remotely as worried about what might happen to him as he was about the harm he might involuntarily cause. Under Loki's control he killed a sickening amount of people who were supposed to be allies. He was glad he was retrained now, even if it made him feel… uneasy.

A finger poking at the side of his head pulled him out of his sullen thoughts. Tony's eyebrows were furrowed. "You with me?"

"Yeah." He groaned when a spasm of pain assaulted his back. The bullet just had to hit the back…

Tony's jawline tightened. "You're a tough super spy, I get that. But you need pain meds."

Clint shook his head vehemently. "No drugs." He needed his mind alert, ready to fight. He needed to be prepared…

He hadn't known to expect the feel of a knife being twisted inside his brain.

* * *

Angelo had been harmed in a number of ways through his life. But he'd never, ever gotten shot before. The pain he encountered upon waking up… It had his body and mind in a thunderstorm. He trashed, and for a while he imagined that it was the wolves howling again until he realized that the sound came from him. He'd never lost control in such a manner before. Was he dying?

Fascinating.

"You're not dying, pet." The voice was still gentle but there wasn't a touch. No one had touched him willingly since his parents. "Oh no. We're not letting you slip away so easily."

Angelo wasn't interested in listening. He pushed his way deeper and deeper into the mind he'd taken over, until it became difficult to remember where he ended and the other one began. A secret after a secret, a layer after a layer… Pain disappeared when his mind was firmly focused on the task.

"What do you see?" The woman's voice sounded like a whisper although she was next to his physical body. "What does the archer know?"

' _… Cap and Widow are looking for him …_ '

There were sounds of a distant battle. Angelo didn't care. He pushed forward into the protesting mind, continuing to escape the feel of captivity and physical discomfort.

Until all of a sudden he was once again in that cursed forest. The fog surrounding him, thick as a wall of bricks and unforgiving. And from inside it Clint emerged.

Angelo frowned, looking around. "This…" He blinked in wonder. "… is my dream."

"Yeah, this is. And do you know what that means?" Clint's grin was that of a wolf. "You left the backdoor open. This time I'm in your head."

* * *

Clint heard Tony calling out to him and wished that there was something he could've offered as a response. But all his concentration needed to be on keeping whatever fragile control he had. The mind he tried to hang on to was slippery, sharper than anything he'd ever touched.

When he opened his eyes they weren't his own. The woman keeping Angelo company – yes, Angelo, he had a name, now – hadn't seen any need to restrain the boy. Her mistake. Especially since she was armed with a handgun and a knife. And focused on the noise coming from outside the room.

It took less than two minutes before Angelo's body stood firm, ready to leave. Until the room's metallic door opened and two people he knew better than well barged in. Steve and Natasha stared at him. And Natasha saw. "Clint?"

He nodded the best as he could. Keeping the hold… It was getting exhausting… "We've gotta go. I don't know how long…"

Steve gave his shoulder a squeeze. And somewhere deep inside Angelo drew some feeble comfort from the contact. "Let's go."

This time the loss of control was so quick and subtle that at first Clint didn't even notice. There was a deceitfully gentle brush. And then Angelo's body was running.

* * *

When the boy began to run Steve's head took a few seconds to catch up. To realize that it wasn't Clint anymore. To realize that the kid was heading towards a broken window.

When Angelo stood on the ledge he finally took a single, cautious step forward. "Don't", he pleaded. Because he knew what was down below. A sickening fall straight to stones. And if the boy fell, so would Clint. "We'll take you away from here. You can…"

"What, have a normal life?" Angelo shook his head, and there was a hint of sadness in the boy's smile. "People like me don't get to have a normal life. People like me don't become celebrated national heroes. I'm a lab rat, Steve. Those like me are in chains and behind locks." The youth gestured towards the space around them with one hand. "This place… It's the only home I have, now."

"It doesn't have to be", Steve insisted. Becoming desperate, now. "Let go of Clint, come with us and no one will ever hurt you again. I promise."

Angelo looked at him pityingly and shook his head. "For someone as old as you… You are incredibly naïve, if you truly believe that. It'd be just another cage. And I'm planning to fly." The boy took a deep breath, already letting go. "As for that archer of yours… These people here, these… enemies of yours killed in battle today… I may have wanted to leave them behind. But they're my only family. And they're dead because of him. That's why I'm going to take him down with me."

Natasha surged forward incredibly quickly. But she was hopelessly too late. Angelo fell backwards through the window. Disappeared from sight.

* * *

Clint saw the fall. As clearly as if it was happening to him. And really, it was, wasn't it? Because the moment Angelo's body would hit the ground his life would end, too.

Despair driving him, Clint used up all his strength and concentration. Gathered together every little bit of his mind. And created the kind of an attack Angelo wasn't prepared for.

In the middle of the fall, Angelo gasped and his eyes flew wide when an assault of memories and feelings hit him mercilessly. A flow of events and people. So much emotion all at once that it overwhelmed him instantly. Faces that gained names, each new one slashing like a blade.

A team.

Friends, those the archer had lost and those who were still alive.

Family.

Friends fighting side by side, protecting each other as much as the world.

A wife's love.

A hand caressing a pregnant stomach.

A far too serious little boy taking his first steps.

A little girl's excited giggle.

A baby's first cry.

And then Clint's own voice. Howling, roaring, louder than anything he'd ever heard in his entire life. Tearing his head to pieces like an explosion. ' _I WILL NOT GO DOWN WITH YOU! I WON'T LET YOU TAKE ME AWAY FROM THEM!_ '

A gasp. A heartbeat. And Angelo landed, his eyes still wide open.

And in his final two seconds the wolves sang their haunting song in his head.

* * *

Tony didn't know when he took Clint's hand. He hadn't realized the action until Clint's fingers first tightened almost painfully, then went entirely slack. The archer's body relaxed to a point that really, truly chilled the billionaire.

Tony swallowed thickly, staring at his friend's face. "Clint?" Nothing, not even a twitch. His stomach clenched, and he could feel color disappearing from his face. "Clint, c'mon, eyes open. What's…?" He trailed off.

Because right then a trail of blood began to meander from Clint's nose.

 _No…! No, no… No, no, HELL NO…!_

Tony should've checked if Clint was breathing. If there was a pulse. But all he could see was the blood.

He didn't hear the approaching steps until there was a flurry of activity. All of a sudden Bruce, who'd been sleeping off post-Green high, was there, checking Clint's vitals and pupils. The scientist's lips moved but it took an infuriatingly long time before the words made sense to the billionaire. "… elevated … responsive …"

Alive. Alive. _ALIVE_. And all of a sudden Tony could breathe again. "We have to get him to the Tower."

* * *

Clint's condition left Tony's medical team baffled. The gunshot wound was obvious and clear enough, although the way it was caused wasn't. As to what happened to Clint's head… No one could quite explain it.

It seemed like Clint had used his mental capacity to a point where his brain… fried, for the lack of a better word. Shut down. Doctors used the word 'coma' to describe the archer's current condition because no other description would've come close. There was still brain activity but it was discouragingly low. There was no telling if the Hawk would come back, or whether the man would be the same if he did.

All they could do was wait, and none of them was good at waiting.

Thor was visiting Asgard and had no idea of what was going on. Natasha simply vanished as soon as they got the archer safely to the Tower. Tony and Bruce kept themselves as busy as they could to avoid thinking about possible unpleasant outcomes.

But Steve stayed by their friend's side. Always the soldier. Stubbornly refusing to leave a man behind when there was even a hint of hope left.

Steve had no idea how much time passed by. Until one night, when he was just about to fall asleep, there was a sound. A few quickened bleeps, followed by a moan.

Steve's exhausted mind was alerted instantly. He straightened on his chair, his forehead wrinkling. "Clint?"

It took torturously long. So long, in fact, that the soldier began to wonder if he imagined everything. Then, just when he was about to try and relax back to wait, Clint's eyes fluttered open. They darted around the room slowly, hazy and barely focused. Until they found him.

Clint blinked once, twice, thrice. Then melted to a smile of utter relief. "He's gone", the man rasped. "He's gone."

Steve nodded, relief filling him with warmth for the first time in ages. "Yeah. He's gone." It was finally over.

* * *

Clint dreamt of the song of wolves. Because apparently a tiny part of Angelo would now live somewhere in his subconscious. It was a curse he'd somehow have to learn to live with, just like he was forced to handle the nightmares Loki left behind for the rest of his life.

But he needed to learn to believe that he wouldn't have to face it all alone anymore.

Because when he opened his eyes with a gasp, a sheen of cold sweat covering his body, Tony was there. Although the billionaire's eyes were on the laptop the man worked furiously on, the archer could tell that he was being watched. Just this once it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. "Go back to sleep, Pigeon." Chances were that there weren't a lot of people who would've heard that tone from Tony. It was oddly endearing. "I'll keep watch."

Well, it wasn't like Clint actually had a lot of choice over the matter. Because his eyelids were already closing on their own. He felt safe. And he knew that Tony would make sure that everyone else was safe, too, even if it was from him.

Comforted by that somewhat chilling thought, Clint fell asleep.

* * *

Inevitably, the nightmares came. Loki's face and Angelo's kept switching back and forth effortlessly, until it became impossible to tell which man was saying what. The pain in his head was excruciating while he fought back. And lost.

It became infinitely worse from there. In his haunted dreams he was the one killing Phil Coulson. Then Natasha. It was her head hitting the metal railing, and then she was no more. The tables turned and he was shooting her in the back, watching her slump down lifelessly. He advanced until all his friends were dead. And didn't stop there. Because next he headed home, to Laura and the kids.

Clint woke up to his own scream.

Or… was it to someone calling out to him…? "… 't! You awake?"

With a gasp that by some miracle didn't transform to another shout, Clint turned his head. After a couple of slow blinks he was finally convinced that it was really Bruce beside him, a frown of worry on his pale face. He tried to grin but it felt more like a grimace, the horrific dream still fresh on his mind. "'rry 'bout that", he mumbled, trying to wake up properly.

Bruce sighed and tossed himself to the other end of the long couch. "I'm not going to ask if you're okay, because… Well, I know a little something about living with a monster inside your head. Just… Try to remember that yours is gone, okay?"

Of course it wasn't that simple. The presence had disappeared, perhaps, but echoes of it would always remain. Like scars on skin. But at the moment Clint decided to grasp on whatever comfort he could find.

"Penguins?" Bruce inquired with a confused look on his face, eyes on the TV screen.

Clint shrugged. "For some reason Stark's recorded hours and hours of nature documentaries. And he really seems to like penguins."

It was one of those very, very rare occasions when Bruce could be seen smiling.

And so they sat watching nature documentaries in a companionable silence. Until the morning. It wasn't the night of monsters anymore.

* * *

Usually Natasha wasn't the type of a person who ran away from her problems. But when her actions ended up harming her best friend… She didn't quite know how to process it. So… She didn't.

A mission after a mission. A country after a country. Being on the move and having something to concentrate on made forgetting what she was avoiding easier.

Until one enemy she'd failed to notice went down with an arrow sticking from him.

Her stomach tightened but her face betrayed nothing as she peered over her shoulder and brought a hand to her ear comm, looking towards a nearby rooftop. She'd been his partner long enough to know the Hawk's favorite perches. "Thanks. But that was unnecessarily dramatic, don't you think?" She took a deep breath, securing her environment with practiced ease. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

" _You know how much I like to make a grand entrance._ " A shadow moved, which was the only indication that she still had company. " _Fury left a file on your mission unattended while I was in the same building. I took that as a hint to come and keep you company._ "

Natasha rolled her eyes. A couple of more enemies barged into the room. She took her pent-up anger and frustration out on them, and her chest didn't feel quite so tight anymore. "So he thought that I needed a babysitter."

" _I think I was driving him and everyone else insane. You know how bad I get when I'm bored._ " And worried, was unvoiced but heavily included. " _Now let's finish up this adventure of yours so I can drag you home. Because, no offense, but you look worse than I do and I've been on a medical leave for weeks._ "

Natasha muttered darkly under her breath in Russian.

" _Woah! You haven't called me that since Budapest. I must've really pissed you off._ "

"You did." Natasha pissed off herself, too. "Don't do that again."

Of course they both knew that there was no way he could promise that. And it'd take a very, very long time before she'd stop having nightmares of him going down from a bullet she fired. But he was alive, survived a yet another close call. He still looked out for her. He still trusted her enough to take missions with her.

Hopefully soon she'd trust herself, too. Until then she'd just keep trying do something about all that red on her ledger. And for a pretty big part of that she needed to try and keep Clint from getting himself killed. Someone really annoying had once or twice told her that it's something that friends do.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Heh, what? Of course he survived! And of course they'll all be okay, eventually. (smiles) Poor Angelo, but there wasn't much hope left for him settling to normal life, so… (sighs)

SOOOO… Thoughts? Comments? Requests, even? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you guys.

UP NEXT: The Tower is under attack, with only Pepper and a not-exactly-well Clint. It's gonna be a hassle… AND THEN, it's time to play around with Clint's head again! What, oh what, is he going to do when the most precious he has in the world is taken from him? How cruel am I going to be?

Until next time, fellow Hawkeye Fans! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Tension there is! Poor Clint, facing THIS again. (winces) I'm INSANELY happy that you find the idea original AND that you like (if that's a proper word here, LOL) Angelo. Creating characters of my own is a huge passion of mine. (grins and hugs) We'll see just how this bleak little tale ends…

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	93. The Duty of a Hawk

A/N: PHEW! It took me AGES to get this chapter together. BUT, here we are, AT LAST. (grins) Hooray?

THANK YOU SO MUCH for your reviews and support! They seriously mean the world to me. (HUGS)

Awkay, because it's already LATE and the clock's ticking… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Duty of a Hawk

* * *

Since Iron Man and the Avengers came along Pepper Potts had been forced to get used to a lot of things. Tony being away wasn't exactly something new, since the man had always taken a lot of business trips. The metal suit, murderous villains and global or at least national threats… Constantly worrying that one day Tony might not come back home, after all… Now those were something she didn't imagine she'd ever exactly get used to. She almost held her breath whenever he was away, until the moment when he called and announced that he was on his way home.

On one late, rainy evening Pepper was particularly excited to greet him home because it happened to be her birthday. She made her way to the Tower, ensured that the minimum amount of staff was at hand, changed her clothes and settled for a wait. Three hours later steps finally approached the building's kitchen area.

With a very, very seductive smirk Pepper turned to greet the arrival. "It's been a long few days. But I hope you're not too tired for some champagne and strawber…" Words got stuck into her throat while a radiant shade of red sneaked up to her cheeks.

Because the person stood at the room's doorway definitely wasn't Tony Stark but Clint Barton. A mighty amount of bruising covered the archer's face but one of his eyebrows bounced up as he took in her appearance. And all of a sudden she was far too aware of the fact that she was only wearing a pair of black silk underwear.

Clint gulped, his face also beginning to gain color. He turned away as swiftly as he could with a barely noticeable limp. "I, ah… Sorry. I'll… I didn't…" After recovering for a couple of seconds he cleared his throat. Or did he… hide a chuckle? "I… probably don't wanna know what's going on here."

Finally able to function once more, Pepper practically dived towards where she'd left a dressing gown. She pulled it on as quickly as she could. "Where's Tony?" was the only even remotely intelligent thing she managed to utter.

"The others should be back in a few hours." Clint's voice… sounded off, somehow. "I, er… came back a little early, to get patched up."

Pepper frowned, choosing to focus on worry over embarrassment. "Patched up? Are you…?" She turned, looking at him properly. "You're not okay."

Clint shrugged. And winced. "I'm fine. Just a few bumps and scratches." The archer smirked, even if it didn't seem right. "You should've seen…"

"… the other guy. Yeah, I've heard that before." Pepper rolled her eyes, her stomach still tight from concern. Then sighed. "Did you at least see some kind of a medical professional?"

"Yup. Got a few stitches to prove it." Clint gave her a look of apology and genuine sympathy. "Look… You two obviously have some plans. I'll just…"

"Stop the Tough Guy act, you're not going anywhere." She shifted with discomfort, once again realizing just how little she was wearing. "I'll… go and find some decent clothes. Take a sandwich. And a painkiller."

One corner of Clint's lips, the less battered one, twitched upwards. "Yes, ma'am", he teased without a hint of malice. She was already turning away when he went on. "And Pepper?" He smiled. "Happy Birthday."

She smiled back and opened her mouth but never got the chance to say a word.

Because just then absolutely all electricity in the building went out. Leaving them into nearly total darkness. With a very, very bad feeling.

"Clint?" Pepper would wonder for the rest of her life how she managed to sound so calm. "Did someone just…?"

He nodded sharply. It was easy to see how his thoughts ticked forward busily. "Yeah."

Pepper nodded. Because what the hell was she supposed to do? "What do you think they're looking for?" She could immediately think of a couple of Tony's projects some… not exactly pleasant people might be interested in. Or were they coming after her, knowing that Tony was away? She really, really didn't like how many options there were.

Clint's eyes flashed in a manner she'd never seen before. Then again, she'd never seen him on the field before. "I'm planning on going to ask them." He looked towards her and his gaze softened marginally. At that very moment she wasn't his friend or his friend's partner. She was just someone who had to be protected. "Come on. We'll get you to the saferoom."

Pepper rolled her eyes. She hoped that she was doing a better job at hiding her anxiety than she thought. She definitely had too much experience by now… "At least Tony didn't name it 'panic room'."

They didn't bother trying to reach the security personnel at the ground floor. All electricity and communication systems were down and, as little as either of them liked to think about it, there was fairly little hope that those people were alive. Or at least conscious. The enemies would reach them quickly and it was time to _move_.

With the experience and seeming ease of a seasoned field agent Clint ensured that the hallway was safe, then led her out of the room and onwards. They were only two rooms away from their destination. Just a little more…

Which was when three masked enemies appeared to block their path.

There were no symbols or any other visible hints as to who these people could be. No clues suggesting what they might want. And there was no time for questions.

Their enemies were quickly pulling out guns but Clint reacted faster. Apart from the action movies she'd grown fond of with Tony, Pepper had never seen anyone move the way the archer did. Kick, punch, repeat, so quickly that she lost count. There were sickening noises as skin, flesh, joints and bones received a beating.

And then it was over, for now.

Clint peered towards her over his shoulder with eyes she didn't recognized. After the violence she just witnessed it was a little chilling how gently he beckoned her to follow. "C'mon, let's go. There'll be more of them soon."

Pepper nodded, dazed and, if she was honest with herself, a little unsettled. She wasn't a fool, she knew what Tony and their friends did for a living. Still, actually seeing it…

But this was Hawkeye, who was a part of Clint, and she followed without fear or hesitation.

It took them less than twenty seconds to reach the correct door. Before Pepper had processed what was happening properly she'd been ushered inside. Just before Clint would've closed the door she finally found her voice. "Just, for the record…" She gritted her teeth. "I'm not happy with letting you handle this all alone. I'm not some… damsel in distress."

The smile that appeared to the man's face was pure Clint Barton. Comfortingly familiar under the surreal circumstances. "I know you're not. But Tony would do something really unpleasant to me if I didn't make sure that you're safe." And he would've never forgiven himself, either. She didn't want to put him through that guilt, or become a distraction, and for those reasons alone she agreed, reluctantly, to stay behind.

Clint nodded. He seemed relieved, even if his current state of mind didn't allow him to display a lot of emotions. "Stay here", he commanded, his tone a great deal harder than usual. "And unless it's me or someone from the team, don't let anyone in."

Pepper nodded, the archer's calm helping her relax marginally although her heart was racing madly and even if she wanted to _scream_. "I won't", she promised quickly, not wanting them to waste any more time that they didn't have. She licked her lips, slowly becoming aware of how badly she was trembling. "Just… Stay safe, got that? Or I'll…"

"… pluck my feathery ass." Clint smirked knowingly. "I've heard that before." With that he closed the door between them, and she locked it firmly from her side.

And she hoped, from the bottom of her hammering heart, that for once he'd listened to instructions.

* * *

It was supposed to be an easy gig. Take down five night-guards and the Tower's entire electricity. Grab a valuable document, a stupid piece of paper. Leave.

The group of eight attackers hadn't known to anticipate that Pepper might be present, along with a member of the Avengers.

When the three of them who'd been securing the higher floors stopped answering to their ear comms the others began to suspect that something was wrong. And then the rest of them began to go down. Until there was just one left.

Kiril Versav swallowed hard and let his brown eyes dart around wildly. Nothing but his own raspy breathing could be heard in the darkness. The hair in the back of his neck rose at the chilling, all-consuming knowledge that he wasn't alone.

There was a bizarre, sigh-like sound. And a flash later an arrow pierced his leg, sending him down on his knees to the floor. Someone was walking towards him. " _You're going to tell me who hired you. And what you're doing. You get to choose if it happens the easy way or the hard way._ " How did the man know to use his native tongue?

Kiril was scared to death. And desperate. His heart was pounding in his throat while his trembling hand reached out towards a knife hidden to his clothing. He swallowed convulsively, cold sweat gathering to his skin. " _I… I will die, if I go back empty handed. Or I'll be killed by you. But… I don't plan to make it easy._ "

* * *

The mission had been absolutely horrible. Especially the ending. And Tony couldn't wait to settle into his bed and sleep for a week. Right after celebrating what little was left of Pepper's birthday. As often after grueling missions, Steve retreated to his own small apartment. Natasha and Bruce also agreed to keep themselves busy when the billionaire begged desperately enough. He knew that Clint would keep to himself for as long as the archer felt vulnerable, and Tony didn't want the Hawk away from the Tower's medical wing. After checking up on his friend the Iron Man had all sorts of… amorous plans involving his birthday girl.

He should've known that they were doomed.

Tony's heart jumped to his throat the second he entered the Tower and found it dark. When he saw the dead or injured security personnel that feeling blew up to sheer panic. What the hell happened?

He knew that the police was already on their way so he didn't bother wasting time on calling the emergency number. Instead he sped off to look for Clint, because even if he hadn't seen the fallen masked enemies he would've known that his friend hadn't left. Fighter to the last, even if he was injured.

"Clint!" Tony called out, throwing caution to the wind. This was his home, _his team's_ home. If there were still enemies left… "Feathers, now would be a really good time to…" All words got stuck into his throat when he saw the stains of blood.

Red had dried to something close to black, and the dark deepened the color. The nauseating smudges continued on, and on, and on. Until…

Tony's eyes widened and cold he couldn't explain filled him. Shock froze him for a few seconds until he dashed on. "Shit…! Shit, shit, shit… Clint! CLINT! Do you hear me?"

The archer didn't seem to be in the condition to hear anything. With an astonishing amount of stubbornness Clint had dragged himself to the bottom of a staircase. But there what little strength the Hawk still had ran out. The man lay on the floor in a slowly but steadily growing pool of blood, eyes closed and so pale that the archer didn't seem alive. The thought made Tony's stomach twist and turn.

"Clint?" He grabbed his friend's shoulder and shook. Nothing happened. His throat constricted and it took five swallows before he found his voice. "Clint, c'mon. Beauty nap's over. Eyes open."

Nothing happened. Then, just before Tony would've gotten even further… _concerned_ , Clint shivered. The man's forehead and nose wrinkled. "… uff …"

Tony blinked. Once, twice. "What?" He pressed a hand gently against his friend's back when the man attempted to get up. "Hey, hey, you're not going anywhere!"

Clint seemed to have other ideas. The archer gritted his teeth so hard that they made a noise, furiously attempting to sit. "… up …"

Tony groaned. " _No_. Not up. You're staying nice and still until… until I'm sure that you're not… bleeding to death, or something." He knew that he was babbling but couldn't help himself. "Stay there. Stay with me."

Clint breathed hard, struggling visibly to remain conscious. The man's eyes, bleary as they were, had a sharp command in them as they met his. "… er …"

Tony was starting to get as frustrated as he was worried. What was the archer trying to tell him? "Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but you're bleeding like crazy and I'm not going to have your feathery ass dying on me. So I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" He was trying very hard not to sound as pathetic as he felt. "Help's on the way and I'm gonna keep you alive until gets here."

Clint didn't seem ready to give up. Of course not. The man's whole body was tense from effort as the Hawk tried once again to produce speech. "… per … up …"

Tony groaned from irritation and agitation. "No getting up!" With a great deal of dismay and, since he couldn't exactly deny it anymore, panic he noticed that the bleeding still hadn't stopped. His jaw tightened. "Where is all that blood coming from?" It wasn't encouraging that the Hawk seemed to be losing whatever strength and awareness he still had. The realization brought a very uncomfortable stinging sensation to Tony's eyes. He swallowed convulsively to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Okay… Okay… I have to move you and it's going to hurt. Do you think you can take it?"

Clint nodded curtly, the man's gaze seeming to ask 'who do you think you're talking to?'.

Tony gave them both a couple of seconds to brace themselves. Then, hoping from the bottom of his heart that he wasn't only making things worse, he took a firm hold of his friend and turned the man fully on his back as gently as possible. The sound Clint emitted upon being jostled would haunt the billionaire for the rest of his life. And then there was the damage he found.

There was a knife sticking from the delicate spot between Clint's side and stomach. Which ended all questioning about where the blood came from. The hem of the agent's shirt had shifted enough to reveal a nauseating amount of fast forming bruising on his side.

Before this latest hurdle Clint sported a concussion, a couple of broken ribs and had two nasty wounds that required stitches. Which was precisely why the man was supposed to be resting and recovering, not fighting. How much further damage…?

No. Nope. Tony _was not_ going to think about that. Instead he scoffed a slightly unsteady breath. "Really, Barton? I send you home to recover and what do you do? Get into a trouble and have yourself turned to a roll of kebab." He rolled his eyes at the wheezing but unmistakable noise his friend forced out. "You're laughing, aren't you? You've got a sick sense of humor, you know that?" The same sound was repeated. Tony was almost lulled into forgetting the current circumstances until his friend's face twisted to a scowl of pain, sending a new flare of alarm through the inventor. "That's it, no more laughing, you're hurting yourself. Just keep breathing and _stop trying to move_. I can feel you twitching even now. Stop that."

It didn't look like Clint had a lot of consciousness left anymore. But the man held on with absolutely everything he had. The Hawk's eyes fought to focus on his, even though they kept trying to slip closed. "… safe … epper …"

Tony's stomach constricted anew as he began to realize. "Pepper?" A horrifying amount of nasty mental images flooded as his mind came up with a few grim options as to what those attackers might've been after. "Clint, is she okay? Is she safe?"

Clint nodded feebly, far more than halfway gone. And then several things happened at precisely the same time. Electricity came back on, blinding Tony. The billionaire's phone began to ring. And shouts announced that help had finally arrived.

Tony released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Over here!" He breathed a second time, pleased that it finally felt easier. "Hear that, Pigeon? We're gonna get you out of here. And then I'll find Pepper." When did his friend become so still? Why was there no reaction? "Clint?"

* * *

Pepper Potts wasn't your average damsel in distress. The room she hid into was full of all sorts of technology Tony had known she would appreciate. They'd even prepared for a scenario like this. The room's laptop was in no way connected to the Tower's systems. Which meant that it was the only still functioning piece of technology in the building.

The second she set her foot in Pepper began to work. Which was a nice distraction from imagining what Clint might be going through outside. She typed furiously, hacked through several systems and blockages. Whoever took down the Tower was good. She was better.

She'd been attempting to reach Tony the whole time, hoping that any moment her phone might begin to work. And the second electricity came back on her attempts paid off. Too bad Tony wasn't picking up.

Which meant that she'd have to take matters into her own hands.

She took a handgun and a deep, shuddering breath. Wondering if she was out of her mind. Then left the security of the closed space without making a sound.

The building was eerily quiet. She continued slowly but determinedly, almost sure that anyone nearby would hear the way her heart hammered. Into a hallway, down a couple of floors. Until she froze.

Underneath a staircase there was a sickening pool of blood. She had no idea how, but she just _knew_. Pepper wasn't fast enough to clasp a hand to her lips before a whimper of sorrow and worry burst out.

 _Damnit, Clint…!_

Despite being distraught she heard steps approaching. And spun around in a flash, the gun pointed immediately. Only to face Tony's wide eyes. He opened his mouth a couple of times before snapping it shut loudly.

Pepper, on the other hand, unleashed a wheezing gasp, putting away the gun. "Tony, you can't just…! I could've shot you!"

In a flash Tony had pulled her into his arms. So tightly that it almost hurt. It took a while before he was able to produce speech. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. Several times. "Yeah, yeah. Just… This wasn't the kind of a surprise I had in mind for you." Finally able to concentrate properly, she felt her heart clench as she remembered. "Where's Clint? I owe him a thank you."

Tony became tense. And quiet. And if there was one thing Tony Stark simply wasn't it was quiet.

Pepper began to feel horribly cold. "Tony?" _The blood… The blood… The blood…_ "Where's Clint?"

* * *

Immediately after the mission Clint had two deep lacerations, one on his upper body and one on his side. Whatever hasty stitching had been done to them was pretty much gone after the encounter with the new enemies. It was also safe to say that his concussion had worsened. What proved to be the worst part, aside the stab wound and the subsequent blood loss, were the broken ribs. Because one of them made direct contact with his lung.

Tony had the Tower's best medical team up and running quickly. Whether that was enough, only time would tell. After everything he'd already done Clint would just have to keep on fighting.

Tony and Pepper both trembled as they sat keeping watch on their heavily unconscious friend. Pulling Pepper closer to him, Tony wasn't sure he'd ever want to let go. He should've…

"Who were those people?" Pepper wasn't able to look away, no matter how much seeing him like that clearly hurt. "What were they after?"

Tony's eyes flashed. "I don't know. But I'll find out." They endangered Pepper and harmed Clint. They'd pay.

He anchored himself on the steady beeping of the machinery keeping an eye on Clint and the feel of Pepper's heartbeat, because they were the only things keeping him sane at the moment.

"I hate my birthdays", Pepper murmured.

Tony kissed her hair because for once in his life he had no idea what to say.

* * *

Pepper had trouble sleeping after the horrific ordeal. But there was a point after which sleep just couldn't be avoided. And eventually she fell asleep to a chair beside Clint's bed, which she took over after sending Tony to get some proper rest.

When she first felt the soft pokes she imagined that it was a dream and groaned. Then, as the disturbance continued, she muttered darkly under her breath and opened her eyes halfway. In a matter of seconds she was wide awake.

Clint was still horribly pale and obviously exhausted. But his eyes were slightly open, hazy as they were. He watched her with a smile of relief while the same thought crossed both their minds. The nightmare was over.

She smiled back, tears filling her eyes, and no words were needed.

* * *

It was no surprise to any of them that Clint was back on his feet faster than anyone expected. Or would've been advisable. Three weeks after the ordeal the whole team along with other friends was finally celebrating Pepper's birthday.

"How is she doing?" Clint inquired around a sip of Pepsi, nodding towards the smiling center of the party.

"Still a bit shook-up. But… She's working on it. And she's tough." Tony shifted, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. "Look, what you did for her…" Their eyes met. "Thank you." The billionaire had never meant anything that came out of his mouth more.

Clint nodded, equally solemn. "Anytime. She's family." And it was as simple as that. The man went on after a couple of moments and some consideration. "The thing is… I've been meaning to talk to you. Because… One of the attackers told me what they were after." The archer drank a sip more. "It was the birth certificate of someone named Avril." The agent looked at him with concern and confusion, not accusation. "Wanna share?"

Tony swallowed thickly, and he could've sworn that the room's temperature dropped several degrees. This was something he'd sworn to himself he'd never reveal to a soul. Something no one, even a member of the team, was supposed to know. But then he looked at Pepper, who was alive and laughing with Natasha. Suddenly making the leap of faith wasn't unimaginable.

The birth certificate was far, far away from the Tower. But this threat wasn't, and whoever sent those people was still somewhere out there. And this might be his only chance to get help.

* * *

An hour later Clint stood on one of the building's balconies. After making sure that for once no one was following him to check up on him, he took his phone and dialed a familiar number. The one he called answered quickly. " _So they weren't just rumors. You_ are _still alive._ "

Clint rolled his eyes despite knowing full well that it couldn't be seen. "Hey, Will." He breathed in the chilly night air. "Remember that favor you owe me for Dublin? I need you to find someone."

There was a heavy, weary sigh. " _Why am I getting a feeling that I'm not going to like this…?_ "

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Just imagine it…! Clint Barton, William Brandt and Tony Stark together on a mission. (grins) Sounds pretty sweet doesn't it?

BUT, how did this chapter seem? Good, horrific, lukewarm? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know! Hearing from you guys ALWAYS makes my day.

Awkay, I should've been in bed hours ago so I've gotta go. Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: That was a HUGE compliment, you know? (BEEEAMS) Glad to hear that you liked the wolves! I couldn't resist.

Clint such a badass, isn't he? Absolutely refusing to give up. And awwww, Steve! A true team leader ALWAYS ensures that his team's okay. (smiles)

Clint's style is ABSOLUTELY THE BEST! (If only it didn't lead to so many near-deaths…)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: I do try to surprise on occasion. (grins) I'm SO HAPPY that you enjoyed the chapter!

You poor thing! But WELCOME BACK! (HUGS)

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	94. Losing Your World, part 1 of 4 (post CW)

A/N: Phew! Finishing up this one took A LOT longer than I expected. But here we are! (BEAMS) Hooray?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews, listings, love and affection! DAAAANG, you sure now how to make a story feel loved. (HUGS)

Awkay, because the clock's ticking… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

CLINT X LAURA IS HEAVY IN THIS ONE!

FEELS AHOY…?

TAKES PLACE AFTER 'CIVIL WAR', SO SPOILERS.

* * *

Losing Your World, part 1 of 4 (post Civil War)

* * *

/ _It was a late evening. The Farm was calm and quiet. Almost. The soft melody of 'As Time Goes By' and chuckling could be heard from the living room._

 _"Barton, if you make me spill red wine on that brand-new white carpet I swear…!"_

 _"You…" A soft, tender kiss made them both shiver. "… need to be adventurous." The second kiss was much deeper. "We've got a baby and a small kid. Why do we even have a white carpet?"_

 _"Really?" Laura attempted to appear upset but her twinkling eyes spoke the truth. "A kiss like that, and you're thinking about a carpet?"_

 _"Oh, yes…!" He smirked and grabbed her very, very suggestively. "There's something I'd really like to try on the carpet…"_

 _Over the hour which followed the carpet was destroyed but neither minded._ /

* * *

Clint stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the red carpet with eyes that didn't really see anything. Trying to figure out what was going on. Wishing, from the bottom of his heart, that this was all some sort of a sick nightmare.

He was desperate enough to wish that this might be another one of Loki's tricks.

The scent of Laura's perfume still lingered in the air. Everything was exactly in place. Sort of. There were toys and Legos laying around. It was like the family has simply decided to stop by at a grocery store. Like they'd be back any minute to pick up where they left off.

Clint wished, from the bottom of his aching heart, that he didn't know better.

A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder. He barely felt it. "Clint?"

Clint swallowed thickly. Once, twice, thrice. Dazed, he outstretched one of his tightly balled fists and opened it. A wedding ring he once slipped to Laura's finger glared up at him. "I… I never feared…" He blinked rapidly. It didn't help. "I never thought I'd lose them, like this." He'd always feared that one day Laura would have enough of his lifestyle and leave with the kids. That she'd have enough of the constant fear and worrying. Never, even in his worst nightmares, did he know to fear that he'd have to outlive them all.

* * *

/ _Clint gasped and bolted to a sitting position before he was even properly awake. Cold sweat lingered on his skin and he trembled to the very core of his being as he panted, desperate to catch his breath. He clawed at his chest, dangerously close to disturbing meticulously made stitches._

 _"Hey, hey!" Laura's voice echoed oddly in his head. Like they didn't quite belong to the same reality. The hand grabbing his firmly was far more real. "Shh … Safe, remember? You're safe."_

 _Ignoring the wound and other still healing injuries, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Still trembling, he inhaled her scent, allowed it fill every little bit of him. Tightened his hold until it felt like they were melting into one. "Laura…"_

 _"I know", she whispered in his ear. And kissed his cheek, then his neck. "I know, honey. I've never doubted for even a second."_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _This time she kissed his lips. Her taste became the center of his world. And all of a sudden the nightmare felt very, very far away._

 _His senses were still on high alert. Which was why he heard the running steps and smirked against his wife's mouth. "Incoming."_

 _The room's door opened, and less than two blinks later a lightning fast, tiny thing jumped to the bed. In the dark Lila's grin was radiant and her eyes shone from excitement. "Mommy, daddy, it's snowing!"_

 _The adults chuckled. Laura kissed the little girl's head. "Yeah, sweetie, it is. But it's ten thirty and you should be sleeping."_

 _"Can we go make snow angels?" Lila's face held such an expression no one would've been able to resist. "Just for a little bit?"_

 _Clint's eyebrow was arched. But he was already cracking. "And where's the other little menace?" he inquired and tickled the girl, making her giggle._

 _"Coop's already outside." Lila's eyes were almost pleading. "The snow and the stars are so pretty. Please?"_

 _Clint was still a little shaken from the nightmare. And Laura was pregnant, the hormones making a mess of her head. And so the family of four found themselves from the snow, laughing merrily in the moonlight. Snow shone like a field of diamonds everywhere around them._

 _Smiling and laughing, Clint should've known that it was too perfect to last._ /

* * *

Natasha stayed for as long as she could. But eventually she had to go. Just as she did Steve walked in. If Clint had been able to think coherently, or if he cared at all, he would've been insulted by the babysitting.

He sat on the floor of Lila's room, staring at the ceiling. On what turned out to be her last Christmas he and Laura bought the girl her favorite present ever. A projector that made the ceiling look like a starlit sky. He could still remember, so clearly that it _hurt_ , how her eyes shone from excitement as they traced the patterns.

He didn't know how long Steve had been sitting beside him until the Captain finally spoke. Or how long the man had kept talking without him even noticing. "Look… Laura and the kids… They wouldn't want you to…"

"They needed me, and I wasn't here." Clint wiped his eyes angrily when they stung and was surprised to find them moist. He hadn't managed to cry properly since… "I… I wasn't even there, when…" He trailed off, the words on his tongue making him feel sick to his stomach. Even the thought…

"Clint." Steve grabbed his shoulder. He was too far gone to react to the touch. "Whatever it is that you're thinking right now… You have to stop it, okay?"

"Do you wanna hear what I'm thinking?" Clint's eyes were still on the fake stars. He tightened his hold on the stuffed hawk Huggy, which used to be Lila's favorite toy. The hideous plaything comforted his daughter tremendously on numerous occasions but it failed to help him. "I gave my son a promise, and… I couldn't keep it. And now…" So much wasted time. So many empty and broken promises. So many bitter disappointments. And now he'd never get the chance to make up for even a single of them. The realization stung like a blade.

Despite Steve's best attempts he didn't utter a single word more that endless night.

For the next six days he only moved from that spot to visit the bathroom. That afternoon the others had no choice but to leave him alone for the first time. By some miracle Clint managed to act convincingly enough to set their minds somewhat at ease about leaving. As soon as they were gone he took his bow and arrows. With brutal, unhesitant motions he grabbed every single arrow and shattered them. Once he was done he moved on to his loyal weapon of choice and gave it the same treatment. The expression on his face didn't falter for even a second as he stared at the pieces on the floor but tears rolled down his cheeks.

He finally kept his promise, but it seemed that he was too late.

* * *

/ _When Cooper was two the child ended up to a hospital. Coming back from a mission, trying to hide the couple of nasty wounds he received in his haste to get home, Clint found Laura in tears. "They… They're not sure he'll make it", she sobbed._

 _That night Clint sat beside his heavily unconscious son who needed a chilling amount of equipment to stay alive. His hand trembled when he took the child's much smaller one and squeezed as tightly as he dared to. He didn't recognize the gasp he emitted as a sob. "Coop, I… I'm so sorry that it took me this long to get home. But…" He gulped. "Here's the thing. You… You fight your way through this, buddy. And… I'll put away my bow. Because…" The machinery bleeped and whirred horribly loudly. "How am I supposed to leave you guys ever again?"_

 _Cooper made it. But Clint's promise was doomed from the start. Because S.H.I.E.L.D and a lot of other people's children needed him. He had no other choice but to pick up his bow and leave._

 _Every single time afterwards Clint headed to a mission he felt like a liar, and a part of him dreaded how he'd have to pay for breaking his promise._ /

* * *

Clint knew that he should've left the Farm behind. All the memories… They were crushing him. But he couldn't. Couldn't stop waiting. Couldn't smother the hope that maybe, by some miracle…

Shivering, Clint cut that thought sharply. He made sure that Wanda was asleep on the couch. Then, for the first time since _that day_ , made his way to his and Laura's bedroom.

The bed was made. Everything was in place, waiting for the couple to settle in for a yet another night. And on Laura's night-table was her phone.

Clint hesitated for a long time, then moved forward free of his own active will. As though sleepwalking he put the phone on a charger and opened it. His heart constricted when he discovered that Cooper's birthday was still her PIN-code. They'd never get to celebrate it again.

Clint had very little idea of what he was doing as he searched through the phone. There were far too many pictures of when everything was still alright and whole, of times when he still had his world. Smiling faces. Hugs. Kisses. And then there were the videos. Already knowing that he was making a huge mistake Clint opened one of the oldest ones. One he'd had no idea existed. It had to have survived at least five changes of a phone.

On the clip he was holding baby Cooper for the very first time, singing softly and quietly to the baby. He was injured on the same day his son was born, barely made it, and it took far too long before he made it home. And when he first held his son… He was absolutely terrified. Until he wasn't. On the clip there wasn't a trace of fear on his face or in his voice. It looked like everything was alright in the world.

Clint tortured himself by replaying the clip at least ten more times. Over and over again he watched himself lulling his son to sleep. Slowly yet surely he began to realize that for him miracles didn't exist. Nothing would ever be alright in the world again.

Only the feel that there was a rope wrapped around his neck kept him from screaming at the top of his lungs.

* * *

/ _Baby Nate's fifth night at home wasn't a peaceful one. Laura and the older kids had a wicked case of a stomach flu, leaving Clint in main charge of their youngest. In the long hours of the night he spent a lot of time singing quietly to the whimpering baby, until the little one was finally asleep. Unwilling to let go of his precious cargo, Clint pulled the child closer and headed to check up on the rest of his family. What he found brought a loving smile to his lips._

 _On their huge bed Laura was sleeping, one of their older kids on each side. All three of them appeared serene despite still being unwell. He imagined that Laura was asleep until she cracked one eye open and looked at him. "Now what are you looking at?" she whispered gently._

 _He grinned. "Nothing, honey." His eyes traveled from the baby in his arms to the rest of his family. "Nothing at all."_ Only the most perfect thing in this world. _He should've said it out loud, while he still had the chance._ /

* * *

When Laura's parents announced with a curt text message that they'd take care of the funeral arrangements Clint didn't have the strength and will to argue. He'd buried far too many people he held dear. And this…

How was he supposed to say goodbye to his wife and children?

If anyone asked him later how he heard the funeral date he wouldn't have been able to say. Putting on a suit and making his way to the church took absolutely all he had. He stood about ten steps away from the building for a very long time, watching people making their way inside with glazed over eyes. Feeling like he watching a movie.

What he wouldn't have given, to be able to escape from the truth…

With two deep breaths Clint gathered whatever little strength and willpower he still had. Then pushed himself forward. Because he owed this to this to his family. He needed to wish his babies sweet dreams, this one last time.

That thought nearly made him fall to his knees from sheer agony, and a couple – Laura's friends – gave him a strange look before continuing towards the church. It took him a while to understand why. As far as everyone but Laura's parents knew the father of her kids was out of the picture. Clint wasn't the only one who'd been forced to keep their marriage a secret.

Well, there was no use in secrecy now, he mused bitterly.

He was already at the door when Laura's mother appeared to block his path. The expression on her face would've chilled him, if he'd been able to feel much of anything. "You…", she hissed, blinking back tears. Some fell. "… have no business here. It's because of you we have to bury our daughter and grandchildren. So don't you dare show your face here! Don't you dare…!"

"Susan, don't." Laura's father appeared, laying a calming hand on his wife's shoulder. The look he aimed at Clint was nothing short of murderous. "He's not worth it." With that verdict he closed the door on the younger man's face.

And so the archer was abandoned to the doorstep. The bells were ringing, hammering the words of Laura's parents into Clint's skull while pressed a trembling hand against the door and closed his eyes to hide the tears filling them. Inside fifty people had gathered to say goodbye to the family that'd been stolen from the world horribly tragically. Only two of them knew that outside a lonely man was saying goodbye to his whole world.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear… Gosh…! Just how cruel have I been this time around? And how deep is Clint going to sink before this is over?

Thoughts? Comments? Rants? PLEASE, do let me hear your thoughts on this REALLY emotional piece! I LOVE hearing from you.

Awkay, it's LATE so I have to get going. Until next time! Hopefully I'll see ya all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: I'm SUPER happy that you've enjoyed these tales! (BEAMS) Heh, what can I say? I'm unhealthily addicted to Clint-whump.

If you want, I can give you a list of the Clint and Natasha -heavy tales of this collection.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I know, right? Those two are SUCH AWESOME FRIENDS! Heh, like Clint would EVER do anything THAT reasonable… (smiles, and groans)

Mmmm… That's SUCH A JUICY PROMPT! TOTALLY gonna happen one day. (grins and nods furiously)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: Hawkward is love, ain't it? (giggles) I'm SUPER happy that you adored it so!

Clint-whump is my addiction! This collection is gonna get SO MUCH BIGGER. (smirks, and hugs) Hopefully there'll still be people reading at 100.

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	95. Losing Your World, part 2 of 4 (post CW)

A/N: PHEW! Putting this chapter together took a few hours longer than I imagined. (chuckles) BUT, here we are! At the next part of this heartbreaking insanity. Yay…?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for you AMAZING reviews and love! GOSH. Almost a hundred chapters and so many of you are still hanging in there! (BEAMS, and HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy on you… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Losing Your World, part 2 of 4

* * *

/ _It'd been a long, exciting day for the Barton family. The kids had enjoyed the zoo so much that Clint and Laura had no other choice but to promise that they'd be back next week. They were on their way home, with all three children sleeping, when the adults realized that they still had to go grocery shopping._

 _"I'll take care of it", Clint promised while parking. His eyes were incredibly soft and full of love as he glanced towards the kids. "You keep an eye on the three musketeers."_

 _"They're easier to keep an eye on than you. They get into far less trouble", Laura teased and gave him a gentle kiss. "I…"_

 _"I know. Me, too." He kissed her a one more time before beginning to slip out of the vehicle. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Unless the store gets robbed or something."_

 _Laura gave him a half-hearted glare. "That joke was a lot funnier before it actually happened", she pointed out._

 _He gave her a goofy grin, then turned and walked away._

 _Sometimes one's whole world can grumble down in a flash. Five minutes later Clint was returning from the store. His eyes were on the car that contained his family as he stepped out of the building, a fond expression appearing to his face._

 _He had the time to take a one more step before the vehicle exploded, greedy flames consuming it immediately._ /

* * *

Clint had all the qualities of a successful assassin. Skills. A sharp, tactical mind. Patience. And when he put his mind on it he could be a spectacular actor. Now he also had something that made him more dangerous than he'd ever been.

Nothing to lose.

He couldn't sleep, because whenever he closed his eyes he saw the last glance he ever had of his family, and a car going up in flames in front of him. He couldn't eat when the horrific, soul crushing longing was consuming him alive. So he did the only thing he could and began to brace himself.

He waited until the team was inevitably called out for a mission. They couldn't just stay behind to babysit him indefinitely, as much as it looked like they wanted to. Clint hated himself, more than a little, for putting them through this. But there was no other way.

He left behind an envelope for each of them. Because he needed them to know, to understand. He owed them that much, at very least.

It was chilling how little he felt as he took only his weapons and a photograph of his family. Then left the house of which he'd renovated several parts for what he fully expected to be the final time. He couldn't look back, not when the sounds of his wife's voice and his children's laughter echoed in his head.

* * *

Less than two days later Tony and Natasha stared at the envelopes with grim expressions. Rage and panic sizzling underneath the well-practiced masks. Quite as expected, Tony was the one who cracked first. He groaned and grabbed his hair, then gestured animatedly with both hands. "What the hell is that idiot doing?"

Natasha gritted her teeth. Hard enough to cause a rather chilling sound. "He's gone hunting." And he wasn't planning on coming back.

* * *

In the meantime Laura's mother picked up a photograph that'd been left to a mailbox for her and her husband. It was of their precious daughter, whom they hadn't met in years before her untimely death, and her children. They'd never know that it was the very same picture Clint always carried around. The one which kept him alive and fighting when things became impossible.

' _I'm sorry that I couldn't keep them safe. But I'll make sure that those who stole them away will pay_ ', had been written behind it.

Laura's father gritted his teeth. Eyes hardening against the stinging sensation that filled them. "He'd better keep at least that promise."

* * *

Clint was trembling to the very core of his being as he stood in front of the grave of his family. He swallowed thickly, hating the taste that filled his mouth. "I… I know that you'd hate what I'm about to do", he whispered hoarsely. "And… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. For failing to protect you. For things coming to… _this_." He lifted his chin a little, pouring rain washing away his tears. "I'm so sorry for everything."

His hand was eerily steady as he placed a single white rose on the ground. The last pledge and gift he'd ever give. Finally he was able to wear the ring Laura once slipped on his finger. "I love you guys. Always and forever. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll see you soon." After those words he disappeared like a ghost.

* * *

 _Three Months Later_

* * *

When Clint Barton wanted to disappear, he vanished without a trace. Over the past few months the Avengers had been close several times, but never managed to catch their friend. Now, approaching a house that didn't really seem habited, Tony and Steve could feel that they were closer than ever before.

A man getting thrown through a window confirmed their assumption.

Once the man landed, screaming from the bottom of his heart and soul, Tony confirmed his identity. Oleg Tolstoi, a former HYDRA agent who now worked for anyone who paid enough. Specialized in technology and gathering intel. His equipment had been tracking down Laura for four days before her death. Tony had recognized his work easily when a tiny piece of a device was found from the wreckage. It was far harder to find out who he was working for.

"Keep an eye on him", Steve ordered through his teeth. Holding himself back so hard that it seemed to hurt. "I'll go and check the building." It didn't need to be clarified who the Captain was looking for.

Tony wanted to follow his friend. But at the moment there was something else he had to do. Oleg was trying to crawl away when he reached the slowly moving man. "I would just stay nice and still, if I were you", he advised sharply, venomously.

Oleg had tears in his eyes and the man was trembling from something more than pain. "I told him… I told him… Oh, god, she's going to kill me…! I told him…!"

Tony frowned. Finally, after months, it felt like they were on to something. "Who's 'she'?"

Oleg lost consciousness before delivering a response.

Tony was about to break down to a long, heartfelt string of curses when Steve's voice spoke to his ear. " _I found five people, haven't checked if they're unconscious or dead yet. Probably Oleg's bodyguards. Not a trace of Barton. He must've used the backdoor when he heard us._ "

Tony was barely able to suppress the urge to kick the unmoving man in front of him. Just seconds faster and they might've…! "When we find that guy I'm gonna pluck his feathery ass for this!" He went on like a steamroller without giving Steve a chance to comment. "Let's get Tolstoi to a hospital. It sounds like he's got a pretty interesting story to share."

* * *

Nick Fury wasn't a big fan of William Stryker. Especially when he was already having a bad day and a headache. And especially when the man marched into his office without a knock, an infuriating amount of satisfaction on his face. Carrying a pile of files that could only promise unpleasant news. "You've failed to announce officially that Clint Barton has gone missing." No longer agent Barton. "So imagine my surprise when these reports began to fly in." The files were dumped unceremoniously to his desk. "That so called Avenger of yours has been incredibly busy. People have been ending up dead or badly injured all over the world."

Fury nodded slowly with patience he didn't really have. _Barton, when I get my hands on you…!_ "And what kind of people are we talking about?"

"People with potential connections to his family's death."

Fury sighed heavily. "You have a family of your own, Stryker. What would you do if someone killed them?"

For a few seconds shock and disbelief filled the other's eyes. Soon to be replaced by anger. "I wouldn't go against every protocol…!"

"Yes, you would." Not bothering to continue with pointless chitchat, Fury began to flip through the files. Some of the pictures attached made him want to groan. "He's not only after vengeance. He's also after information." He pushed forward a few snapshots. "He's interrogating."

* * *

/ _The club was painfully loud and sweat lingered on Liam Johnsson's skin as he swayed along the crowd. The noise and heat were almost enough to numb his mind. Almost enough to make him forget._

 _He'd been a contract killer for eleven years, far longer than most in the profession could pull off without losing their sanity. Mainly because building bombs was the only thing he did well enough to make a career out of it. He had no illusions when it came to the… industry. But today's target… She was far younger than he was usually willing to accept and the look in her huge, blue eyes just before he sealed the kill would haunt him forever. He'd never know why she had to die, he never asked those things. All he knew was that now he had enough money to buy a new penthouse. And that tonight, he didn't want to go home alone._

 _And it looked like he wouldn't have to._

 _From the other side of the room a man looked at him, head tilted and an open invitation in eyes that held heavy makeup. Ruffled, dark hair, black leather pants and a shirt that left little to imagination… What fool wouldn't have been intrigued although everything about the stranger screamed bad news? Those smoky eyes called out to him and he followed._

 _The man was already washing his hands when Liam made it to the men's room. Aside them there was only one other man present. Just one look between the two of them, and the third sputtered something vicious before leaving the room. As soon as they were alone the man in leather calmly dried his hands, then began to approach._

 _Liam's heart pounded as the other pressed close. And locked the room's door with a wicked little smirk. "We wouldn't want anyone to disturb us, would we?" The stranger tilted his head. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"_

 _Liam frowned. All of a sudden he was starting to have a really, really bad feeling about this. "Should I?"_

 _There was a swift kick. And a shove. He was too out of it to feel the punch that cracked three teeth. He was pressed against the door, with a blade held firmly against his throat. Makeup intensified the threat in the other's eyes. "By now you've been in the industry for so long that you should know the basic rules. Always do your homework, Liam." The man's nose wrinkled. "'Widow Maker', though? Is that the best stage name you could come up with?"_

 _Liam was trembling. Knowing all too well how defenseless he was right there, without any of his products or other weapons. "You're going to kill me." It was a miracle that he managed to sound calm._

 _The other shook his head. "Nah. We're going to have a nice little chat." The man leaned closer still, and against his will Liam found certain parts of him reacting. "A while ago you were assigned to blow up a woman and her three children. Who hired you?"_

 _Half an hour later a group of three very drunk friends entered the room to find a bloodied Liam sobbing on the floor, right next to a broken sink._ /

* * *

"This is an outrageous act of violence! Barton has no authorization for this!" Stryker's eyes were narrowed. "So far there's been ten attacks like and worse than this. And if he's not stopped soon… I dread to imagine how many more there will be."

"The Avengers are looking for him." Fury was hanging on to the very last of his patience. The itch to slam his fist at that pompous man's face… "When they find him they'll bring him home, where he'll receive the help he needs."

Stryker scoffed. "And you really imagine that it's enough?" The man's jawline tightened. "You haven't heard about the latest incident, have you? Which took place…" A quick glance at a ridiculously expensive wristwatch. "… three hours ago. That's why I came here."

Fury felt cold. Knowing, all too well, that he wouldn't like what he'd hear. "What happened?"

"Barton killed a S.H.I.E.L.D agent."

* * *

/ _When S.H.I.E.L.D agent Katie Stammer began selling information to some… questionable people, HYDRA being the worst, she told herself that there was no other choice. She needed the money. And it wasn't like there'd be any actual casualties._

 _Then a team of five agents was slaughtered because of information she'd sold out. She stayed sane by telling herself that she wasn't the one who pulled the trigger and spicing her coffee until the taste made her wince. Then an innocent woman and her three children died, their car blowing up with the husband and father watching helplessly, and no amount of alcohol was enough._

 _She knew that the devil was out to get her, and one painfully sunny afternoon he did._

 _Sipping coffee and fighting to stay awake after five sleepless nights, Katie didn't notice that she wasn't alone in the S.H.I.E.L.D base's elevator until something hard was pressed against her back. Startled, she lifted her gaze. Her heart froze for a few seconds when she met a familiar face on the window wall's reflection. She swallowed, beginning to tremble. "I… Clint, I'm so sorry…!"_

 _"I don't want apologies. Apologies don't bring them back", he growled, the sound crawling from the back of his throat, low and dangerous. "I know that you've been hacking into Fury's most confidential files for months, now. That's how you found out about my family." The gun pressed tighter, and for a while she was sure that he'd just kill her right there and then. "I also know who you sold the information about them to. At this point I only have one question." He breathed in and out. Loudly. "Where is she?"_

 _Katie's lips opened. That was the furthest she got. Because all of a sudden it felt like someone had been choking her. She gasped, once, twice, but her throat was closing up so quickly that she had no hope of getting enough oxygen. Panicking, she dropped her coffee while something warm and sticky began to meander from her nose. And right there she knew exactly what was happening. Tears filled her eyes._

That bitch…!

 _Five minutes later a couple of agents found her from the elevator's floor. Dead. A thick trail of blood running from her nose and bloodshot, glazed over eyes wide open. Clint Barton was nowhere to be seen._ /

* * *

Fury gritted his teeth. This… was worse than he'd thought. "Agent Stammer has been under suspicion for a month. I suspect that now, with her gone, we'll receive a confirmation that she was an information leak." His eyebrows furrowed. "And agent Barton didn't do this. He's no expert on poisons. But I know someone who is."

Did Clint know what he was getting into?

* * *

In a small but beautiful house by a lake a man and a woman stood by a window, watching how a second woman worked in a garden outside, humming softly. If either bothered finding out, they would've learned that the melody was 'As Time Goes By'. One of them didn't want to know, the other simply didn't care.

"The payment you asked for has been taken care of", the man announced. A loving smile appeared to his face when sun shone on the woman outside, casting a surreal halo on her. "This… This is the greatest gift I've ever received. I wish that I could thank you properly, but…"

"I'm still not giving you my name", the woman beside him announced firmly. "Chemist will do." She gave him a sideways glance. "You do realize that he'll come after you, don't you? You took away his wife and children."

His eyes darkened. But only for a moment, until the woman in the garden sniffed at a rose and smiled. "Let him come", he stated firmly. "I'm ready to fight."

"It's your funeral."

He chose to ignore her. Because just then the other woman finally noticed him and began to approach. "Hey. I didn't know that you'd be back home this early."

He chuckled and kissed her. "Like I could ever stay away from you long." He breathed deeply and sighed. "You smell of roses."

It was her turn to laugh. "Sap. I've been working outside all day. I stink." She then frowned. "Who were you talking to?"

He looked to side, quickly and subtly. Relieved to find the other woman gone. "No one. It must've been the TV." He wrapped both arms around her possessively, his mind choosing to ignore the way she shuddered at the contact, something subconscious trying to take over. "So, Laura… Light of my life… Let's go and christen that new garden of yours."

* * *

Natasha's chest felt tight as she entered a far too familiar orphanage. Trying to focus on anything but looking around, she made her way to the blonde haired, blue eyed woman waiting for her. " _This had better be important._ "

" _I know how much you hate this place. You know that I wouldn't have invited you here if it wasn't urgent_ ", the other woman, Jelena, assured her. Face and posture tense as they began to walk together. " _I came back to work from… a leave a couple of days ago. And I found some children that had me curious._ "

Natasha didn't have the time to ask. Because just then they reached a tiny room that was at the very back of the building. For a couple of seconds everything spun as her brain struggled to comprehend just what she was seeing.

There, on a tiny bed, were huddled children who were supposed to be dead and buried. Cooper held his brother and sister protectively, the threatening look on his face easing only slightly as he recognized her. Lila broke down to a sob, wide eyes begging her. "Auntie Tasha, please…! Please take us away from here! We wanna go home. We wanna go back to mommy and daddy."

* * *

An hour after leaving her newest employer Chemist entered her favorite hideout and reached out a hand to switch on the lights. Nothing happened. She froze but didn't panic. Instead she listened, felt the air around her.

She wasn't alone.

A small, frosty smile appeared to her lips. "Well. I did wonder how long it'd take before you'd find me."

"And I should've known that I hadn't heard the last of you." Clint Barton's chilling bark seemed to echo everywhere all at once. "I didn't know that you handle children these days."

She walked further into the dark apartment, still listening. "You're planning on killing me, aren't you?" There was no point in begging or apologizing.

"Not only planning it." The growl came from behind her. "But before I finish you off… you're going to tell me who had my family killed."

Chemist hummed calmly. "Not 'who', love. You should be asking why they died." She went on upon sensing the question. "They were stolen because someone fell in love with your wife and knew that the only way to have her was to kill her."

It was a miracle that she wasn't killed right there and then. It had to take all of Clint's self-control. "And you decided to help."

She chuckled. "Of course I did." Her eyes narrowed and hardened. "You've been in my way too many times. I wanted to make you suffer. I wanted to tear apart and burn down your whole world." She shrugged. "So I did."

* * *

/ _Only seconds after Clint entered the store Laura was just checking up on Nate when someone slipped into the car. She tensed up, alarm bells going off in her head. "What…?" She turned her head and froze._

 _A woman she'd never seen before sat on the driver's seat, with a vial and a far from honest smile. "Hello, Laura." The woman didn't give her a chance to react, going on quietly enough to not wake the children. "In about two minutes this car is going to explode. Whether you and the brats will be inside when that happens, is entirely up to me." The woman tapped a small, subtle ear comm with two fingers. Then handed the vial towards her, almost black eyes darkening still. "Drink this, and your children will live."_

 _What choice was there? Laura drank, her heart hammering so fast that she feared it might burst. And felt like Alice jumping down a rabbit hole. "You threatened my kids", she hissed once she was done. "I'll make you pay for that."_

 _The stranger laughed. "No, honey. You won't."_

 _The whole world went black._ /

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: How messed up was THAT?! (gulps) They're still alive. But will the Barton family EVER be together again? Will Clint even ever know – or Laura, for the matter?

And of course Chemist just had to come back… (smirks)

Soooo… Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you ALWAYS makes my day.

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Anonymous: ANYTHING would be less painful on him than THIS, I'd imagine. (whimpers) OH DEAR, even the chocolate's gone…? (gulps)

How's this for soon? (smirks sheepishly) I REALLY hope that what's to come is worth the wait.

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: (smirks sheepishly and offers tissues) That WAS sad, wasn't it? A bit? We'll see just how messed up this is gonna get…

LOL! (HUGS) I TOTALLY get where you're coming from! And I'm happy that you've considered the ache worth it. (hugs)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	96. Losing Your World, part 3 of 4 (post CW)

A/N: OH BOY, did it take longer than I expected to finish this chapter! (chuckles and shakes head) BUT, here we are. For better… or worse… Much, much worse…

THANK YOU, SO, SO much, for the absolutely baffling amount of reviews and love you've given this collection! DANG. Never, in a million years, would I have anticipated so many people to jump aboard! (BEAMS, and HUGS) You're PRECIOUS, all of you!

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy this INSANE ride.

BEFORE WE GET STARTED… REMEMBER that this takes place an unclear amount of time after 'Civil War'.

* * *

Losing Your World, part 3 of 4 (TWO SCENES OF THIS COME CLOSE TO M-RATING DUE TO INTENSE DESCREPTION OF VIOLENCE! THOSE PARTS ARE MARKED CLEARLY.)

* * *

 **BORDERLINE M-RATED MATERIAL BEGINS**

* * *

Clint knew that he was going to enjoy the fight a lot more than he should've.

Chemist certainly wasn't the most skilled hand-to-hand opponent he'd ever faced. But she was stubborn and flexible, capable of moves that surprised even a former circus star. And she liked playing dirty. They spun around each other like two wild animals, neither making a sound as their eyes flashed from adrenaline.

She returned his kick with one of her own, and rewarded his punch by scratching his hand with her ring when he attempted to strike again.

In the end they were both panting and sweating. And he had her right where he wanted her. On the floor, lay on her stomach and one of her arms bent securely behind her back.

"I think…" Chemist spat out blood. "… that I'm ready to talk, now."

Clint nodded, finally succeeding in catching his breath. "Thought so." He pulled at her arm just a little more firmly, making her groan. His jawline tightened from effort to hold himself back. "I know how much you love making me suffer… But money motivates you even more. So who hired you to take away my family?"

Chemist began to laugh. He rewarded the effort with pulling at her arm so hard that there was a loud sound, something of a snap or a crack. She howled from agony. He smiled frostily, leaning closer. "Let's try again. Who… hired… you?"

Chemist hissed, loudly. "Dr… Leeds… Lucas… Leeds…"

"Good." Clint let go of the broken limb and patted her cheek. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He got up and rose to his full height with the grace of a seasoned field agent.

To his surprise, Chemist began to laugh. "Go… after him… And you'll regret it… for the rest of your pathetic life. Go hunting… and you'll go down, too."

Clint glared at her in a manner that would've chilled anyone. Then shrugged. "Okay, then." He kicked her head hard enough to render her unconscious. "At least I'm not planning on going down alone."

* * *

 **BORDERLINE M-RATED MATERIAL ENDS**

* * *

Tension was thick and heavy in the room while Steve, Tony and Wanda gathered to one of the numerous international headquarters of the billionaire's company. "Natasha just called", Bruce announced while also entering. There was nothing short of shock on his pale face. "She… She found Barton's kids. Alive."

A shockwave went through the entire room. Steve was the first to recover enough for actual words. "Clint needs to know. We have to find him."

"Sort of what we've been trying to do for the past few months, Captain Obvious", Tony muttered sharply.

Steve's responding glare was chilling, and made the genius shiver.

"Stop that, both of you!" Wanda hissed. Taking the role that'd been dumped on her ever since the chaos they now called the Civil War ended. The Avengers had been eventually reassembled, criminal charges dropped or swept under the rug by convenient lies and incredibly useful connections. But actually working together again… They'd all done too much damage for it to happen out seamlessly. "Now's _not_ the time." Clint needed them. His kids needed them. And they wouldn't be able to help if they were at each other's throats.

Tony muttered something dark and inaudible. Steve clenched his jaw, leaning forward with a frown. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Looking for information", Tony announced. "We've met… a lot of nasty people lately. And all of them seem to have connections to this… Dr. Lucas Leeds." The billionaire's eyebrow bounced up at something he found. "How about that. There's been some pretty interesting activity on his bank-account lately."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "What you're doing… Is that legal?"

"Well, maybe not exactly strictly speaking, entirely legal." Tony gave Steve a gloomy look. "Is that too much for Captain Righteous?"

Steve didn't swallow the bait. "No. And you really should stop calling me that. I was an outlaw only months ago."

Even with the best of wills the rest of them couldn't tell if the Captain was joking or serious.

Not that it mattered much. Because moments later they had Lucas Leeds' address. It became a race against the clock to get there before Clint would have the time do so something irreversible.

* * *

Laura Leeds was just about to fall asleep when the bed dipped, bringing her closer to full awareness. She sighed and yawned, trying to clear her head. "Hey", she murmured, opening her eyes halfway to see her husband. "Long day of work?"

"Yeah", the man, Lucas, admitted with a heavy sigh. "Maybe a kiss from you might make it better?"

Something deep inside Laura shuddered but she did her best to ignore it. Did whatever she could to silence the part of her screaming that his lips were the wrong shape, didn't taste right. This was her head making a mess of things again.

Lucas seemed to sense as much, because he tensed up. A few seconds of silence passed by. "It's time for your medication again, isn't it?"

Laura didn't want it and they both knew as much. But they also knew that she needed it. She'd been… ill for a long time, now. A few months ago that led to a car accident. Because of those her head… messed things up, a lot. And often. Which was why she needed the daily medication to stay on track. No matter how drowsy and disoriented it made her feel. Like her head was wrapped in cotton wool.

She shivered most definitely visibly when her husband pulled out a bottle of pills. There was an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry. But it's this or the injections. Remember how sick those made you feel?"

She did, barely, and wondered instantly how many of those memories were false. She had migraines for days. Along with intense nausea. Compared to those the pills were a great improvement.

Despite her reluctance she was just about to swallow two when they both sensed something. A presence. Then Lucas' phone began to buzz wildly. Something kept flashing on the screen but she didn't get the chance to see what it was.

The look on Lucas' face made her blood run cold. He swallowed thickly. "Someone just broke into our home." He got up, his whole body tense. "Stay here and call the police. I'll go and check it out." He left the room before she got the chance to ask a single one of the things passing through her muddled head. Including since when had they had such an alarm system in their house.

* * *

 **BORDERLINE M-RATED MATERIAL BEGINS**

* * *

With the patience of an experienced hunter and killer Clint waited in the shadows. Listened. Braced himself.

He stiffened when he heard the steps and the loud, panicked breathing. His target was terrified, unused to this game. It could work on his benefit or against him.

Leeds attempted to switch on the lights and swore under his breath when nothing happened. Giving away his exact location. With the cover of the shadows Clint began to move, his steps not making the slightest sound despite the heavy boots he was wearing. He'd reached his target before the man had the chance to even sense him there.

Nothing gave him away until the moment he pressed a sharp knife against a wildly bobbing Adam's apple. A chilling amount of satisfaction flowed through him. "You took away my wife and kids", he hissed to the man's ear. "I'm going to enjoy making you pay."

"You kill me here and now…", Leeds growled back. "… and you'll regret it for the rest of your miserable life."

"Why don't you let me worry about that?" Clint noted in a sickeningly pleasant tone. And delivered the first strike before the last syllable's echo died. Leeds' nose made a loud, cracking noise when it was smashed against the wall, followed by the rest of the face.

Had his target been anyone else, Clint would've thought that the ensuing fight was unfair. Leeds had no combat-training, let alone experience. Even though the already dazed man delivered some valiant kicks and punches the archer overpowered him easily. Especially with the rage, grief and frustration coursing through him.

He slammed the man against the wall a one more time. Getting some sick satisfaction from hearing a few teeth get broken and a whimper. Deciding that he was far from done, he produced a sharp kick and threw his opponent at the floor. Once, twice. With every new punch which followed a new memory filled his head, stinging like a blade.

His whole family cuddled on his and Laura's bed on a flu-ridden night, the adorable little noises the kids made in their sleep.

Nate giggling at a silly face he made.

Lila taking her first steps.

Holding Cooper for the first time.

Clint wasn't aware of the tears filling his eyes, or of the roar he emitted, as his fist cracked Leeds' cheekbone.

He remembered dancing with Laura in their kitchen, to some silly old song, both of them giggling like teenagers.

Kisses, nights and days full of passion.

Bitter, stupid fights he wanted desperately to take back.

Whispered words of affection that somehow made it all better.

And of course he remembered meeting her for the first time. Every detail. And he also remembered…

He glared at his bloodied opponent with newfound fury. Gritted his teeth painfully hard before spitting out the words. "You worked with her, at the hospital. When she was still a nurse." Leeds was his treating doctor when he first encountered Laura, shot to his behind.

"A year… three months…" Leeds groaned. "… two weeks… five days…" Despite one eye swelling shut rapidly, the man succeeded in glaring at him. "That's… how long… I loved her… before you came… and stole her…" Was that a chuckle or gasping? "Stole her… from me… so I… took them all… from you…"

Whatever little self-control Clint had until then, he lost at those words. He didn't know what he would've done, how far he would've gone. But yet again fate found a way to throw a curveball at him.

What appeared to Leeds' face could barely be called a smirk. "Told you… if you kill me… you'll regret…"

Clint continued his pummeling. Those barely comprehensible words only adding fuel to fire. He didn't hear what Leeds did. The approaching steps.

But he did hear, so clearly that it was deafening, the familiar voice. The voice he wasn't supposed to get to hear ever again. "Get… Get away from my husband! Or I'll kill you!"

Very slowly, fearing that he wouldn't find what he desperately wanted to see, Clint turned his head. He gasped and opened his mouth to speak but shock was closing up his throat. The rage on the woman's face didn't matter. Nor did the handgun pointed at him. All he saw was the woman he fell in love with the moment he first saw her. Uninvited tears filled his eyes. "Laura…!"

* * *

 **BORDERLINE M-RATED MATERIAL ENDS**

* * *

Laura's head felt far from clear. And when she saw that man, a stranger, attacking her husband… The feelings coursing through her… She couldn't understand herself. She was dizzy and nauseous, positively ill.

She was holding a gun at a man who broke into her home and attacked her husband viciously, and despite her threat she already knew that she wouldn't be able to pull the trigger.

Especially with the way the stranger spoke her name. And looked at her. Like she was the most precious thing in the whole world.

What…?

And then the look on the stranger's face changed. Hardened. "Her eyes…" The glare the attacker darted at her husband would've scared anyone. "You drugged her into imagining that you're her husband?"

Laura shivered, feeling even sicker than before. She hadn't taken her pills for two full days, Lucas having been so distracted that he forgot to give them the previous day. Her head… It was beginning to clear… Or maybe she was losing her mind entirely.

Lucas growled. "… gave her… a good life… love, safety…" The man on the floor sneered. "… all you ever… gave her? … pain, worry, disappointments…"

The stranger's jawline tightened. "I know that it doesn't make any sense. That I don't deserve it. But for some stupid reason she fell in love with me. She chose to stay with me." His eyes met hers. "I'll never know why but she chose me. And I didn't have to drug her."

Laura's head was hurting so badly that she could barely stand up. With the chaos her mind was in she didn't realize that physical reasons weren't why her eyes grew blurry. She began to tremble, right down to the core of her being. The gun was still in her hold and shuddering hazardously.

The stories Lucas told her, the hazy memories…

Most of her memories never had a face. Until now. Until, with a sickening amount of clarity, she began to understand. And couldn't understand at all.

How much of what she thought was real… was nothing but a doped-up hallucination?

The other man's attention was fully on Lucas. Those eyes were positively murderous. "You took her away from me. From our kids."

For the first time Lucas seemed startled. His lips moved but she couldn't hear a word. Her ears were buzzing and her head… It was killing her.

Her kids… How could she forget her kids? How could he make her forget her kids?

She remembered the birth of each of them.

Carrying them, inside her and in her arms.

Loving them. Caring for them. Watching them grow.

How could Lucas steal them from her?

A gunshot echoed in the night.

* * *

Chemist had no idea how long she was unconscious. She woke up on a cold stone-floor, in a nearly entirely dark room. With absolutely no idea where she was.

A metallic screech made her shiver. Heavy, slow steps approached her. "Well, well, well…" A heavy pair of boots stopped right in front of her. The air around them filled with threat. "Hello, Mia. Did you miss me as much as I missed you?"

* * *

Laura's ears were still ringing as the gun slipped from her grasp and she brought both hands to her ears, screaming from the bottom of her heart and soul. Sobbing uncontrollably as pain, physical and emotional alike, ravished her. All the memories, all the feelings, the drugs leaving her system… It was too much.

She didn't know how long she stayed that way until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up, dazed, aching and horribly confused. And blinked, several times over. "Clint…" It sounded far too much like a question. Like she wasn't entirely sure he was really there. This all felt like some sort of a horrific, never-ending nightmare.

"It's okay", he mouthed. Slowly enough for her to understand although her ears weren't working right. "It's okay. It's over."

Laura swallowed convulsively. The nausea intensifying until she could barely contain it. "I… I shot him…!"

"Just a graze. Less than he deserved." His eyes were so full of emotions that it took her breath away. He was trembling almost as badly as she was. "But… It's over. We'll find our kids. And then we'll go home."

Home… She really liked the sound of that. But… Where was home, again? She was so confused…

She shuddered when a pair of arms wrapped around her but didn't have the strength to push him away. Wasn't sure she wanted to, even though a part of her felt like she should've. She sat there, the whole world swaying in front of her eyes. And wondered if she was going insane or finally regaining her sanity.

* * *

Burying his face into his wife's hair, Clint couldn't keep himself from sobbing. She wasn't exactly holding him back. But she was there, in his arms, alive. "I love you", he murmured, meaning the barely audible words from the bottom of his soul. Desperate to get them out now, when he'd imagined that he'd never get to again. "Goddamnit, Laura…! I…" He got her back… He actually got her back…!

But something… was slipping.

He gasped, feeling breathless all of a sudden. And his heart… It wasn't supposed to be leaping like that, no matter how emotionally overwhelmed he was. His hand… Now that all the adrenaline was beginning to fade it was really starting to hurt. Why?

Feeling like he was missing something, he reluctantly let go of Laura enough to give the throbbing, pulsating limb a look. There, almost right next to his thumb, was a shallow scratch. One he got from Chemist's ring. The injury that should've been perfectly harmless was flaming red.

The realization was like a bucket of ice water flowing through him.

"Clint?" Laura's voice, along with everything else, was already fading into grey. He was too far gone to feel her finally beginning to hold him. "Clint, wha…?"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: OH NO…! NO…! Just when he got Laura back… (whimpers) How bad is it going to get? Will this tale have a happy ending?

SOOOO… Thoughts? Comments? Rants? Threats…? PLEASE, do let me hear from you! (Reviews make Clint Barton smile. It's a fact!)

It's REALLY late, so I've really gotta tune out, now. Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: It feels SO GOOD to hear that! (BEAMS)

OOOH! Dangit, I REALLY need to start catching up with 'Agents'! But the idea of an assassin nearly taking down Clint… ABSOLUTELY GOES TO MY LIST! A brilliant prompt!

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: (chuckles) The chapter seriously got to you, then? I've gotta admit that I'm pretty proud and flattered to hear that! We'll see just how this insane tale ends, and if the Barton-family will be together again.

MASSIVE thank yous and a as big hug for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: Oh dear…! (offers tissues) Am I a sadist, if I admit that it's flattering to have moved you so…? (smirks sheepishly) We'll see just what the next chapter brings…

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	97. Losing Your World, part 4 of 4 (post CW)

A/N: DANG, it took AGES to type this! BUT, here we are. Hooray…?

MY DEAR GOSH, thank you SO MUCH for your absolutely amazing reviews, love and support! I can't believe how many of you are out there. (HUGS) Your support means A LOT.

Awkay, because it's LATE… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Losing Your World, part 4 of 4

* * *

Laura's head hurt so much that it threatened to drive her insane but she didn't give herself the chance to dwell on it. Couldn't succumb to the chaos raging in her brain. Because all of a sudden Clint went completely and utterly limp against her.

Her heart jumped painfully while she finally managed to bring herself to hold him. It felt so horrible and so wonderful all at once that it brought tears to her eyes. "Clint?" Her voice sounded raspy and feeble, like she hadn't uttered a word in a long time. "Clint, what's wrong?"

There was no response. And although she was barely able to comprehend what was real and what wasn't she knew that she couldn't just… Couldn't bear the thought…

Gently, gently – like handling the most delicate of all china – she lay him to the floor, constantly calling out to him. He gave no sign of having heard her, and the purplish color taking over his lips was absolutely chilling. Her chest tightened painfully and she gasped despite how much her head hated it.

"Clint, please…!" She pleaded, even though she wasn't entirely sure what was going on and what the man in front of her meant to her. "Clint, wake up!" He remained unconscious but somehow moisture still slid down his cheeks. It took a while before she realized that the tears were hers.

* * *

It didn't matter how bitterly they'd fought. How much damage had been done. Clint needed the Avengers. All other crap could wait until later.

Tension was thick and heavy as they made their way towards the address Tony managed to dig out. The first thing they found was a man they identified as Lucas, dead on the floor. A single gunshot right between the eyes.

And on the floor Laura was doing everything she could to keep Clint alive. The archer was unconscious and the color of his skin kept worsening constantly. On his hand was an angry red, slightly greenish wound that explained his condition.

One particular poison-creator crossed their minds instantly.

"We need to get him to a hospital." Laura's voice startled them enough to bring them out of their musings. Her eyes were red but she wasn't crying anymore. "He's… Whatever's doing this to him, it's working quickly. His pulse…" She trailed off with a choked sound.

Steve nodded, taking the lead as usual. "Okay. Then let's go. There's one only ten minutes away from here." There was no point in suggesting taking the archer to the Tower. In the condition he seemed to be in, there was no way he would've survived the journey.

Tense silence lingered as the grim group maneuvered the Bartons to a car. Lucas' body was ignored. Fury would handle that mess later.

They were so focused on getting moving as quickly as possible that they were startled upon realizing that Clint wasn't unconscious anymore. His half-open, hazy eyes wandered before finding Laura. A smile of pure, utter joy and peace appeared to his lips.

Laura forced herself to smile as well. "Hey. Try to stay awake, alright? You're safe now."

Clint nodded the best as he could. "'know. Safe… 'cause you're here." His Adam's apple bobbed while he fumbled to hold her hand. "… came to get me, didn't you…? … didn't think I'd get to go to heaven…" With those somewhat chilling words his eyes slipped closed once more and no amount of coaxing got them open again.

Once they reached the hospital a small army of doctors and nurses whisked Clint away. Laura stared, long after her husband disappeared from sight. Then collapsed.

* * *

While Tony kept his local Stark company's medical team busy with trying to find an antidote and Wanda waited for news on Clint Steve kept an eye on Laura. He didn't like not being close to his friend after they just got him back. He and Tony also weren't quite ready to trust each other yet. But at very least they agreed that right now their friend and his family were more important than all feuds. Steve also knew that Clint would've wanted a friendly face to be there for his wife.

He was just coming back from getting some coffee when he saw a couple heading towards Laura's hospital room. Expensive clothes and a lot of jewelry, frowns that could've just as well been those of worry or irritation. His eyebrows furrowed. "How may I help you?"

The man and woman jumped like children who'd been caught doing something forbidden. It was the woman who spoke. "Are you a friend of our daughter's?" She tried to sound pleasant and almost succeeded.

Steve nodded slowly. Something about all this just didn't feel right. "Yes." He had to swallow the instinctive 'ma'am'. He shook his head to clear it and did his best to offer a small, kind smile. "I'm sorry, this… is all a little overwhelming."

"So…" The man blinked twice. "She's really still alive? Our daughter? She's in that room?"

The woman looked at her husband with annoyance. "Don't pester the poor boy with pointless questions." Her well-trained smile was far more convincing but no more genuine. "It's such a lovely thing, that our daughter has good friends. Like you, and that nice man who called before…" She gritted her teeth and looked away. "Well. He was so worried, about how safe she was. We chatted for a long time, and I told him to visit the Farm sometime. I think his name was Lucas." She then nodded, making a decision. "But you can go home, now. We'll look after our daughter."

The sudden voice startled them all. "You… told Lucas about the Farm?" Laura was incredibly pale and very obviously still unwell. Sought support from her I.V. pole. But the disappointment, hurt and rage in her eyes… They were chilling and heartbreaking at the same time. "I gave you the Farm's address for emergencies, and… You led that monster to my family?"

The man's brows furrowed. "Monster? Laura, what…?"

"Don't you see that she isn't thinking straight?" The woman stepped closer to Laura with a condescending look on her face. "Laura, sweetie, why don't you…?"

"No." Tears filled Laura's eyes but her tone was a sharp growl. She was shaking from rage, disbelief, disappointment and grief. "I… I'm your daughter! You're supposed to support me! And you… Because of you I…!" She opened her mouth but for a long moment the words didn't come. "Because of you my kids… I don't even know how much they've been through because I was drugged to forget that they even existed for months! And Clint, he… He may be…!" She couldn't voice it. Most likely couldn't even bear thinking about it.

The man scoffed, the woman groaned, rubbing her forehead like someone having a headache. "Laura, you deserve a better man. We've known that from the start. That's why we couldn't stand even the thought of having him at your funeral. You'll…"

"What?" Laura shuddered and stumbled, on the verge of losing her weak footing before catching a hold of herself. "You… You actually…? You didn't even let him…?" She gasped, once, twice, thrice. The glared at her parents with such venom that would've chilled anyone's blood. "I… I really thought that Lucas was the worst monster. Do you… Do you have any idea, how much it hurts that my own parents proved me wrong?"

Her parents appeared utterly shocked. Until her mother's eyes narrowed. "Laura, young lady…!"

Laura shook her head viciously. "No. NO. This, all this…! You helped it happen. And you have the nerve to criticize Clint…!" She took a firm, almost threatening step closer. "I chose this life. I chose to stay with him. If you have no respect towards my life and my family… Then you have no place anywhere near them." She went on faster than her parents could utter a sound. "NO. I want you to get the hell out of here, or I'll have you thrown out with a huge spectacle. And when you've left… I never want to see you again."

Her mother shuddered dramatically, like someone had just struck her. Her father lifted his chin, eyes flashing. "One day, girl, you will regret treating us this way."

Laura sighed heavily. Sounding and appearing utterly exhausted. "I already know I won't. And dad, it's… It's the saddest thing in all this."

Without anything further, without even saying goodbye or trying to fight for her, the parents left. Laura glared at their distancing backs and it was impossible to tell whether she was making sure that they'd be gone or wishing that they'd at least look back. As soon as they disappeared she lost whatever little self-control she'd had and doubled over, gasping while her eyes filled up.

Steve moved instinctively and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. Still gasping and visibly holding back sobs, Laura leaned towards the comfort. Trusting him in a way he wasn't sure he deserved.

Steve cleared his throat, wondering how to proceed. After what he just saw, after how badly he could see she was suffering… "Laura, I… If there's anything…"

Laura nodded once, twice, thrice, frantically. "Clint. I… I need to be with Clint. I need to know…" Her lips kept moving but none of it was audible.

Steve knew that it was probably a bad idea. Laura was still confused, heavily medicated and in a state of shock. Clint… He dreaded imagining how his friend was doing. But who was he to keep the two of them apart? Especially if their time together was… limited.

Laura walking all the way to Clint's room wasn't an option, though. Slowly and tentatively, giving her plenty of time to refuse, Steve took her to his arms and started the journey. A couple of hallways later they finally spotted a vacant wheelchair and he helped her to it as though handling an active bomb. Neither spoke, too deep in thought and coming to a conclusion that no words were necessary. Laura tensed up in a heartbreaking manner upon discovering that they were approaching the ICU. Steve opened his mouth, then closed it. How was he supposed to tell her not to worry, that everything would be alright, when…?

The hospital staff gave them looks as they passed by but no one moved to stop them. Which didn't calm them down at all. There was only one reason the medical personal didn't demand that they'd stay out of the way anymore.

It was _wrong_ that neither of them flinched at the sight of Clint in a hospital bed, unconscious and surreally frail. They'd seen it too often. The color of the man's skin held a nauseating amount of purplish blue. Machines had to do breathing for him. There was a painfully loud clock on the wall.

Laura visibly closed her mind from it all. With painfully familiar stubbornness she forced herself up from the chair and all the way to the bed. Her hand wasn't steady while it stroked the man's cheek, then pushed aside a couple of strayed locks of hair. Finally she lay down on the bed as well, shock keeping her functional and by some miracle managing to not disturb any tubes, wires and machinery. Like they'd done so a million times, her fingers sneaked their way through all hospital equipment to grab his limp hand. Somehow she didn't detach her own I.V. line, either. The second she was close enough to feel and smell her husband she fell asleep, a tiny smile on her lips. It was like magic. The heart shattering kind.

Steve couldn't bear to watch. And in full truth, he felt like he was intruding something incredibly private. So he left the room without making a sound. Unable to not hear the chillingly loud ticking of the clock on the wall.

* * *

Wanda's fingers were just about enough to count the amount of people she'd ever really, truly cared about. She'd lost far too many of them. The horrific Civil War of the team had her convinced that she'd lost those she still had left. She dared to take a cautious sigh of relief when the whole chaos was finally over. She never, ever should've done that. Because now…

She jumped when steps entered the waiting room and turned her head faster than her neck would've allowed. Steve only had to look at her for a couple of seconds before his shoulders slumped with something like defeat. He swallowed loudly. "He's…" The man's jawline tightened. "Isn't he?"

Wanda looked away. It took almost two minutes before she managed to gather enough strength for a feeble nod. "They said that right now forcing him to stay is torturing him", she murmured barely audibly, hating the way her eyes stung and watered. "He's held in a coma because anything else would be unbearably agonizing. His heart, lungs, everything…" She shook her head, feeling so helpless that it took her breath away. This was her brother and parents all over again…! "He… He's shutting down. All of him." She wiped her cheeks mechanically, not even registering the moisture. "In a few hours they'll switch off the machines. They told us to say goodbye." She swallowed and brought her legs against her chest. "Should we call Natasha?" She didn't want to. Couldn't even bear the thought. But Natasha was Clint's best friend. If…

"No." Steve's voice was firm, nearly desperate. "We're not calling anyone. There's still time. And Stark isn't going to give up before he has the cure."

It was desperate hope, yes. But it was also all they had. Giving up wasn't an option.

Every single member of the team braced themselves for a long, horrible night.

* * *

The more time passed by, the more coherent Laura was. She absolutely didn't want to think about any of the hazy things she could remember from the past few months. Didn't want to remember what she did. That she just killed someone. Couldn't stand the knowledge that this was all her fault. That her kids spent months somewhere, feeling alone, terrified and abandoned. That her husband…

She tightened her hold on Clint and kissed his forehead. She didn't like noticing that his fever was spiking up. She blinked rapidly to hold back tears. "Not yet", she whispered in his ear. Unsure who or what she was demanding it from. "Not like this."

Just a little more time. Just a little more hope. Didn't they deserve that much?

She wasn't ready to let go yet, even if the choice was out of her hands.

* * *

For great many years Clint was afraid of water. But the sight in front of him now… It was incredibly soothing.

The sand under his bare feet was white as ivory. He didn't register any temperature but the texture was soft, caressed his skin. And only two steps away spread an ocean, continuing to what seemed like the edge of the world. The color a mixture of sapphire and emerald. Light that came from a sun he couldn't see shone on its surface, making it sparkle like liquid silver. It didn't look or feel real. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

Because the waves, which he might've considered threatening once, carried voices. Such that beckoned him. Laura… The kids…

Clint didn't care if none of this was real. In the real world his family didn't exist anymore. And he belonged with them.

He stepped into the water and began to advance deeper, one heavy step after another.

* * *

Tony had worked without a pause through the whole night with his team. And a chunk of the evening which proceeded. He couldn't remember the last time he would've slept well. In the end one of the scientists suggested, very sharply, that he should take a break when he almost destroyed a highly valuable sample.

Tony slept for two hours and had nightmares the entire time. He woke up feeling worse than he did before. His mood didn't improve when he entered the building's break-room to discover a tiny plastic bag on the table. It contained a severed woman's finger with a ring on it, and a tooth that'd been pulled off. Had Tony been able to focus through the chaos that took over his mind, he might've noticed that the hollow-carved tooth contained something blue. A tattoo.

"She was stubborn. But in the end her pride got the better of her", a male-voice he'd never heard before revealed from a dark corner. "According to her it takes only one scratch from the ring to kill. That chemical pattern tattooed on the tooth… One drop of the substance is enough to make a cure."

Tony tensed up, wondering if he'd be quick enough to suit up in case… "Who the hell are you? And why would you help us?" _And how did you get in?_

His unexpected, chilling visitor was already heading towards the window through which he came. "My daughter was a fool. She needed to be educated. So I did." The stranger had almost left before coming to think of something. "If you get the chance to… Tell him that Bu…" The visitor, who seemed to be carrying a bow and arrows, changed his mind with a shake of head. "… Trick Shot said 'hi'." The man was gone before Tony had the time to open his mouth.

Tony looked towards the nauseating things the man left behind and swallowed. He didn't like it. But it was the only shred of hope they had. Clint had.

And really, Tony mused bitterly, if Steve's updates from the hospital were true it wasn't like anything could make things a lot worse.

* * *

The past three months had been a nightmare on the Barton kids. They were torn away from their parents and shoved into a place where no one understood what they were trying to say. The only person who did speak English, a woman, announced that their parents didn't want them anymore. Of course they didn't believe her, for even a second. But it didn't make things much better.

Where were their parents, and why didn't they come to take them back home?

Now they were home but Cooper still couldn't relax because their parents weren't there. According to Natasha they were both unwell but would come to them as soon as possible. Cooper still couldn't sleep. Nate cried with sorrow whenever the baby was awake. Lila sneaked to their porch whenever she got the chance, anxious to see their mom and dad arriving the second they would. Cooper knew this because at the moment he was the man in the house. He'd spent the past few months looking after his siblings and he'd continue to do so until the adults would be back. But he was also just a little boy.

That early morning Cooper woke up feeling thirsty. He yawned, still tired, then began to make his way downstairs. He'd fetched a glass of orange juice and was about to return to his room until he saw something that froze him.

Natasha was on a phone, so worked up by whatever she was hearing that she hadn't noticed him. The look on her face scared hm. The moisture in her eyes… did something far beyond.

Cooper had worked so, so hard to keep himself together. To stay strong for his siblings. But at that moment he broke down to quiet, wrenching sobs, and the glass slipped from his hold.

* * *

There were very few occasions when Tony would've ran as fast as he did that afternoon, dashing into a hospital. Reaching the ward containing Clint seemed to take ages. When he saw the grim-faced medical professionals leaving his friend's room the billionaire got a horrible, sinking feeling that he was already too late.

Smothering all gloomy thoughts, he barged into the room. "Guys, I…" All words got stuck into his throat while the hope he had withered and died. He shook his head, a blockage forming in his throat. "No…!"

The look on Steve's pale face was such he'd only seen once or twice before. Wanda was doing her best to wipe her eyes but the sorrow was palpable. Laura still lay beside Clint, her head buried on his shoulder and her hair shielding her face from sight.

The machinery, including such that'd helped Clint breathe, had been switched off. Leaving only the gloomy silence of torturous waiting. On the wall the clock continued to tick mercilessly.

* * *

William Stryker wasn't having a good day. One of his teams had messed up a mission. And another one didn't seem able to find Clint Barton despite the million bread-crumps that'd been left behind. Stryker wasn't someone's head on a silver platter.

Instead he got Nick Fury marching into his office. The director was holding a phone so hard that the item made small noises. "You can cut your Barton-manhunt", Fury barked in a voice that would've chilled anyone. "Clint Barton died two hours ago."

* * *

Clint floated in the water. Weightless, without a thought, without memories, without feeling. It was a bliss.

It ended when he was set on fire.

It _hurt_ , more than anything he'd ever experienced. Every single cell in his body seemed to be on fire. He opened his mouth but didn't have enough breath for a scream. He was in hell.

Until he wasn't.

"Clint?" A soft hand caressed his hair, soothing the burning. "Shh, honey, it's okay. You're okay. It's over, now."

He fought a small war to get his eyes open, and when he did he found them blurry. Later, much later, he realized that he was in tears. At the moment it didn't matter the slightest bit. Because sitting there beside him was Laura. Exhausted, traumatized and seeming a little ill. But warm, solid and alive.

For several long, wonderful moments they could only look at each other. Both basking in the knowledge that the other was alive. Clint swallowed thickly and squeezed her hand as tightly as he could. "… this…" He licked his lips, hating how dry they felt. "… real?"

Laura nodded. A couple of tears rolling down her cheeks. "Yeah, honey", she whispered hoarsely. "This is real." It sounded like she was only just starting to believe it herself.

There was so much that needed to be said. That would have to be talked through. But it'd have to wait.

Because just then the room's door opened. The first person Clint saw was Natasha, who was wearing one of her beyond rare smiles. And then chaos broke loose when Cooper and Lila burst into the room. "Daddy!"

It was the most beautiful thing Clint had ever experienced. His whole family, the one he thought was lost, right there in his arms. Safe. Alive. That realization was enough to make him break down to soundless sobs that rocked his whole frame.

"Daddy?" Lila asked with clearly audible worry.

Clint shook his head, tightening his hold on his whole world. "Happy tears, sweetie", he rasped. "Happy tears."

If this was a dream he never wanted to wake up.

* * *

Much later that evening Nick Fury peered into the room. What he saw… It would've been worth a million pictures.

According to Steve the team spent several long, terrifying hours waiting to see which one would take a hold faster, the poison or the cure. They sat beside Clint, kept watch for the monitors that'd been switched off. It took almost two full days before he finally made up his mind.

And here they were.

For pretty much the first time since the Civil War the team that went through it was together without fighting or arguing. Brought together by their Hawk. Steve, Wanda, Tony and Natasha were all fast asleep. Tony in a position that promised cramping muscles, snoring loudly. Natasha slumbering elegantly, positioned so that she'd been keeping an eye on the doorway. Steve a little further from the others, resting for what seemed to be the first time in ages. Wanda sleeping quietly close to the bed, keeping watch on the Barton family.

And there on the bed was the whole family. Nate sleeping contently, sandwiched tenderly between her parents. Lila asleep so that she lay equally on both her parents. Cooper resting cuddled as close to his dad as possible. Laura having found rest with her husband's hand in her firm hold. Only Clint was awake, looking at his family with such relief and adoration that it ached the heart the director wasn't supposed to have. The usually perceptive former assassin wasn't aware of anything else but his whole world in his arms.

Deciding that he was done intruding, Fury turned and walked away. The Bartons would be alright. Practically all of the world imagined them dead and new publicly used identities would ensure that it'd stay that way. There'd be no Strykers or Chemists haunting their lives anymore.

He'd make sure of it.

* * *

It took only a couple of more days before Clint had irritated his doctor into discharging him. Yes, he'd take it easy to ensure that he'd recover properly. Of course he wouldn't.

Clint had a traumatized family that needed him desperately. And he himself was in a state of mind where he could barely look away from his wife and kids without fearing that they'd disappear. The whole ordeal had been far too much, on all of them.

The kids responded well to therapy. The adults… needed some extra help. Which was why Dr. Sarah Harris decided to take a spontaneous vacation to their guest room.

It was one of those nights when sleep was avoiding Sarah. Eventually she decided to go and make herself some tea. Only to discover that someone else had the same plan.

Laura sat in the kitchen, whatever was in her mug having grown cold long since. Her eyes held a dazed, vacant look as she stared out the window. Her hands seemed to be shaking slightly.

Sarah poured herself some tea, then sat down. "Unpleasant dreams?" she suggested and took a sip. The tea was horrible but at that hour she decided that she didn't mind.

Laura sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "Thinking too much. And my stomach was acting up."

Sarah's eyebrow bounced up while some unpleasant possibilities came to her mind. Laura and Lucas spent months as a married couple. What if…?

"I'm not", Laura denied, as though reading her mind. Then looked away in shame. "I… took a test, three weeks… after. And another a few days later. Both were negative."

"You could've told me this sooner." Soft. Not judgmental.

Laura gritted her teeth, still not looking at her. "I needed to… process it alone first." The woman rubbed her face with both hands, tired and frustrated. "There's too much to process. My whole family went through hell because of me."

"Not because of you", Sarah pointed out sharply. "There's only one person to blame, and it definitely wasn't you. What he put all of you through… It was sickening. But you will recover from it. You all will."

Laura took a deep breath, yet again looking out the window. "Clint actually tried to sleep. He woke up two hours later with a scream, then headed out for jog. That was…" She checked the time. "… an hour and a half ago." Something close to despair appeared to the woman's eyes. "I just… I can't watch him torturing himself like this. I want him to sleep. I want him to stop being afraid of touching me. I want my husband back, my life back."

Sarah shrugged. "Then tell him that." She nodded towards the fridge. "But first… Mocha ice-cream?"

Laura grinned. And finally it reached the woman's eyes. "You're full of great ideas."

* * *

Eight days later Clint and Laura were on their way to a grocery store when rain began to pour down. Eventually it got so bad that they were forced to wait at the parking lot before heading home. "Great", Clint groaned. "Just…"

Laura cut the sentence by placing her hand suggestively on his thigh. She arched an eyebrow at his surprised expression. "You know… There are worse things than being stranded to a car together."

Clint swallowed thickly. His whole body trembled from desire and anticipation but he forced himself to hold still. "Are you sure? I don't want to…"

Laura claimed his lips with all the hunger the past few weeks had gathered inside her. Tasted him. Felt him. And made a solemn oath to herself to never, ever forget him again. Very gently she brought one of his hands to her thundering heart before meeting his eyes. She was scared, so very scared. She wondered if the blurry memories of Lucas would ever fade away entirely. But this was her husband. This was the man she fell in love with. This was the man she wanted. She knew that, now, so clearly that she feared the magnitude of the discovery might make her heart burst. "We're both alive. We're together. I… I remember you, honey." This time she guided his hand a lot lower. "I remember you."

* * *

A few hours later Natasha had a murderous expression on her face as she glared at the two of them at a police station. "Really? Public indecency, again?"

Clint and Laura looked at each other, then burst into loud laughter.

* * *

That night Laura and Clint lay on their bed, tenderly and protectively in each other's arms. Sleeping soundly. Both of them had smiles on their faces.

The clock on a bedside table had stopped without either of them noticing.

* * *

End of short story

* * *

A/N: Awww! A big hooray to happy, sexy endings. (chuckles) Don't worry, the whole family will be okay.

SOOOO… Thoughts? Comments? REQUESTS FOR THE BIG 100? PLEASE, do leave a note! I LOVE hearing from you.

Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see ya all there.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: That's a HUGE compliment! (BEAMS) Poor family, right? Poor Laura! Such a nightmare! Let's hope that this can have a at least somewhat happy ending.

LOL, I can't believe how many chapters I've typed, either!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: Those poor, poor things, right? GOSH, let's hope that they'll get a at least somewhat happy ending and that Lucas will NEVER bother them again.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	98. A Hawk and a Captain, part 1 of 2

A/N: PHEW! This chapter… It took SO MANY SHAPES in my head (some of them ten times darker than this final version) because agreeing to settle. (chuckles) But here we are, so… Yay?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your AMAZING reviews, love and support! I can't believe that you've all been sticking around for this long. (HUGS) You're THE BEST!

Awkay, before I get all mushy… It's go-time! Brace yourselves for a dark, dumpy ride…

* * *

A Hawk and a Captain, part 1 of 2

* * *

Some Avengers missions were tougher than others, one way or another. Many were practically impossible. Freeing a tiny town from the clutches of Hydra took pretty much all the team had to offer. But as Steve Rogers watched the relieved, crying mothers embracing their children and husbands hurrying to their families, he decided that it was worth all the trouble. He smiled, letting his tense shoulders drop from relief. Then turned to leave.

It was time to go home, with the knowledge that something was just a tiny bit more right in the world.

Or that was the plan. Until a young girl, definitely not older than seventeen, began to approach him with a shy expression. The bruises marring her face and her heavily pregnant abdomen created a heartbreaking combination. She was limping, and an angry red line circled her whole ankle from where she'd been cuffed to a basement. Without the jumper someone had provided to shield her miserably trembling, gaunt figure he would've seen the numerous needle-marks all over her arms. A lab-rat, that was what she and her child were to those monsters. "Captain? I… I wish to thank you", she whispered hoarsely in a badly broken English. She covered the bruising on her neck with a hand and blushed when she caught him looking at the damage. "I do not know what the future holds for me…" Her free hand brushed at her abdomen. "… us … But because of you, and your team, I can decide."

Steve nodded with a smile, shifting with discomfort. He still didn't quite know how to handle this attention, especially from women. "Just… trying to do the right thing." What else could he say?

Steve was about to walk away but the girl was faster. Before he realized what was happening she pressed her lips against his cheek. Through the spark of surprise he barely felt the pinprick of a needle piercing his skin. He blinked twice and shivered.

 _What…?!_

The woman's winter-blue eyes flashed, and the smile on her lips changed into something that chilled him to his bones. "Those people… They weren't nice. But the ones who will come when the world isn't watching… When you are no longer protecting us… They will be worse." She leaned closer to his ear and whispered. "Hail Hydra." With those chilling words she left.

Steve moved to follow her. Wanting to make her see reason, needing to know what she did to him. But he found himself frozen to the spot after just a single step. His head… It didn't feel right… He felt dizzy and nauseous. In the end he had to close his eyes.

When he opened them again he was back in the past. In the middle of an enemy base. Outside the building the thunder of war echoed. Steve gulped and looked around, his foggy head trying to comprehend what was going on.

How… was he back?

He didn't have the time to figure it out. Or to find out what was real and what wasn't. Because all of a sudden the lights went out and heavy, booted steps began to approach him. He'd just managed to turn, dizzy and disoriented, when his companion came near enough to be seen. The first thing his attention locked on, however, was the arrival's cargo. Which was dropped to the floor with a loud, nauseating thud. For a long moment Steve simply stared, unable and unwilling to believe what he was seeing.

The lifeless, bleeding body of Bucky Barnes.

"Captain America." White teeth created a horrifying contrast with red face. "Did you have fun on your little vacation to the future?" A boot kicked Bucky, who didn't give even a flinch. Would never react to anything ever again. "Barnesey here got tired of waiting for you."

' _Steve?_ ' Half a dozen voices blurred into one. His mother's, his father's, Bucky's…

All Steve saw was the blood. And there, right there… Something awful and primal, something he'd always fought to keep locked away in the darkest corners of his soul, took over. He saw _red_.

' _STEVE!_ '

The blood-chilling scream that echoed in his skull soon brought him back to the moment when Bucky fell down a cliff. It fed his rage, added fuel to the flames. Because anger was safer than the other option, lurking right underneath his skin.

* * *

The mission had taken its toll on them all. Which was often the case when there were children involved and they'd faced several days with far too little sleep. They'd spent too much time snapping at each other, monsters from the past flashing through each their heads as they fought to help the families trapped into a nightmarish situation. It'd take a lot of junk food therapy sessions to overcome this.

Well, at least it was finally over. They'd wrap things up and go home. In Tony's opinion it couldn't happen quickly enough.

The billionaire sighed heavily and looked around. Most of the town was in shambles and there'd be a long, painful rebuilding to do. But these people had survived through hell, they were tough. They'd be alright. He'd make sure of it.

He reached out a hand, planning on suggesting the team that they'd finally take off. He never managed to utter a word. Because just then something that looked too much like a human being flew past the floor where he was and landed harshly to the ground.

* * *

Steve didn't know what happened. Or how much of what happened was real. One moment he was in one decade and the next… The next he stood in a half-destroyed building, surrounded by debris and… stains of blood?

Steve's whole body turned cold as he looked down, his line of vision swaying dangerously. He held out both of his trembling hands and stared at them, his heart leaping out of all control. Blood coated them. Unable to keep looking, he lifted his gaze to discover a shattered window. He emitted a choked sound, feeling like his throat was closing up.

What had he done?

Steve Rogers wasn't the type of a person to run away from his responsibilities, to take the coward's way out. But in that moment the tsunami of wrath that'd been flowing through him, clouding his mind, began to fade. Transformed to horror and disbelief. His heart was thundering so fast that it couldn't possibly be healthy and his thoughts circled around hungrily before zeroing on a few words.

' _YOU'RE A MONSTER! RUN! RUN! RUN!_ '

Steve wasn't sure if his body was able to handle such physical activity. He was used to running. Just not running away.

But was it really running away if he did it to ensure that the monster inside him would never be unleashed upon the innocent, if he was leaving behind what he didn't deserve?

Leaving was the plan, anyway.

Because he'd barely made it to the hallway when Wanda was blocking his path. She smiled, until her eyes widened at the blood on him. "Steve, what…?" She gulped, unable to look away although she clearly wanted to. Pointedly avoiding touching him she motioned for him to follow. "We need to wash you up, so I can see the damage. What happened?"

Steve should've escaped. Should've told her to stay away from him when he was this unstable. But his lips were paralyzed and he followed her numbly, barely comprehending what was going on.

Was any of this even real, anyway?

He shivered, realizing that he'd missed several seconds or even minutes, at the feeling of his hands being washed. Cold water ran across his skin, stinging like blades. His eyes filled and overwhelmed as he stared at the red disappearing from the sink.

 _What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?!_

All of a sudden Wanda's motions froze. Her eyes gained something he would've never wanted to bring to them as pieces began to slide together. "Steve, I… I can't see any wounds." She looked at him, her gaze begging and praying him to prove her wrong. "What happened? Whose blood…?" She trailed off.

Steve still couldn't speak, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how badly he needed to say that he was sorry. That whatever it was he did, he didn't mean it. That she really, really should stay away from him at the moment because…

Unable to utter any of those things, Steve did the only thing he could. He shoved, harder than he'd meant to. Not bearing to look back on the damage he was leaving behind he ran, swore to himself that he'd make sure he'd never hurt anyone else.

Only the sounds of dripping water and Natasha's voice disturbed the eerie silence which followed. " _Wanda, in case you're wearing an ear-comm… We need to check the fourth floor. Something's wrong._ "

* * *

Chaos was blowing outside the building as much as inside Steve's confused head.

It took torturously long before Tony reached his fallen friend. "Clint!" he yelled, even if a tiny, rational part of him reminded him that there was no way the archer would hear him. "CLINT!"

Was Clint even alive anymore? The Hawk lay on his side, facing away from him. Entirely still, covered in a nightmarish amount of blood. There were several wounds from when the archer flew through window-glass. Trails of red also ran from his nose and mouth. The arm that was stretched out was in an odd angle. Broken from what seemed to be at least two places. Somehow that was the most bitter insult of all, the most unfair bit.

Would it recover so well that Clint would be able to shoot arrows, if…?

NO. No 'ifs'. 'Ifs' weren't acceptable. That resolute thought kept Tony from succumbing to panic entirely as he crash-landed painfully hard to his friend's side, a badly trembling hand starting to inspect the damage. His mouth opened several times without a sound as he discovered a feeble pulse and a just as frail heartbeat. Clint's chest-area… It didn't feel right. Something had definitely been broken. The man's breathing, now that he was close enough to hear it, was loud, labored and rattled sickeningly.

Tony frowned, struggling with all his might to keep himself focused and composed. Clint didn't fall on his chest. So how…?

Something was smashed against it before or during the fall, he realized quickly.

None of it made any sense. Their battle was supposed to be over and done with. Had they missed an enemy? How did someone manage to catch a person like Clint so badly off-guard?

Adrenaline flowed, and suddenly Tony saw something from the corner of his eye. Slowly, slowly he turned his head, shifting so that he was shielding his friend. If he'd felt sick to his stomach before it was nothing compared to what he experienced in that moment.

Because he lay his eyes on the very thing that broke Clint's sternum. What most likely pushed the man through the window. It was Captain America's shield, turned into a nauseating, gory parody of itself by the blood tainting it.

Tony's mind spun and turned, unwilling to accept an unthinkable reality.

* * *

Natasha was just making her way to the floor from which Clint had been thrown when Tony's voice echoed to her ear. " _Is, eh… Cap there?_ "

Natasha frowned and tensed up. Because just then she reached the blood-stained room. She was getting the feeling that she was entering a horror-story. "No. Why?"

Tony swallowed. Loudly. " _Because… I've got a nasty feeling that something's badly wrong, here._ "

Natasha scoffed. Her heart thudded in a manner she would've never admitted to a living soul. What the hell happened to her best friend?! "You think, genius?"

* * *

Wanda woke up to what had to be the most horrible headache she'd ever had in her life. She groaned and shifted, squeezing her eyes more tightly shut. Maybe if she'd sleep a little longer…

No such luck. "Wanda?" Vision's voice was soft and quiet. "Are you awake?"

She nodded. And regretted it. "Yeah", she rasped, her mouth feeling like her tongue had swollen twice its size. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to focus. "Wah…?" She remembered looking for Clint and Steve. Then…

"You hit your head to a sink. And… It didn't look like an accident." Vision sounded angry. Too much like Ultron for comfort. "Who did this to you?"

Wanda gritted her teeth. Because, slowly yet surely… She was starting to remember. Steve's face and the strange expression on them… The blood… The shove…

It wasn't Steve. Couldn't be the man who helped her regain control over her powers, who helped her become the person she could be. It just wasn't… No, of course not. Something was… off. If only her mind wasn't so muddled, then maybe she would've been able to figure it out.

"It was Steve, wasn't it?"

Wanda gulped. Alarm bells going off in her throbbing skull. "Viz, don't…!" By the time she turned her head he was gone.

* * *

Dr. Jelena Piento usually faced the kind of patients she did that dark late evening at a morgue. More broken bones than she could count, sternum and a rib that'd probably punctured a lung being the worst. Severe trauma to the head. Internal bleeding from several locations.

She didn't know what had kept the man alive until he made it to her OR. She wasn't very confident that he'd make it out of there. But she gave an oath and she was going to continue the desperate battle for as long as he would.

Dr. Piento didn't know how long the surgery had continued. She was digging through one of the nastiest wounds when her fingers met something solid that wasn't supposed to be there. With a frown she dug out the foreign object, as gently as she could.

" _What is that?_ " one of the nurses inquired in confusion. " _Some kind of a knife?_ " None of them could've even guessed that it was a tiny piece of the star on Captain America's shield.

For those few, fleeting seconds they were worked up by the discovery. None of them noticed how slowly and deviously Clint's vitals crashed, then formed a solid line. There was a high-pitched screech as machinery went wild.

* * *

In the waiting room Natasha and Tony sat in a tense silence. Neither quite convinced that any of this was really happening. Two of their friends were in a hospital, one of them fighting for his life. And a third…

Before Wanda woke up there was at least a tiny, feeble hope that perhaps their worst assumptions weren't correct. There had to be a reason. Had to be an explanation. Because anything else…

"What the hell happened?" Tony finally sputtered what'd been bombarding his head for hours, unable to bear the tense silence.

Natasha gritted her teeth so hard that it had to hurt. Refusing to look towards him. "When Sam and the others find him we'll know."

Tony arched an eyebrow. He cast a suspicious look towards her clenched fists. "I'm surprised that you're not looking, too."

"If I faced him right now there's no telling what I'd do to him", Natasha hissed, confirming his suspicions.

Tony didn't quite know what to say to that. He never had to decide. Because just then a doctor was approaching them. The grim, sorrowful look on her face made Tony's stomach drop.

 _No…! No, NO…!_

* * *

Steve didn't know where he was going. And what he'd do when he'd get _there_. Finally running out of stamina, he leaned against a filthy stone-wall and panted. Unaware of the tears drying to his unhealthily pale cheeks.

' _MONSTER, MONSTER, MONSTER!_ ' a nasty voice chanted in his head. Until it was joined by something else. ' _Steve?_ '

In a state of shock and still drugged, Steve turned his gaze slowly. His stomach knotted when he saw Clint stood at the other end of the alley. There was a tiny, serene look on the archer's face. One that made Steve feel a thousand times worse than he did before.

His mouth opened. But he had no time for words, because he'd been too worked up to sense or hear the actual, real person approaching him. A single blow sent him to the ground, and finally it was quiet in his head.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…! This is gonna tear the team AND especially Steve to PIECES! How is he going to live with what he's done? And what's going on with him, anyway? AND, with Clint?!

Thoughts? Comments? How much do you love cliffies? (smirks sheepishly) REQUESTS AS TO THE 100-SPECIAL? Because it's nearly upon us. PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you makes me INSANELY happy.

Awkay, because it's high time I head to bed… Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

AngelMouse: THANK GOSH, right?! But DANG, it came close. (shudders)

That's TOTALLY the plan. (grins) Poor Clint!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time?

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: ANNOYING, isn't it? (groans)

SO GOOD that Laura's parents got what they deserved, right? (smirks) And that the Barton family got their happy ending! I'm INSANELY happy that you enjoyed this tale so much. (BEAMS)

I'll TOTALLY keep going after the big 100. (grins) Poor, poor Clint…!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	99. A Hawk and a Captain, part 2 of 2

A/N: DAAAAAAAANG, it took AGES to type this! Apparently hurting Clint and Steve both is a bit too much even for a sadist like me. (chuckles) BUT, here we are, ya all! First, though…

THANK YOU, so much, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings, love and support! They've carried this story THIS FAR. You're MARVELOUS! (grins and HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Hawk and a Captain, part 2 of 2

* * *

As soon as Steve began to regain consciousness he felt that he wasn't safe. He shivered and his breath hitched a little as his head attempted to comprehend what was going on. What, exactly, he'd done.

"I know that you are awake." Vision's voice was familiar and chilling all that once. A growl. "So you can end the game, Captain."

Steve didn't particularly want to. But he needed to find out, had to see… So he opened his eyes halfway. The first thing he saw was a filthy stone-wall. Then, as his ridiculously heavy head agreed to move, his gaze landed on Vision. The disappointment and anger he met…

"You attacked them." Vision was visibly holding himself back. There was a long, lead-heavy pause. "I respect you. I am a member of your team. So I am trying to understand why you, of all people, would do something like this."

"Do what?" Was that horrified whimper his voice? No response came, and Steve began to feel like he couldn't breathe. His stomach twisted, turned and knotted. "Vision, what did I do?"

Vision frowned, studying his face carefully. "You… do not remember?"

"No, he doesn't." Nick Fury's voice made them both shudder. There was a grim expression on the one-eyed man's face. "Rogers, you had enough of some formerly unknown hallucinogenic drug in your bloodstream to take down a horse. You had no control over your actions."

That was a very, very small and feeble comfort. Steve's eyes stung and blurred. He was in no condition to realize that he was crying. "What did I do?" he demanded, his voice broken and desperate. His gaze went from Fury to Vision and back again but neither spoke. "What did I do?"

* * *

Wanda couldn't bear the thought of just laying down. No matter how many times she was told that she needed rest. Not when Steve was missing, Vision was after the Captain and Clint was horribly injured. She waited until she could be absolutely sure that no doctor or nurse would check up on her anytime soon, then tiptoed from the room.

With the dizziness still plaguing her it took too long before she managed to find the correct waiting room. Natasha and Tony were there, even the billionaire sitting absolutely still and both their shoulders hunched with defeat. The looks on their faces made Wanda's blood run cold.

"Natasha? Tony?" Wanda swallowed, and this time the unsteadiness of her step had nothing to do with her concussion. "What's wrong?"

* * *

Clint woke up feeling like his head was full of cotton wool. There were two possible reasons why he was feeling that way. Either he'd been captured by the enemy and drugged. Or medical professionals had pumped too much pain medication into his system.

What kind of a trouble did he get himself into this time…?

His head definitely wasn't working right. But there were a few hazy memories… Were they real, or his imagination…?

He saw a suspicious looking woman leaving the room where Steve was, and decided to go and make sure that everything was alright.

Steve, gasping and holding the back of his neck. There was anguish and sheer terror on the Captain's face. Until their eyes met, and in a flash it all transformed to such rage that chilled Clint.

That was where his memories ended. Clint had no idea what happened, how he ended up to a hospital. But he did know that something had happened to Steve, that something was horribly wrong.

"Hey, easy, easy!" It took too long for that voice to register as Tony's. "Look, it's good to see you mobile but you really, and I mean really have to take it easy. Okay?"

Clint didn't _want to_ take it easy when his friend was in a trouble. But he was already exhausted, and the more he strained himself in effort to get out of the bed, the more achy he became. With a groan of displeasure he settled back down, cold sweat coating his skin and his breath coming out in odd, wheezing pants. "… Steve …"

Even before opening his eyes he felt Tony tense up. His eyes finally agreed to open and focus on his friend just as the billionaire swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen the other man so somber. "He, ah… Vision found him. Fury's got him."

Not enough information. Not even close. Clint's eyebrows furrowed as he fought a mighty battle to stay awake. "… he okay?" It wasn't Steve who attacked him, he reminded himself fiercely. It wasn't Steve. It wasn't Steve. It wasn't…

All of a sudden a violent wave of nausea crashed through him. The cardboard bowl Tony gave was barely quick enough before he expelled whatever little there was in his stomach. Eventually he was left dry-heaving painfully. His eyes watered as his stomach, back and sides were set on fire and ravished by cramps. He honestly, and foolishly, imagined that to be the worst part. Until he looked down on his hand, and arm. Saw the metal, and the color of the skin. The ensuing realization was like someone stabbing him, repeatedly.

 _NO…! No, no, HELL NO…!_

"They… They've been trying to save it for the past three days. You know, restore the proper blood-circulation, treat the infection…" Tony's voice was incredibly quiet. Or was it his ears…? "They… Clint, they said that they may have to amputate, before…" The words faded away entirely.

Clint felt like someone had dropped him to a pitch-black pit of ice-water.

* * *

Steve Rogers was many things. Coward wasn't one of them. Yet he couldn't help feeling like he was just that as he stayed at the local S.H.I.E.L.D base. Waiting… He didn't even know what anymore, when a week had passed by.

At first he'd been kept under watch, just in case whatever drug was given to him would start acting up again. After three days and a lot of blood-samples it became apparent that all traces of the hallucinogenic had left his system were gone. He was free to go home. To his team.

How would he ever look at any of them in the eye? His bare hands and shield harmed Wanda and almost killed Clint. True, he hadn't been in control over his actions and he hadn't been aware of what was happening around him. But the anger that led his actions… It wasn't anything new or unfamiliar. It came from deep within him, fueling his actions. And that was the part he didn't know how to handle.

Steve kept to himself because he didn't want to meet anyone. He didn't ask about his injured friends, especially Clint, because he wasn't sure he would've been able to bear the answers. But of course there was the moment when reality crashed down on him.

There was an unreadable look on Natasha's face when she walked into the room that'd been his hideout for a week. She looked at him for several heavy, agonizing moments before deciding what she wanted to say. "Almost every member of this team has been brainwashed into doing horrible things in the past. Wanda was Hydra's tool. Clint has Loki still ghosting him. Bruce…" Pain flashed in her eyes and she looked away for a couple of seconds. "Wherever he is, he still fights Big Green every day. And I had Red Room. We could've chosen to hide. We could've chosen to give up. But do you know what we did instead?" Her eyes narrowed. "We chose to fight. We decided to at least try to make up for all the red on our ledger. We decided to be bigger than what we've done. You can do the same thing, or you can hide in this miserable room for the rest of your life."

Steve stared. He didn't quite manage to smile, but his features softened for the first time since… "Quite the pep-talk."

Natasha shrugged. "I've spent too much time with Barton." At the mention of the archer's name the air between them changed.

Steve shuddered. Then mustered all his courage. "How is he?"

Natasha's whole body jolted like she'd been shot. It was the first and last time he saw tears in her eyes, even if they were visible for only a second or two. What came out wasn't more than a whisper but still hit him mercilessly. "They're going to amputate his arm today. He needs you. He needs us all."

* * *

Clint had already been given some heavy medication when Wanda had to stop by at the room's toilet. She leaned heavily against the sink and gasped a few times, struggling to regain control over herself. Eventually she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

Everything would work out, somehow. It was what she tried to tell Clint. And it was what she'd have to try to believe. Things… They wouldn't be the same. But Clint would make it through. She'd ensure that. This wasn't another loss.

Just, seeing Clint practically catatonic from shock and those dead eyes, it was too much.

Feeling at least a little more composed, she took another deep breath and returned to the room. Only to freeze, her eyes widening as cold filled her stomach. Because the bed, on which Clint was supposed to be knocked out by medication by now, was empty.

* * *

Clint didn't want to run out on Wanda, to cause her even more worry than he already had. He didn't want to run, period. It just wasn't who he was. But…

These people, a full medical team… They were going to cut off his arm. Like it was just a piece of meat, something expendable, when it was a part of what made him who he was. He just… He needed to breathe. He needed five damned minutes to rage, to rant, to grieve, and then…

Then he'd have to face what was the rest of his life.

His body was full of chemicals, which caused him to be slower than he wanted to be. The world spun nauseatingly in front of his eyes as he made his way… he wasn't entirely sure where. Air. He needed air. Going outside was a logical thing to do, right?

He didn't know why he chose to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Because even in his current state he knew that it was a _bad_ idea. Maybe he wanted to buy himself some more time. Or maybe he was just out of his mind. He didn't really care.

Clint was tough. Had been since the day he was born. But even he had his limitations. With his injuries and the medication given to him… Those limits should've been met ages ago.

He froze in the middle of a step, his eyelids drooping. For a few seconds there were three wobbling stairwells in front of him. He stumbled, all semblance of a balance gone. And then… Then he was flying. It almost made him giggle. A real hawk, wasn't he, flying through the air.

Or wait, was he flying or falling…?

There was no telling how badly he would've hurt himself. If he hadn't landed on something… safe, familiar. A pair of arms wrapped around him, securing him as his knees buckled. Clint gasped, trying to catch his breath and bearings. Tiny black spots were everywhere in his line of vision. Which couldn't be a good thing. But he didn't manage to worry too much when someone had his back.

He slumped quite heavily against Steve. He didn't really have a choice, since he wouldn't have been able to stand on his own. "… you okay…?" he mumbled, his tongue too thick to function properly.

"No", Steve murmured. They both breathed a couple of times, too overwhelmed to process what was going on. The Captain gulped laboriously. "Clint, I'm…"

"Don't." Clint didn't want apologies, or explanations. All he wanted was someone to wake him up, so this would all be over. He needed someone to say that this was all some sort of a sick nightmare. Then he'd get to laugh at this. Then… "Don't." He couldn't recognize the sound that crawled through his throat. "They'll cut off my arm." He wondered, dimly, if he sounded as miserable as he felt.

"I know." Steve had to tighten his hold a little when what little strength there was in Clint's body began to drain. "But we've got your back."

"I know." And he did. No matter what…

He lost consciousness in the middle of that thought.

* * *

When Steve entered the main hallway a minute later with Clint in his arms the rest of the team was waiting. Tense, still trying to come to grips with everything that'd happened. The tension didn't quite evaporate like magic. But that very moment wasn't the time to sort things out.

Twenty minutes later Dr. Adrianne Carter sighed heavily at the sight in Clint's hospital room. Usually family members or friends weren't allowed anywhere near a patient who was prepped for a surgery. But this runner made an exception. "I'll probably get fired for this."

"No, you won't", Nicholas Fury assured her. The look on his face was impossible to read. "I still have some… friends left who owe me a favor."

Adrianne smirked. "And now you owe me a favor", she mused in a teasing tone. "For you, Nicholas… I have just the thing in mind."

"And what might that be?"

"You'll have to wait until the weekend to see."

"I hate surprises."

"No, you don't."

* * *

As soon as Clint woke up he felt that something was amiss, even though heavy pain medication erased all ache and made a mess of his head. He didn't try to move. Didn't want to face the reality of having one limb less just yet. He lay absolutely still, and waited.

There was a warm, solid hand holding his still existing one, and it was comforting enough to lull him to sleep.

* * *

The second time Clint woke up it was to someone poking at him. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know who it was. "C'mon, Tweetie", Tony coaxed, mercifully keeping his volume low. "You've been caught. I know that you're awake."

Clint's nose wrinkled with displeasure. A tiny, pathetic mew escaped before actual words. "'don't wanna be awake."

"I know, buddy." And it actually sounded like Tony did. It wasn't often he heard that sad, caring tone from the billionaire's mouth. "But I've got something that may change your mind."

Clint meant what he said. He wanted to sleep until this crap was all over. But he'd always been a bit too nosy for his own. So, with a groan, he cracked one eye open.

Tony appeared incredibly proud. There, in the man's tender hold, was a prosthetic arm, one that looked eerily lot like the real thing. "My company's newest design", the billionaire announced. "I'm not gonna bore you with all the cool details because you look ready to drop already. But it functions exactly like your own arm. Whatever weird and kinky stuff you want to do, this baby manages."

Clint had no idea what to say. Wasn't even sure he was able to speak from the lump sitting in his throat. His face twisted, and he hoped that it was to a smile. "Thanks."

Tony punched his shoulder gently. "No thanking, Feathers. We're… some sort of a weird, messed up family, remember?"

Falling asleep with a smile on his face, Clint concluded that the meds were messing with his head.

* * *

A couple of days of slow recovery passed by. For Steve the days dragged on. There was still tension between him and the rest of the team, he could feel it although they weren't ready to actually talk about it. On a level of reason they all knew that what happened was in no way his fault. Convincing their subconscious of the same… wasn't quite so easy. And Steve wasn't sure he'd ever manage to forgive himself. He definitely didn't manage to convince himself into spending time in Clint's hospital room, no matter how hard he tried.

So he became a nearly permanent presence at the waiting room. Sometimes he paced, other times he tried to focus on a book or a magazine. He saw far too many people receiving devastating news on their beloved.

Until in the ridiculously early hours of one morning Wanda appeared and took the seat beside his. For a while neither of them talked, both unsure what to say, how to proceed. "Natasha's keeping Clint company. They're both sleeping."

Steve tried to smile. It felt more like a grimace. "Did you come to give me a pep-talk?"

Wanda shook her head. "No. I came for this." And in the next second her hand slipped into his, her fingers curling determinedly to hold still his trembling ones.

Steve frowned. After what he did to her, the last thing he expected… "What are you doing?"

Wanda leaned her head against his shoulder. Trusted, despite everything. "You and the others trusted me even when I hadn't proven that I deserved it." She squeezed a little tighter. "It's pretty easy to trust you when I already know that you've earned it."

Steve didn't trust himself very much at the moment, but her steadfast faith in him erased a tiny portion of the load on his shoulders.

* * *

After weeks or recovery and rehabilitation it was finally time for Clint to go home. The rest of them, even Steve although he wasn't sure he deserved it, was there to escort him. What they witnessed was one of the most beautiful things they'd ever encountered.

The second they were visible Cooper came running. Clint was barely prepared before the boy threw himself to his dad's arms and held on tightly, desperately, face buried to the man's shirt. Clint's eyes appeared suspiciously watery while he whispered something to his son's ear. Whatever it was, it made Cooper hold on even more tightly.

Moments later Laura also rushed out of the Farm. Neither husband nor wife said a thing as she stopped right in front of him and took his prosthetic hand. Their fingers curled together tightly, with more affection than two people should've been capable of feeling. "Hey, stranger", she murmured.

"Hey, honey." Clint pressed his forehead against hers, eyes closing languidly. "I'm home."

The rest of them were starting to feel like intruders. "Tony Stark", Natasha whispered to the man's ear. Barely audibly, as though afraid that she'd break the moment's magic. "Are you crying?"

"Nah." Tony sniffled once. "Stupid hay fever." He then nodded towards her hands, obviously eager to switch the topic. "Are you filming this?"

Natasha nodded firmly. Her hold on her phone was firm. "Of course."

"Good." Because in the middle of all the setbacks and struggle to come… They'd need to remember _this_.

* * *

One person was missing from the great reunion. Lila wanted to see her daddy, of course she did. But mommy said that there was… a piece of him missing. What he was different? What if he wouldn't feel and look like daddy anymore?

So she hid where she always did when she wasn't sure about something. Under her blanket, with Huggy the stuffed toy-hawk cradled tightly against her chest. She stiffened a little upon hearing steps she knew well.

"Hey, sweetheart." Her daddy sounded the same, at least. The bed dipped as he sat to its edge, so close that she felt his familiar warmth through the blanket. "I'm so sorry that I scared you like this. But uncle Tony had me all fixed up. I've got a new, cool arm now."

Lila processed that information for a very long time. "Daddy?" She swallowed. "Can you still tuck me in? And take me to a piggyback ride?" Because the thought of never getting to do those again…

"I sure can." With amazing accuracy his hand found her tummy through the fabric. "And I can still be a tickle-monster, too."

Lila began to giggle. Loudly, uncontrollably. And for the first time since hearing that her daddy had been hurt real bad she relaxed.

She was still under the covers when he embraced her. "Do you know what's going to coax you to come out of there, princess?" He leaned closer, and whispered as though trusting her with a big secret. "Aunt Wanda is here, too, and she's baking muffins."

Lila's eyes widened. She licked her lips. "The chocolate kind?"

"I wouldn't dare to suggest anything else."

Lila didn't hold his new hand when they left the room a little later. Didn't even want to look at it. But she would one day, she told herself. Right now she'd focus on the muffins.

* * *

The recovery continued to advance painfully slowly for both Steve and Clint. Out of silent agreement the whole team remained at the Farm for a long time. After everything that'd happened they needed the reassurance. And for Steve staying there, having to see his permanently injured friend every day, was a form of self-punishment.

One early morning he was up before anyone else. Or so he thought until he stepped to the porch and saw Clint sitting there. He was about to retreat until the archer spoke. "Hey. I've been waiting for you to show up."

Steve frowned. He approached slowly, then sat down. "Why?"

Instead of talking Clint offered him a newspaper, one finger tapping a particular article. Curiosity overcoming discomfort, Steve looked. And shivered.

There was a picture of some big event the name of which he just couldn't memorize. There, in the middle of the crowd… was Bucky. Alive and well.

"I trust you as a leader, Rogers. Always will. Keep that in your thick skull." Clint gave him a tiny smile. "And one day… One day you'll get to bring him home. I'll help you. You can call me anytime." This time the 'why' didn't have to be voiced. "Because if you consider him your family, then he's mine, too."

It'd take months before Clint would recover enough to handle a battle. There was no telling if the man would be able to actually help, even if he wanted to, or shoot an arrow. Just like there was no telling if the archer would ever stop tensing up instinctively when Steve came near. But the Hawk's words were some of the most sincere Steve had ever heard.

/ _"Until the end of the line."_ /

Steve also didn't know if he'd ever forgive himself. Two of his friends had prosthetic arms and it was his fault. Those were his failures, such he'd live with for the rest of his life. But for a few, stolen moments it felt like everything was alright in the world.

And for the first time since Clint got hurt Steve smiled.

* * *

In a whole another country Zemo's eyes glanced to the side when a young woman, still a girl, took the other seat at his table. " _I heard that you're planning on starting a Civil War_ ", his companion stated as a greeting. The noise café around them guaranteed that her words were for his ears only.

" _And I heard that you made one Avenger push another through a window_ ", Zemo countered.

The woman smiled in a way no one would've been a fool enough to trust. " _Yes, I did. And all it took was a needle and a tiny syringe full of magic._ " She leaned closer, one elegant hand going under her chin. " _Imagine how much the two of us could accomplish if we combined our… talents._ "

Zemo's eyebrow bounced up. This wasn't an accomplice he would've known to expect. " _What do you have that'd be of interest to me?_ "

" _The location of the Winter Soldier, for one._ " Her eyes flashed, her true colors showing at last. " _The Avengers destroyed my home and my family. I'm going to do whatever it takes to destroy theirs, with or without your help._ "

* * *

End of short story

* * *

A/N: Now, imagine 'Civil War' happening after this. (winces) Yeah, ouch! BUT, at least Clint made it home. One limb less, but THANK GOSH he had Tony to help with that!

Soooo… Was that ANY GOOD, at all? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know! Hearing from you is THE BEST.

NEXT UP, THE BIG 100 SPECIAL! When a mission goes spectacularly wrong Clint begins doubt his worth and place on the team even more than before. A certain someone appears to show him what would've happened to each member of the team if he never became an Avenger.

Until next time, WHICH IS THE BIG 100! DANG, I can't believe it! I really hope that you'll all join in then.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Quite the amount of twists and turns, right? I'm INSANELY HAPPY that you enjoyed it! (grins) We'll see just how this bleak little tale concludes…

Colossal thank yous for the review! I REALLY hope that the next one turns out worth the wait.


	100. 100 SPECIAL

A/N: I'M SO SORRY that I couldn't update last week! Time ran out, and I didn't want to deliver a rushed product. (winces) Although, NOTHING feels good enough for the 100 special. (chuckles nervously) I'll TRY to make up for the skipped week with posting TWO chapters on the week after next one. How does that sound? (grins)

GOSH, GUYS! 100!

BUT, first…! THANK YOU, so much, for your AMAZING reviews, love and support! You can't even imagine how much they mean to me. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all soppy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that this turns out worth the wait.

LOOSELY inspired by 'It's a Wonderful Life'.

 **SPECIAL GUEST AHOY!**

 **TAKES PLACE A LITLE BEFORE 'AGE OF ULTRON'.**

* * *

100 SPECIAL – A Hawkeye's Worth

* * *

Dr. Sarah Harris's voice sounded oddly muffled to Clint's ears. Maybe it was the hangover. He didn't exactly feel up to facing one of her torture-sessions. "I know that this isn't easy on you, and I'm sorry. But not talking about what happened isn't going to get you anywhere."

Clint groaned, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. He hadn't slept in three nights, he'd been drinking too much and eating too little. None of that helped with his crushing headache and bitter mood. "I killed a child." A little girl of his own daughter's age, who looked so much like Lila that… "How is talking going to solve that?" Five days had done nothing to even dim the memory.

* * *

/ _It was a simple enough mission. Save a small town from the hands of Hydra. He saw an enemy-agent holding a gun at someone and immediately took aim._

 _One arrow, that was all it'd take…_

 _The exact same second he unleashed the arrow an explosion shook the whole town. The light it caused was blinding, but still Clint saw something that made his stomach turn. It all happened in a flash. The girl, who'd been hidden from his sight, moved, startled by the explosion. So did the enemy. The man took only one step, but it was enough to ensure that his arrow missed. And fired the gun._

 _The girl fell, and Clint didn't think he'd ever breathe easily again._ /

* * *

"You didn't kill her", Dr. Harris pointed out stubbornly. "A Hydra-agent did. There was nothing you could've done to stop it."

Clint's jawline tightened and he looked away sharply. "There's only one thing I'm good for to the team. And I can't seem to do even that properly. There's no point in sticking around to see how much worse I could do."

"Is that why Nicholas received your report of resignation yesterday?"

From the beginning Clint had wondered what in the world he was doing in a team of super soldiers, gods and men in iron suits. What could he possibly offer them? It didn't help that more people than he could count had said that he was worthless to them, more or less directly. This latest… event was only the final nail to a coffin that'd been long in the making.

It was time he stopped fooling himself, before more innocent people died because he couldn't do even the little expected of him.

Dr. Harris sighed, as though reading his mind. "I'm not sure if there's anything I could say to prove to you how much you've done for the team. But maybe it'd help if someone showed you."

Clint frowned. _What…?_ "Showed me?"

"Yes." A male voice he'd never heard before came from behind him. Clint stiffened and turned his head quickly, ready to face a threat. What he found was a tall man in blue clothes and a red cape. "You and I… are doing to make a little trip. Right about now, I hope. Having to wait is incredibly irritating and I don't have time to waste."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Stop that. You've got all the time in the universe." Seeing the archer's great degree of hesitation and mistrust, she smiled. "Stephen is… an old friend of mine." Did that translate to 'a patient'? "I know that this sounds… horribly stupid, but he can travel through time and different realities. Along with other things."

Clint stared. And snorted loudly. "Are you both out of your minds? I'm not going anywhere with that guy!"

"What if I told you that I can show what would've become of your team if you never joined them, if you never even existed?"

Clint groaned. "Harris, you're supposed to be a psychiatrist! How…?"

He was cut short when the man moved his hands. Right before his eyes what looked like a fiery portal formed. "You can continue the self-pity party, for all I care. Or you can satisfy your curiosity and _learn_. But choose quickly, because I'm not going to stand around waiting for long."

"You're totally out of your mind", Clint blurted. Then shook his head. "Or no, I am. We all are."

"Clint." Somehow, even in those surreal circumstances, Dr. Harris' voice was soothing. "Stephen isn't going to hurt you. I wouldn't let him anywhere near you if he might."

Clint wasn't sure he could or should believe that. His mind reeled, until a newspaper article floated through. "Wait a second…! Stephen? Dr. Stephen Strange? I remember seeing an article from you. Couldn't understand even half of it. You were a surgeon and now…" He frowned, wondering if he was dreaming. Or still drunk. "… you're, what, a magician?"

Stephen lifted his chin. "Not a magician. A sorcerer. Now, are you going to stop wasting my time and come with me or not?"

Clint was definitely out of his mind. Because instead of walking out he took a step closer to the madman. Dr. Harris wouldn't let that guy harm him in her office. Right? It'd be bad for business. And her professional reputation. Assuming that they wouldn't just…

"Close your eyes."

Oh, no, that didn't sit well with him. Clint's eyes narrowed but remained open. "Why?" A reasonable enough question.

Strange groaned. "Because it's vital to the process." What kind of a lousy, utterly stupid and annoyingly vague explanation was _that_? "Are you going to keep arguing about everything or can we get started?" Marginally more persuasive.

Clint obeyed, shocking even himself. Then cracked one eye open. "It's because you want to seem cool and mysterious, isn't it?"

Strange rolled his eyes, then aimed a glare at him. "Just keep both eyes closed. And stay still." It was impossible to tell for sure, but Clint could've sworn that he heard a few more muttered words. "… am cool and mysterious …"

* * *

For Clint patience was a virtue he'd been forced to practice in line of duty. Which didn't mean that he would've been very good at it. Especially when he was in the presence of a total stranger whose name brought to his mind a comic-book villain.

There was a weird noise he couldn't connect with anything he would've faced before. A fierce, almost violent shove. And then a brutal halt that seemed to make even his very insides rock and rattle.

"Careful." Strange's voice wasn't exactly full of sympathy. "That kind of a traveling may…" The man paused when Clint threw up. "… upset your stomach on the first time. Lovely."

Clint spat, then shoved the humiliation he was feeling to the back of his mind and looked around. He frowned. Although it was dark their surroundings appeared familiar. "Where are we?" A completely ridiculous thought then came to his mind. " _When_ are we?" How did they get there?

Strange's eyebrow bounced up. "How about that. You're smarter than you look." The man rolled his eyes at his glare. He seemed to do that a lot. "That was a compliment."

Clint snorted. This was all so ridiculous that it was almost amusing. He'd definitely had too much to drink and lost his mind. "You're not very good with people, you know that?"

Strange shrugged, unconcerned. "I've heard that before." The red cape seemed to embrace the bizarre man as he moved. Str… _weird_ , all of this. "I told you that there was something I'd show you. Let's get started." And then he was moving.

Clint followed. Partially because he wanted to make sure that Strange wouldn't do anything stupid, dangerous or illegal. Partially because, little as he liked it, the guy was his only ride home from wherever the hell they were. Keeping up with the tall man who seemed to get his speed from some mysterious force was far more challenging than he would've liked to admit.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Ten. That was how many steps he took before the gunshot. Which led to a massive amount of commotion and shouts.

It would've probably been a good idea to head the other way. But since when had Clint ever had good ideas? So instead he dashed right towards the noise, his heart pounding painfully as he wondered what they'd find. Strange's grim expression didn't soothe him at all.

Whatever Clint expected to find as they peered forward from the covers of a hill, the reality was far worse.

There, in the hostile artificial lights, lay a body he recognized far too easily. Blood that came from a single gunshot wound to the head was everywhere. It even stained the hammer the victim had almost slumped on. Glazed over, dead eyes stared at the weapon and they seemed almost moist when light hit them. Thor would never, ever get back up again.

Clint gasped, because screaming wasn't an option with all the people swarming nearby. His eyes grew blurry for a long moment and it wasn't until much later he figured out why. _No…! NO! This wasn't how…!_

"You waited, gave him a chance. Had mercy and discipline." Strange's murmured words were deep and gloomy. "Your replacement in this reality didn't."

Clint felt sick to his stomach, and almost threw up a second time in front of the… whatever Strange considered himself to be. Pain clawed at his insides. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Small wonder when he could barely think.

Thor remained unmoving, lifeless. A million memories flew through Clint's head. All those things the Asgardian – _this version_ , anyhow – would never get to experience.

Clint didn't even notice them starting shimmer away from the grim sight. Wasn't in any condition to notice anything. The last thing he heard was a woman's voice shrieking with horrible pain and grief.

* * *

This time the traveling didn't feel quite as uncomfortable. Which wasn't saying much, because Clint's intestines were still twisting and turning as he gulped several times, leaning his hands against his knees. His head wasn't much better than his stomach. And he didn't think the sight of Thor's dead body would ever fade from his mind. "Why the hell would you make me watch that?" he spat, because anger was an easy response to the ache.

"Because you look like the kind on a person who needs to see to believe." Strange's tone didn't betray emotions but the voice was a hint softer than before. "I know the type."

Clint felt a fairly strong urge to smash his fist right at one of those ridiculous cheekbones. But with tremendous effort he controlled himself. Instead he looked around, jaw clenched. His eyebrows furrowed as he began to recognize. "Is this… India?" He'd visited the country a couple of times for a mission. Never this exact place, though. Something in the back of his head stirred, found a familiarity, but he had no idea why.

Until he saw another familiar face.

It took longer than it should've for him to recognize the tanned man with overgrown dark hair and a massive beard emerging from a nearby house. The arrival glanced around with sharp, suspicious eyes and for a few moments there seemed to be a flash of green. Spotting no threat, Bruce Banner then continued swiftly and disappeared. Hands stained in red. Like a thief, or a shy wild beast. In the house the man just left a child could be heard wailing.

Clint moved instinctively to follow but Strange's hand held him back. "Not a good idea. In this reality he has no clue who you are, and Big Green doesn't like surprise visitors." The man's eyes, the color of which seemed to change with his moods or perhaps the light, observed the direction to which Bruce disappeared. "Here he doesn't have the Avengers to offer him a purpose. The Other Guy doesn't let him die but also doesn't leave much room for living, with the people chasing him and the threat he poses on everyone around him. Maybe working here helps him feel a little less like a monster."

For a long time Clint didn't manage to speak. That trapped look in Bruce's eyes, that loneliness and hopelessness… "And how did you know where he is?"

Strange glanced his way before focusing on some unidentifiable spot. "This Bruce has come to me three times. Once to ask for help, the second time to beg me to end him, and the third time pleading me to teach him how to help these people."

That Bruce would've considered death a better alternative… The utter despair Clint just witnessed… Somehow it was as bad as Thor's…

"Throw up on my shoes and I'll turn you into a toad."

Clint scoffed. "Weren't you supposed to be a mighty sorcerer, not a cheap magician?"

Strange gave him an unreadable look. "The difference between a sorcerer and a cheap magician is that one can actually make that threat come true. Do you want to take that chance?"

Clint groaned. He was getting really, honestly and completely sick of this. "Green's never been my color. Just get us the hell away from here." Although he wasn't sure he wanted to see what was to come next.

This time he was prepared for the stomach- and mind turning journey.

* * *

But Clint definitely wasn't ready for the destination. Because it was New York. With one massive difference.

The Stark Tower that was later transformed into The Avengers Tower… It was in shambles. No one had even attempted to repair it. Clint's chest tightened painfully. The cold that filled him was nothing human.

"When Loki and his army invaded New York… The city didn't have the Avengers to protect it. I'm sure that you remember the… plan B?" Strange took a deep breath, then gritted his teeth so hard that it had to hurt. "This… was something even I couldn't undo entirely. I was able to save the city, reverse the explosion. But people… After something like that… After the city had been attacked so viciously… They needed something to unite them. Some kind of a symbol to keep the hope alive."

A distant memory floated to Clint's head. Sharp as a knife. His eyes blurred for a few seconds. "Tony…"

Strange nodded stiffly. "His sacrifice… The symbolic value of it was something no tricks I pulled could replace. In this reality it was Tony Stark's heroic death that kept New York from falling apart entirely."

Clint's eyes flashed. Anger once again easier to handle. "You can travel through… what, time, space and realities. And you couldn't save him?" Another death… Another friend lost…

"Oh, I've seen a second reality where he survives the bomb. Do you know what happens there?" Strange's face appeared grimmer than ever before. "He drank himself to death in three months, brought down by the nightmares and depression. There were no Avengers to offer him a purpose."

Clint groaned. He wasn't about to admit, even to himself, that he was close to tears. "How the hell did such a group of emotionally unstable people ever become a team?"

Strange, for once, didn't say a word. Instead the man focused, his hands glowing in a rather eerie manner. Until six pieces of thin, cracked glass appeared. Incredibly gently the sorcerer moved the pieces so that they were leaning on one another. "This, is what you were when the team was born. And this… is what happens when one of you was removed from the equation." The man pulled out one piece. In an instant the fragile but formerly stable structure collapsed, each bit exploding to what looked like hundreds of shards.

Clint stared. Then snorted. "Show-off."

Strange's eyebrow rose. "You have to admit that it was at least somewhat impressive." When he said nothing the man went on, blatantly ignoring his far from awestruck expression. "Now let's get back. I have more important things to do than this sight-seeing-tour."

Clint frowned. His head hurt, he ached and this was all far too emotionally draining. Still… "What about…?"

"You'll find out soon." Strange's tone was ominous. "Whether you'll like it or not."

* * *

A short and unpleasant journey later they were back in what Clint assumed to be his own time and reality. In Dr. Harris' office, like they'd never even left it. And somehow Strange had obtained two thick files. Clint's eyebrow bounced up. "Do I want to know how you got those?"

"Nope, probably not."

"Okay."

Without anything further one of the files was dropped to the table in front of him. ' _Romanova, Natalia / Black Widow_ ' Along with the name there was a date. ' _Mission Closed_ ' Clint's intestines seemed to knot.

"You chose to save her. You saw something in her worth salvaging. Your replacement didn't."

A tear, just one, rolled down Clint's cheek. He didn't bother wiping it away. To imagine a reality where Natasha was butchered without a chance to see the good things life had to offer… That the scared, angry and tormented girl he once met never got a second chance… It shattered his heart.

The second file fell before Clint had the chance to recover and he shivered. ' _Rogers, Steve_ ' "He was a hero. A symbol of righteousness and courage, even if he didn't have a team to lead. Until the SHIELD fell. And… Well. I'm sure that you can imagine the rest. He's been missing ever since. No one knows if he's still alive."

Clint swallowed thickly, not liking the taste in his mouth. Such a mess, all of this. He took several deep breaths, trying to make sense of it all, then lifted his gaze to look at Strange. "You have no idea how many people have told me that I don't deserve my spot in the team. I couldn't…" He clenched his jaw and looked away. "I couldn't even save that child. So what is this all about?"

"Have you ever considered that maybe Phil Coulson knew what he was doing?" Dr. Harris entered the room and closed the door to ensure that they had privacy, a warm look on her face. Yet again her eyes seemed to see more than Clint would've wanted. "Every single one of you has a purpose, and you all have the right to be on the team. Alone you're incredible. But together, when you fight united… You're something undefeatable." She sighed. "Sometimes you just can't save everyone, Clint. As infuriating and painful as it is. I don't think I can ever get you to accept it. But I'll try my darned hardest to make sure that you can live with that knowledge."

Clint was tense. Enough so for it to hurt. "What I just saw…" He shook his head, his thoughts tangling together. "Why would my absence matter so much? I'm just a guy with a bow and arrows."

Dr. Harris smiled. "And a guy with a heart. No matter what anyone says, that isn't a bad thing. Because it's your greatest weapon."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Dr. Harris and Doctor Strange stood by the window of her office, their eyes directed to the street below. Clint emerged from the building, but he wasn't alone. The whole Avengers team was there with him, either to ensure that he'd be okay, to make sure that he actually visited her this time or perhaps both. Steve, always the leader, had the front, as though to guard their way. Thor walked beside the main-group, a silent but majestic presence that cast a protective shadow on the others. Bruce lingered a couple of steps behind, keeping his distance but unhesitant. Tony walked right beside Clint, talking constantly and gesturing animatedly with both hands. Natasha occupied Clint's other side, and no one on the whole planet would've dared to point out that she was holding his hand.

A united front.

"What he saw today surprised him." Sarah couldn't help but smile. "But it didn't surprise me."

"He'll never stop questioning himself. He's too stubborn to stop." Phil Coulson took her other side, also looking to the street while sipping coffee. "But maybe he'll question himself less after today." After a few moments the former handler's eyes swept briefly towards Strange. "What you did… Thank you."

Doctor Strange shrugged. "You know perfectly well why I had to do it." The man spun around, his cape billowing dramatically. "See you soon." And with those words he was gone.

Sarah gave Phil a curious look when the man groaned.

"It's never good news when he says 'see you soon'." Phil downed the rest of his coffee and grimaced. "Usually he doesn't bother showing up until it's the end of the world." He then gave her a small, polite smile. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Oh, no. You're not going anywhere." Sarah rolled her eyes at his confused look. "Don't bother. We both know that Clint isn't the only one who's been skipping my sessions lately."

* * *

Clint didn't tell anyone what, exactly, happened during the therapy session. Just that they'd never believe him. Judging by the rattled state of him, they figured he was right.

That night Clint finally slept. What Strange showed him… It wasn't a magic cure. There'd be countless of times when he'd question himself again. And he'd never fully forgive himself over the little girl's death. But at least he could _breathe_ again.

The following day Nicholas Fury discovered that the archer's resignation form had vanished mysteriously, and hid a smile with a mug of sickeningly strong coffee. Then winced. Knowing that now _he_ owed Strange a favor.

* * *

End of 100 special

* * *

A/N: Awww! We all know how valuable Hawkeye is. Let's hope that one day he'll believe it, too!

SOOOO, folks… What's the verdict? Was that ANY good AT ALL? Or should I delete it immediately? PLEASE, do let me know!

AND THANK YOU FOR THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART FOR STICKING AROUND FOR ALL THIS TIME! Some of you have actually been with this story from the start. Others have joined in later. THANK YOU! I'VE LOVED THIS JOURNEY AND YOU'VE MADE IT A THOUSAND TIMES BETTER! (HUUUUUUUUUGS)

HERE'S TO ANOTHER HUNDRED!

Awkay, I really need some sleep. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you all then.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: THANK GOSH! Anything else would've been too heartbreaking. Those poor things! (sighs)

I'm THRILLED that you liked the twists! (BEEEEAMS) I just couldn't resist. (grins)

I REALLY hope that the special turns out worth the wait!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	101. Shock to the System

A/N: PHEW! I've been traveling this week (to visit a dear friend), which was ABSOLUTELY AWESOME but I was also worried that I wouldn't nail an update. BUT HERE I AM! Yay…?

MY GOSH, FOLKS, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS, LOVE AND SUPPORT! It's been over 100 chapter and you're still here. It means more than you could ever imagine! (HUGS)

A QUICK NOTE! I failed the update the other week. HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I'D UPDATE TWICE ON THE SLOWLY DAWNING WEEK? ON Wednesday or Thursday and during the weekend? PLEASE, do let me know how you feel!

Awkay, because stalling is teasing… Let's go! I REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Shock to the System

* * *

The Avengers' newest mission was almost over. They'd come to find out who'd been selling top-secret data to the enemy. Then they'd take down the enemy base, which happened to be a former hospital. Sounded fairly easy, in theory, especially considering the foes their team had faced in the past.

 _In theory_ , Clint mused sourly while making his way through a narrow hallway that reeked, was often a lot different from _the actual reality_.

Clint groaned and rolled his shoulder, then groaned again when it popped pleasantly. Tossing around an enemy who weighed a ton… _Never_ a good idea. But the guy earned it after grazing his side with a knife. The archer didn't even bother wasting a perfectly good arrow on the idiot.

While he continued to try and catch his breath reports from the rest of the team came raining in. Thor had cleared his part of the building, as had Tony and Steve. He could hear a one more roar from Hulk. " _I found out who sold the information._ " Natasha's tone promised a certain death to someone. Unless she'd already unleashed her rage. " _Nina Ivory, a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. She agreed to sell the information when these people got a hold of her son and swore to kill him if she wouldn't._ "

" _And how, exactly, did you find out that much?_ " Tony inquired.

Clint winced, all too familiar with Natasha's methods of… intel gathering from hostile targets. "Trust me, Tin Can, you don't really want to know." He turned a corner, only to face a one more enemy. His companion was dressed in a uniform similar to what their current targets wore and a black mask that covered the face. They both tensed up at the sight of each other.

Clint gritted his teeth. Great. Another stupid fight, just what he needed.

They clashed quickly and violently. Kicks. Punches. At some point both of them grabbed a knife. Clint received a couple of lashes that'd need stitching up but in the end he was far more skilled. His enemy lay on the ground with a blade stuck in his chest, more blood gushing out with each heartbeat. The archer couldn't tell if it was the other's first battle but it'd be the last. The thought sickened him. Unsure if he wanted to see but needing to, the Hawk removed his fallen opponent's mask. To reveal the face of a boy who couldn't be older than nineteen. It was a small miracle that he succeeded in not throwing up right there and then.

He was far too used to killing. Enough so for it to chill him sometimes. But encountering targets who were this young… It never got easier.

Clint swallowed convulsively. When he finally spoke he didn't sound like himself. "Found Ivory's son." His jaw tightened to an extend that hurt. He forced himself to keep looking at the youth although it was the last thing he wanted to do. "They brainwashed him. He's gone."

" _Barton…_ "

"I know", he interrupted more sharply than he'd intended. Then gritted his teeth again. "Let's just wrap this up."

Clint was shocked enough to not notice an item that'd fallen to the floor during their scuffle until it was a second too late. The kid's eyes opened halfway, pained and barely aware. A tiny, unsteady smirk revealed a set of blood-stained teeth. "… clear …", the boy hissed.

From the corner of his eye Clint caught something that looked distinctly like a defibrillator. His lips opened while his hand pulled the knife off the kid, speeding up the process of bleeding out. The exact second his other hand slammed against the boy the electric current hit him like a bolt of lightning. Traveled through him, burning like fire and culminating to agony that seemed to make his heart explode. And then everything disappeared.

The two of them died side by side.

* * *

Natasha took a deep breath, her sharp eyes gleaming from adrenaline. She was determined to not look at the two bodies lay on the floor, one of them almost directly at her feet. "Sounds like we're done", she announced. "Let's get the hell out of here."

" _Language!_ " Steve scolded automatically.

" _Oh, please!_ " Tony scoffed. " _We all heard you just ten minutes ago. You'd deserve to get your mouth washed by soap._ "

" _Is that how misbehavior is punished in this realm?_ " Thor inquired with genuine curiosity.

Natasha rolled her eyes. If the beginning of a smile tickled the corners of her lips, no one would ever know. "Barton, let's get these kids home." There was no response. Her stomach knotted while her eyebrows furrowed. "Barton?" Still nothing. And all of a sudden a horrible though began to raise its head in her mind. She was running before she actively chose to do so, led by instinct more than anything else. She knew her partner's luck. If there was even the slightest chance of something still going wrong…

 _Clint Barton, you idiot, when I get my hands on you…!_

Whatever thought had been in her head froze right there, along with her body. Because she'd been right. And this was one of those times when she absolutely hated being right. Her blood ran cold and her chest tightened painfully.

She'd reached a nearly dark, rather narrow hallway. And there she found her friend. Along with a kid she'd never seen before, who was by then covered in blood. They both lay on the floor. Horribly still, not breathing. An ancient-looking defibrillator lay right beside them. It was smoking, obviously having served its last.

Natasha was already dashing forward as she spoke. Her tone was frosty, professional, detached. It betrayed nothing of the turmoil inside her. "Is Banner available?"

" _He's still recovering from post-Green._ " Steve sounded worried, and instantly alerted. " _Why?_ "

"He needs to come to hallway C. Right now." Natasha crash-landed harshly to her knees and ignored that violent slash of pain which followed. All she could see was how still her best friend's chest was, and the slight hint of blue that'd already taken over his lips. How long had it been…? "Barton got himself electrocuted."

A huge amount of hassle followed her announcement. Natasha was deaf to it all. Her hand wasn't as steady as she would've wanted it to be as she tapped her friend's cheek harshly, knowing that it was useless but unable to chase away the fool's hope. Clint remained lifeless. She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt. "You're not doing this, you get that? You're not…!" Her voice trailed off. She decided that it was better that way, because she didn't want to hear her own voice speak the unthinkable.

Natasha didn't feel even a hint of remorse as her sharp knife tore the front Clint's suit. He deserved to have it destroyed for being a moron. Yet again her hands were far too unsteady as she sought the correct spot and began pressing firmly.

One… Two three… One round of thirty compressions. Then another. She paused to listen, her blood rushing deafeningly as panic she would've admitted to no living soul took over. There still wasn't a sign of life. Her unsteadiness was worse when she began the third round of compressions. The entire time her lips kept moving, forming words even she had no idea of. Her eyes were oddly blurry but she didn't pause to wonder why. Couldn't afford that distraction.

Midway round number five the others appeared. The amount of noise didn't register to her. All she could concentrate on was her friend, whose lips were getting bluer by the second. Something bent and cracked under her hand, and belatedly she realized that it was a rib. Maybe two. There was no color on Clint's face anymore.

" _Romanoff._ " Bruce was right beside her, but his voice seemed to come from a million miles away. " _Tasha, you…_ "

Natasha emitted a sharp, hissing sound. Not sure who she was the most furious at. Clint for getting himself into this situation, herself for failing to help or Bruce for distracting her. Her lips kept moving but she was too breathless for actual words. It was like she'd stopped breathing, too.

She was already starting round number six. And far too aware of the fact that with each passing second the chances of bringing the archer back grew slimmer. Too much time had already slipped away. Too much…

"Natasha, stop!" Bruce commanded, this time so sharply that it snapped her fully into present.

Natasha was about to snarl exactly what she thought about stopping. Until she noticed what Bruce did. A faint thud. The smallest of gasps. Then, a few moments later, a massive gulp of air that led to a violent coughing fit and a moan of agony. She could see how hard Clint fought to open his eyes but didn't quite manage it. Whatever little consciousness the archer had faded away, leaving him lay limply. But at least he was breathing, alive. The relief made her shoulders slump and she grunted, adrenaline still running through her system.

The others stared. And stared, shock having paralyzed them. Quite predictably Tony was the first one to find his voice. "Shit!" This time Steve didn't scold him over such language.

"Will he be alright?" Thor inquired, concern on his face.

Bruce swallowed convulsively. The man's hands shook from effort of keeping The Other Guy at bay. "We…" The scientist cleared his throat. "We've gotta get him away from here. He needs oxygen. And a proper examination. But… Yeah, hopefully."

Steve stepped forward. With incredibly gentle arms the soldier picked up the unresponsive archer. It chilled them all that Clint offered no resistance, even subconsciously. The Captain's jaw clenched. "C'mon." It was unclear if Steve was talking to them all or just Clint. "Let's go home."

They were more than happy with that plan.

Natasha kept a deliberate distance to Clint as the group left, deciding that she'd find it safer to approach once she had herself under control once more. Walking behind the others, she frowned and wiped her eyes. She was shocked to discover that there was moisture on her fingers.

* * *

The flight home was tense and silent. Even Tony barely talked, which was a sure sign of how bad things got. They'd all most likely have a few unpleasant dreams of what happened.

As soon as they made it to the Tower a medical team snatched Clint away to check the still unconscious archer properly. A painfully long hour later a doctor finally approached the anxious, far from patient team with news.

Clint's body was without oxygen for a rather long time. Whether that left any permanent damage they'd find out over time. At the moment the archer's vitals were fairly steady, but the man would need additional oxygen for a while. They'd also keep an eye on his heart until they could be absolutely certain that things were stable. The harsh, long CPR had broken a couple of ribs but for once the Hawk had been lucky and they hadn't done great damage.

Things didn't look too bleak, but their friend wasn't out of the woods yet. Right now all they could do was wait and give Clint time. It was all out of their hands, and none of them liked it.

Natasha walked out of the room and the building almost as soon as the doctor left them.

* * *

Clint woke up twice before he regained consciousness properly.

The first time everything was covered in a weird, white hue. He frowned, almost certain that there was a human-shaped shadow in his line of vision. Was someone whispering?

" _… you awake…?_ "

Painfully bright light shone directly into his eyes. It moved back and forth, making his head feel like it was about to explode. The pitch-black darkness which swallowed him was almost a blessing.

The next time he was actually able to keep his eyes open and looked around, although it seemed to require a ridiculous amount of effort. He groaned, or perhaps whimpered. His eyes were starting to see properly infuriatingly slowly.

At the back of the room Tony and Bruce were immersed to a conversation about something. The way Tony's eyes shone and the billionaire's hands gestured animatedly suggested that a yet another scientific experiment was in the making. Thor stood by the window, drumming the sill with restless fingers while the hammer wielders gaze stared at the sky. Clint felt tempted to ask what, exactly, the Asgardian was thinking about but knew that he'd never manage such a long sentence. Next his gaze spied Steve, who sat right beside his bed reading a book. Guarding him.

It was positively heart melting. The whole team there keeping him company. Save one. Where was Natasha? Clint faded back to darkness before he got the chance to try and ask.

He had sickening dreams of the dead kid.

The next time he woke up only Tony was there, intensely focused on sketching something. As his throat felt too dry for words Clint reached out a feeble hand and poked. Then again when his first attempt didn't earn results. Tony moved his gaze with startle and grinned at the sight of him awake. "How about that! The Sleeping Birdy finally awakens."

Clint grinned, or maybe winced. Then coughed painfully, his side feeling like it was set on fire. Broken ribs, then. He drank gratefully when Tony helped a straw into his mouth.

"Careful", the billionaire commanded, sounding uncharacteristically solemn. "You're only just waking up from a long nap and you've got a set of pretty well mauled ribs. I'm not having you choking on me."

Clint swallowed the last of the water. The cool liquid felt heavenly, no matter how much it hurt. "… long?" he rasped, his voice barely audible.

"How long you were out cold?" Tony took a deep breath and rubbed his face with both hands. The man looked exhausted. "A couple of days. You remember what happened?" The billionaire scoffed at his confusion. "Lucky you. You got yourself fried pretty good. Stopped breathing, needed CPR, got some smashed ribs and all that crap. Try not to do that again."

That… didn't sound pleasant. Clint tried to look appropriately sheepish. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just… Just don't do that ever again." Tony tried to grin but it didn't seem right. "Not get some sleep. I'll scold you some more when you wake up, Feather Brain."

Clint knew that Tony would keep watch, and slumbered dreamlessly.

* * *

Clint woke up a couple of more times and discovered a little more of what happened. The kid… The cardiac arrest… Yet again he mused that he was lucky to be alive.

The sixth time he woke up Natasha was sitting beside his bed, a tense look on her unhealthily pale face.

Clint swallowed thickly and tried to move. Which was quickly proven to be a bad idea. He spoke as soon as he'd caught his breath and the worst fires of agony faded. "Tasha, I'm sorry…"

"You actually died this time, you know that?" Her eyes flashed dangerously. Fear and rage had always been too close to one another in her emotional range. "And then you wouldn't come back." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea how it felt? How close I came to believing that…?" She trailed off and looked away, only her growing paleness betraying her true emotions.

"I'm sorry", Clint tried again, his voice at least a little stronger.

Natasha shook her head and glared at him. "I don't want your apologies. I want…" She swallowed, once, twice, thrice. "You don't get to check out, Barton. Not like that."

He was one of the very, very few people in the world she cared about. That he almost died, especially like that… He reached out a gentle hand and took hers. Her fingers closed around his so tightly that it hurt.

It took at least two full minutes before she went on quietly, snatching him back when he'd nearly fallen asleep. "You just can't dump me with this team. I couldn't babysit them alone."

Clint smiled faintly. It held a touch of melancholy as he searched her face. "Yeah, you could." He'd seen what she was capable of, the good and the bad. He'd seen who she really was, deep down, the moment he saw her, and for that he saved her life. He knew that she could, if she had to.

"I know." She squeezed his hand a little tighter still. "But I don't want to." It was the most heartfelt admission of affection and sentiment he'd ever heard from her lips.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Steve peered into the room. What he found froze him by the doorway. And brought a warm, relieved smile to his lips.

Clint was half-awake, flipping through TV-channels and finally stopping to some soap-opera. Beside the man on the narrow bed lay Natasha, sleeping for the first time since the whole ordeal began. Her hand clutched Clint's other one so hard that her knuckles had turned white. And there was a tiny, shockingly open smile on her lips.

Steve decided to leave the two alone. They needed some peace and quiet, and he had to get some paperwork done. For the first time in days the soldier's steps were light.

* * *

End of oneshot

* * *

A/N: Oh boy…! (shudders) Poor Clint! But thank gosh he made it through this… electric adventure. (Bad puns are badass, guys. That's my new motto.)

Soooooooo… Was that electric, or just plain horrid? PLEASE, do let me know! And also let me know how you'd feel about a double-update next week. Hearing from you means THE WORLD to me!

Awkay, I REALLY need to go and get some sleep. Until next time, my feathery friends! I REALLY hope that you'll all join in then.

Take care!

* * *

Guest (1): I'm sorry that the latest chapter wasn't to your taste. The stories in this collection vary A LOT when it comes to the storylines and genuine air. Maybe something that comes later pleases you more.

Thank you so much for the review, anyway!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I'm SUPER HAPPY to hear that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) That's EXACTLY why I typed it. Too many people question Clint's worth, he himself more than anyone. He deserves to know just how valuable he is!

THANK GOSH for Phil, too! I miss him so much, too. (whimpers)

200, here we come! (grins) OOOH, there'll TOTALLY be a chapter with Phil in the future!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest (2): Awww, it means A LOT that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) Heh, those two are adorable, aren't they?

Natasha will DEFINITELY be present A LOT in the future. And Spidey just may visit once I've seen the upcoming movie. (grins)

Monumental thank yous for the review!

* * *

Carry692: I'm INSANELY HAPPY that you enjoyed it! AND, that to you I succeeded in nailing the exact purpose of the chapter. Clint and far too many other people have NO IDEA how valuable he is!

I decided to go easy on Clint this time. For the sake of the 100 special. (grins) Don't worry, there are LOTS of near deaths coming! (smirks)

Humongous thank yous for the review!


	102. A Hawk Blown Apart, part 1 of 2

A/N: Phew! I promised two 'SOS' updates this week. And I'll be damned if you don't get two! (grins)

FIRST, though… THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews and love! It's been over a hundred chapters and you're all still there. It means A LOT! (HUGS)

Awkay, because I'm in a need of some sleep… Let's go! I REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **DON'T BE CONFUSED,** the man of this chapter is definitely our favorite archer. This two-parter is something a bit different…

* * *

A Hawk Blown Apart, part 1 of 2 (Clint's POV)

* * *

The ringing of his ears was absolutely horrific. Deafening, head-splitting. He wasn't sure if he screamed. Nothing but the mind shattering sound existed.

In the end he needed something else to focus on. He fought a war, and finally managed to wrench his eyes halfway open. For a long time everything spun and swayed nauseatingly. With three slow blinks the world began to make sense. Sort of. Because he didn't really want to believe what he was seeing.

There was a nearly completely destroyed building around him. A couple of partial walls that had some scorch-marks. He wondered, idly, what happened to the rest of it. Was he supposed to remember? His head…

All of a sudden there was a face above his. A young woman, her long blonde hair tied neatly and a pair of concerned brown eyes looking down at him. Her lips were moving but he couldn't hear a single word.

He couldn't do much of anything, really. Moving wasn't an option when he couldn't feel anything of his body but his head. He wasn't able to talk or even really think. He just lay there, as though no longer one with his body. And blinked.

The woman, a paramedic he realized now, frowned and shouted at someone over her shoulder. The ground below him… Did it move? Shudder? Or was he imagining things? Why was it important to know…?

Everything, absolutely everything, faded away before he got the chance to finish that thought.

* * *

He had no idea how long he was sleeping. Unconscious. Comatose. It was impossible to tell which. At least he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was alive. No dead person could've been in the kind of pain he was. He wondered, more with curiosity than worry, if there was anything in him that wasn't shattered.

The annoying ringing of his ears was still there, and didn't seem to have any intention of fading away anytime soon.

At least Clint had regained a small amount of his wits. He couldn't stand the idea of not knowing where he was and what kind of people were around him, especially when he was so defenseless. It took a lot of time and a ridiculous amount of effort. But at last his eyes opened a crack.

There was white. A lot of it, so much that it almost hurt more than the infuriating ringing. For a few heartbeats he wondered if he did die, after all. Until he realized that he could actually feel each beat. Very much alive, then. He just wished, dearly, that he would've been able to move. The forced immobility… It was torture.

He wanted to get away, needed to…!

A face appeared to his line of vision, so suddenly that he shivered. A man at about his age, dark skinned and muscular. He was able to distinguish a set of green scrubs and the arrival's lips moving before a light was pointed to his eyes. It made his head explode almost literally.

His throat hurt as badly as his head did before the blinding light swallowed _everything_.

* * *

The ringing was still his constant companion when he somehow succeeded in floating back again. But at least it wasn't as loud and all-consuming anymore. Something had also happened to the fire of agony. It was nothing more than a dull throb.

Pain-meds were a wondrous thing.

This time opening his eyes didn't seem to be an option. It didn't bother him like it should've. Nor did the still continued lack of mobility.

Something… with his head… Something happened…

/ _He stared at a teddy-bear, and mused that it was such Lila would love. He turned his head, planning on asking how much the toy cost. The next moment everything went up in flames and a deafening explosion slammed him down._ /

His chest tightened painfully. Enough so to make it hard to breathe. He gasped, desperately, but all the oxygen in the whole world wouldn't have been enough. Black spots and stars danced in his line of vision.

His eyes slipped closed once more. A few seconds later there were unfamiliar, unwanted hands on him. Pushing, poking, pulling, stuffing something into his throat. He wanted those hands to go away, leave him alone. What were they doing to him? He was…! He couldn't…!

Consciousness fled him, and he wasn't even able to scream.

* * *

Something must've happened to his condition. Because the next time he woke up he was able to open his eyes fairly easily, even if his eyelids still weighed a ton. He frowned.

The room… was different … Still hospital… But less clinical, somehow…

His ears were still ringing, though, which was almost comfortingly familiar.

A nurse stood by the foot of his bed, a I.V. bag in her hand. She'd probably been supposed to change it. Instead she was staring at a TV screen, one hand covering her lips. Still too out of it to be more than curious, he followed her gaze.

There was a news-update. Something about an explosion that took place at a shopping center four days earlier. Apparently there were now forty-two victims.

He felt his blood run cold before he blacked out.

* * *

The ringing was finally almost entirely gone when he woke up the next time. He was actually able to hear other things. Such as the infuriatingly loud machinery. Noise from the hallway.

And a familiar voice. One he wasn't quite sure was actually there. "… Barton …"

He wanted to scream. Wanted desperately to call out. _Steve, I'm right here!_

His fingers twitched uselessly a couple of times. The rest of him refused to budge. He blamed the drugs racing through his system when a few tears of frustration slid down his cheeks.

Members of staff barged into the room just then, most likely imagining that his discomfort was caused by pain. He tried to convince his mouth into functioning. Attempted to tell them what he wanted. They drugged him into oblivion before he got the chance.

Someone was shouting as he faded away.

* * *

The next time he floated to awareness it was more echoes than anything else. He didn't bother even trying to open his eyes. _Everything_ hurt.

Muffled noise reached his ears, barely. "… your friend?"

"… not sure …" _Tony?_ A hand grabbed his, slowly, cautiously. "Clint?"

He didn't know where the strength and will came from. Because it felt like he had none. But his fingers curled, only barely but still. It was enough.

There was hope.

* * *

He fought his way back to awareness once more. It took a few moments before he remembered where he was, and much longer until he was able to function. He turned his head to discover that he wasn't alone.

He had no idea when Wanda had last slept properly. Because she appeared utterly exhausted as she slumbered peacefully on a chair right beside his bed. She was pale, but aside that and fatigue she seemed to be okay.

Comforted by that knowledge, he turned his gaze a little more. It fell easily on a morphine pump. He took several deep breaths, bracing himself.

On a level of reason he knew that he needed pain-relief. But he wasn't about to accept the kind that made him unable to even think properly. He was done being out of control.

That thought urged him forward. Gritting his teeth, he reached out a hand. Somehow he managed to touch the device, just enough to lower the dosage. He stared at it for a long time, making sure. Then closed his eyes and relaxed.

Sleep came eerily easily. He dreamt of flying. And woke up screaming to flames of agony ravishing all of him.

* * *

"No fiddling with your meds." Was he still dreaming? Or was Natasha really there? "We've had this conversation before." Definitely real. There was no mistaking or imagining that tone, which would've terrified most people.

Opening his eyes was yet again a challenge. He swallowed, and winced when it hurt hellishly. "… don't listen …"

Natasha rolled her eyes. She seemed almost as drained as Wanda. When was the last time _she_ slept? "Oh, I know you don't listen." She was merciful enough to offer him a tiny sip of water. "For once in your life try to shut up. You shouldn't be talking yet."

Too bad he had no intention to stay quiet. His head was whirring, still slowed down by drugs. "… got myself blown up…" It was almost funny, if it wasn't so horrible. All the missions he survived, and he almost got killed shopping for gifts for his kids.

"You did", Natasha confirmed. Her eyes didn't hide as much as she probably would've wanted. "Those people treating you… They still don't know how it's possible, but… You'll be okay. Just… Take it easy. And stay keep your hands off the morphine pump."

He groaned from frustration. His nose wrinkled. "'can't think", he complained.

"Since when have you ever done any thinking?"

He wished that he would've had the energy to laugh. And that he would've been able to do so without feeling like he was torn apart. Instead he emitted a rather nauseating, gurgling sound. He lifted his hand to his face to rub his eyes. Only to find the limb freezing when it met…

"Don't", Natasha warned far too late, shockingly open emotions all over her face.

He gulped. Once, twice, thrice. Unable to move his hand away. His sluggish brain attempted to understand, connected the dots with such effort that it _hurt_. "Tony… couldn't recognize me…" His voice sounded bad, barely human. Were his words even comprehensible. "Why?" When his friend wouldn't answer he tried again, more fiercely and desperately. "Why?"

"Not now." Natasha was firm. "Not yet."

"A mirror." It wasn't a request. He narrowed his eyes when Natasha refused to obey. "A mirror… or I'll get it myself."

Ten minutes later a howl of rage and agony echoed from the room.

* * *

He dreamt of flying again. Of floating effortlessly. Nothing bad or unpleasant existed there, only this unnatural peace.

Too bad it wasn't meant to last.

First came the pain. Then the confusion. He floated once more, although this time it felt more like falling uncontrollably. He was caught before he had to crash down by something as simple as a hand holding his.

"Shh…" Another familiar voice. A thumb rubbed his skin, anchoring him. "You'll be okay, honey. I know that it hurts but you'll be okay."

His eyes were blurry when they opened. It was a long time later he figured out why. "Laura…" His words caught into his throat, not only because it hurt too much to talk.

Laura's eyes were full of tears when she looked at him and squeezed his hand more tightly. "It'll be okay", she swore again. He wanted to believe her.

His jumbled thoughts whirred and finally came to a screeching halt. His tongue felt too thick in his mouth. "The kids… Like this, don't let them…" _God, Laura, whatever happens, don't let them see me like this._

Laura nodded. Did she wipe her eyes with her free hand? "I won't bring them to see you until you're ready." No questions or attempts to make him change his mind, just unconditional understanding. He wished he would've been able to hug her. Or better yet, kiss her.

He swallowed convulsively. The memory of her taste was somehow stronger than the burning agony. He took several deep breaths, gathered himself. "… the damage?" He needed to know. Had to find out just what kind of a battle there was ahead of him.

Laura didn't seem sure at all but went on anyhow, slowly. She knew that he wouldn't give up before getting the answers. "A lot broken ribs. You also broke your arm. The fractured skull had the medical team worried but it's healing well. It's impossible to tell if there's brain damage yet. We'll just have to give you some time. Internal…" She gulped hard and looked away, beginning to tremble. He hated himself for making her go through this. She soldiered on, even convinced herself to meet his eyes. "Internal bleeding. Blood loss… It was one of the things that almost…" She couldn't voice the final word, instead cleared her throat. "At least ten third degree burns all over your body. You…" She gasped once, or perhaps gagged. "They said… said that you were on fire, when they first found you."

He shuddered. He honestly wasn't sure if he was able to handle hearing more. But there was something… Something she was hiding… He frowned. "Laura?" It sounded more like a pitiable, childish plea than anything else.

Laura gulped. Her eyes overflowed anew, and this time she didn't even try to wipe away the moisture. "Clint, honey… There's…" Her voice broke. "We all agreed that I should be the one to tell you something."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: OH GOSH… That DOES NOT sound good! (whimpers) I REALLY HOPE that this wasn't too confusing! But a girl's gotta try something different every now and then. (grins)

Any good at all? Also, WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE THE SECOND PART AS SOON AS THIS SUNDAY? It's from the POV of everyone else; partially going through these events AND what happens next. How does that sound?

ALSO, FOR THE FUTURE… Would you like Jessica Jones stopping by?

Awkay, it's LATE, AGAIN, so I REALLY have to go. Until next time! Hopefully I'll see you all then.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: (giggles) That it was, just ask Clint…! That was one of the main reasons I chose that method this time. Electricity's been almost nonexistent thus far. AH, you're REALLY sharp-eyed! It was shorter than most. (nods) Awww, it means A LOT that you're enjoying these tales so much! (HUGS)

OOOOOH! I ABSOLUTELY ADORE that prompt! It's also a good opportunity for some major badassClint. (grins) Keep the prompts coming! I LOOOOOOOVE getting them.

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Carry692: Awww! It's SO AMAZING to hear that you enjoy the ride, even after all this time. (HUGS)

The friendship between Clint and Natasha is such a beautiful thing! (BEAMS) SO GLAD that fate led them together.

I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride!

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	103. A Hawk Blown Apart, part 2 of 2

A/N: Pheeeeeeew! It took AGES to polish this chapter to a point where I felt comfortable with publishing it. But here we are!

THANK YOU, so, so much, for the BAFFLING amount of reviews and love! DAAAANG. You guys are THE BEST! (HUUGS)

Awkay, because I left you on a HORRIFIC cliffie… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

THE PERSPECTIVE IS ONCE AGAIN VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE USUAL. I hope that you don't mind!

* * *

A Hawk Blown Apart, part 2 of 2

* * *

It's funny, really, how seemingly harmlessly nightmares can begin. A water glass hitting the Tower's floor only made a small sound. "Which mall did Clint say he was going to?" Wanda half-whispered.

* * *

When Lisa and Gareth Lloyd went looking for clothes for their daughter's graduation party they had no idea how the day would turn out. One moment they were supposed to leave. The next the mall exploded.

They were amongst the lucky ones. They were far enough to not encounter the worst of the blast or the flames. A lot of stuff came crumbling down. It was a small miracle that none of it crushed them.

Then it was over, or perhaps just beginning.

Like any sane people they planned on getting as far away from the destruction as they could. They were passing by a hallway that was partially on fire when Gareth stumbled on what he first thought was just a piece of debris. Until he realized that there was something human-shaped underneath. The more he saw the more his eyes widened.

Some flames still caressed a pair of nauseatingly burned legs. The stench of burning flesh would haunt Gareth until his dying day. There wasn't much left of those legs. The debris had crushed both to a point where there the limbs' shape was gone. Large shards of glass, at least ten of them, stuck out from the man's back and side. There were more burns everywhere Gareth looked. One of the stranger's arms had bent to an unnatural angle but looked otherwise unharmed. The other had faced the brunt of the flames and debris. Several parts were charred, one finger was missing and two more were completely black. It was impossible to tell what all had happened to the poor guy's face. A massive cut ran across half his face, splitting one of his eyes. Bruising and swelling had already begun to form. It could only be guessed if bones had been damaged.

Gareth was ready to deem the stranger a corpse, until he realized that the sickening, wet and raspy sounds were breathing. His eyes grew even larger. "Oh god… Lisa, give me your coat, now! We've gotta put out the flames, he's still alive!"

* * *

Despite her young age Emilia Thomas had been a paramedic for five years. She'd faced a lot of things that'd most likely always appear in her nightmares. Horrific accidents. The results of violence. A couple of times even dead and abused children. The explosion of the mall succeeded in being worse than anything she'd ever encountered before.

What she found from the ruins… Blood, death, parts of once whole human beings… They made her stomach turn, and it took all her professionalism to keep herself together. Sharply she looked away from what she couldn't do a thing about, and fought her hardest to focus on those poor souls who weren't beyond hope.

Because amongst the ruins there was also life. Screams, sobs, whimpers. At some point she lost track on how many people she helped the best as she could. Perhaps it was better that way.

She'd just watched a painfully young girl die. The gloomy thoughts which followed were cut short by a desperate, terrified cry. "Please, help! He needs help!"

Emilia's feet were on the move before she could process the decision properly. A middle-aged couple, neither of which seemed unscratched, were kneeled by a man who wasn't moving. By the time she reached them the flames had been extinguished but smoke still rose from the poor soul's legs. "There's still a fire two hallways away from here", the woman helping the prone man reported and coughed loudly. "We had to get him away from there."

Emilia nodded. In an ideal situation someone in his condition would've been left still until professionals arrived. But the current circumstances and 'ideal' didn't really go hand in hand. "Has he been conscious?"

Both helpers shook their heads. Not a surprise. Especially when Emilia wondered if the man was even alive anymore. Until one bleary eye fluttered open.

No one knew about the wallet and the scorched teddy bear, which lay side by side in the ruins of the building.

* * *

The hospital was in a state of chaos when Emilia walked in with the still unidentified victim. More people than she could count had gathered there in varying stages of terror and despair, many pleading and screaming for information on their missing loved ones. Some had brought photographs. Doctors and nurses did what little they could to control the chaos, tried to remind the people that they needed some space to do their work. A man in his early thirties screamed from the bottom of his heart and soul, the sound raw and animalistic, and fell on his knees when his worst fears were confirmed. He was clutching at a teddy-bear and the picture of a widely smiling little girl with her mother. Emilia gritted her teeth fiercely through a slash of ache and looked away, focusing on her job.

"Jesus Christ…!" a doctor muttered, then swore loudly at the sight of her patient. He shone a penlight but got nothing as a response. "You said he was conscious for a while?"

"Barely", Emilia admitted. "He didn't seem to have any idea what I was saying. Stopped breathing twice before we got here."

The doctor sighed heavily. His shoulders slumped. "Did you find any ID?" At her negative response he sighed heavily. "Right. Okay." The doctor cleared his throat. "Let's get to work."

Emilia wasn't a fool. She knew that the mystery-man had barely any hope. Nonetheless a small army of medical professionals took over his care, determined to not give up just yet.

She didn't know when she took the man's hand. But after standing still for a few seconds she let go, then turned and began to walk away. For a few heartbeats she allowed herself to wonder how many people would be left grieving the poor guy, and cursed the injustice of the world. Then she steeled herself to face another battle.

Emilia needed some fresh air, desperately. She was just pushing her way through the crowd pleading information when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She blinked twice with surprise upon facing Tony Stark. The man's eyes were suspiciously red, and he was holding himself together with such struggle that he was trembling. "Sorry I'm bothering, but… My friend… He was at that mall. Were you there? I just…" His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "I was just wondering if you've seen him."

Emilia swallowed hard, remembering all the death she encountered. "I've seen a lot of people today", she warned gently. "But if you have a picture I can take a look."

"He's Clint. Clint Barton."

It was more of a shred of a photograph than anything else, torn from a full picture. A widely grinning man with kind, handsome face. Emilia stared for several moments with a frown on her face. Then shook her head slowly, her eyebrows furrowing even further. "I… don't think so. But I can't be sure. Like I said, I've seen a lot of people today. And I wasn't the only person working there. He may have also been taken to another hospital."

Tony's jawline tightened. Another voice jumped in before the billionaire got the chance to say a word. "Thank you." Was that… Steve Rogers? There was a strained look on the Captain's pale face. "We'll keep waiting."

Emilia nodded, wishing from the bottom of her heart that she could've offered them more. She was already walking away when she peered over her shoulder a one more time. "Hey." She gave the distraught friends what she hoped to be a comforting smile. "I hope that you'll find him soon. He looks like a good guy."

* * *

Dr. Owen Thomas didn't have a lot of job-experience but he had plenty of determination to make up for that. Still, when he faced his newest patient he was certain that he was looking at a dead on arrival. Until, so suddenly that he shuddered from startle, an eye opened, looking around the room blearily.

"You've gotta be kidding me…" Owen's hand wasn't exactly steady while he reached out for a penlight, then stepped into his patient's line of sight. "Hey, buddy, can you hear me? You're in a hospital and we'll take good care of you." Feeling a hint of relief when the eye began to focus on him, he lifted the light. "Do me a favor and follow this with your gaze."

Owen pointed the light, and in an instant things went to hell as the patient started seizing.

* * *

That exact moment was the starting point of a ridiculous rollercoaster ride. Complications followed the moments when Owen was sure that the patient actually had hope, after all. And somehow, impossibly, the Patient Without a Name was still alive five days after the explosion. Yet very, very far away from being out of the woods.

Two hours later he leaned heavily against a wall, massaging the bridge of his nose with two fingers while his colleague went through the files, test results and x-rays of his mystery-patient. "So there's nothing we can do?"

A heavy sigh answered louder than words. "Sorry, Owen. I'm pretty good at my job but I'm not a wizard." A frustrated finger tapped at a picture of shattered bones. "See that? There's barely any blood circulation left, and the skin's toast." Shake of a head followed. "Although, honestly? I wouldn't bet my money that he'll survive the surgery."

Owen pursed his lips and took a long sip of disgustingly strong coffee. "I don't know. He's been stubborn enough to make it this far." He really, really wanted this one to pull through. He'd already lost three other patients who came from the mall explosion.

Owen refused to imagine what his patient's life would be like, if the man ever woke up. Wouldn't let himself try and count what the chances for each possible outcome were. He wanted to, needed to, focus on hope.

Owen was just leaving the room when a nurse he hadn't met before, Shannon according to her nametag, rushed towards him. There was a tense look on her face. "Dr. Thomas, you need to come to the patient. Something's wrong."

* * *

Coroner Aisha Shimmer was only twenty-eight but she'd seen far too much. If she wasn't wearing her work-uniform, she would've ran a hand through her shortcut, neon-blue dyed hair as she braced herself to meet a yet another family member. The explosion of the mall had killed a lot of people and they all seemed to end up to her morgue.

The dead she could handle. They didn't cry, scream and whimper in pain. The living… They were a different story.

Well. At least the beautiful, red-haired woman she found from the hallway seemed composed enough. Aisha nodded politely when their eyes met. "I understood that you're here to identify a victim." She pulled out a sheet of paper. "Your name…?"

"Natasha Romanoff." The tone was like a hiss, or a whip. Full of agony. "Let's just get this over with."

They stood by the body of a blond-haired man in his late thirties for twenty seconds before Natasha shook her head. "No." And that was all she said before storming out of the room.

Ten more seconds later there was noise from the hallway. It was unnaturally loud and violent amongst all the death. When Aisha went to investigate she found a trashcan that'd been kicked hard enough to damage it. Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

The previous time Shannon Olsen met Tony Stark they were both sixteen and behaved every bit as maturely as most people at their age. A couple of weeks of heated passion, with neither really knowing what they were doing. A lot of fighting. Swearing that they'd never see each other again. And then she found him from the waiting room of the ICU where she worked.

Awkward would've been an understatement.

Shannon sighed heavily. "You're not immediate family so this isn't exactly going according to the rules. But it's been days, and I just want him to finally have a name."

Tony nodded slowly and gratefully. Even tried to smile. For a tiny while they both felt like they were sixteen again. "Thanks."

 _I'm doing this for him, not you_ , Shannon wanted to snap but didn't. They'd grown up more than that. She also didn't reach out for his hand, even though he looked like he needed a hug. They'd grown up past that, too.

By then they'd already reached the correct ICU-room's door. She took a deep breath, knowing far too well what was waiting inside and how traumatizing it'd be for friends to face. "So… What did you say his name was, again?"

Steve beat Tony to answering. There were deep worry-lines on the usually painfully young-looking Captain's face. "Clint Barton."

Shannon never got the chance to reply. Because chaos erupted in the room. She could only hope that the insanely stubborn man hadn't chosen _this_ moment to give up.

It took almost an hour before they'd managed to stabilize the patient. And immediately after that he was rushed into operating theater. It wasn't until hours later, near the end of her shift, Shannon was able to offer any sort of an update. What she found from the waiting room wasn't something she could in any way connect to the sixteen-year-old she once knew.

Tony and Steve had company, three women. She recognized the one holding Tony's hand as Pepper Potts. The group wore grim and sad expressions but they were huddled close to each other, seeking and providing comfort. When they sensed her presence they all looked at her and stood up as one. It occurred to Shannon that she'd been wrong upon claiming that they weren't family members.

Clint Barton was definitely lucky in friends.

A warm feeling swell in the pit of Shannon's stomach. Until she realized that she'd have to tell them about the surgery which just took place. She inhaled deeply. "Why don't you sit down? It's going to be a long night…"

* * *

Shannon slept poorly that night. She knew that whether her patient was this Clint Barton or not, he wouldn't be up to visitors for a while. Yet when she returned to work for a yet another nightshift the whole gang was still there. She would've taken a picture if she could've. Instead she checked up on the patient to discover that while he kept the morning and evening shifts on their toes, he was still alive and going strong. And up to receiving a visitor.

Obviously the whole team wanted to enter the room. Steve, his face incredibly pale, had already taken a few steps towards her when Tony spoke. "I'll go." The billionaire gritted his teeth, hard. "I… I was the one who told him about that mall. So I'll go." His tone made it obvious that there was nothing anyone could say or do to change his mind.

Neither spoke as they made their way to the room. She'd told them all, with brutal honesty, what to expect. Still Tony recoiled a couple of steps, moisture pooling into his eyes, when the door opened. It took almost two full minutes before he finally steeled himself and forced his feet onwards.

Shannon wouldn't have blamed Tony if he wouldn't have had any idea if the man on the bed was Clint. Medication and injury had made swelling gather to the patient's face. And then there was all the other damage. "Is it your friend?" she asked softly, trying to distract the billionaire when his pained eyes lingered where the other man's legs used to be.

Tony's Adam's apple bobbed. "I, ah…" He gulped again and shook his head. "I'm not sure." Gently, gently, he took the other's limp hand, clearly worried that he'd cause further harm. "Clint?"

It wasn't louder than a whisper. And the patient was supposed to be knocked out by medication. But still those fingers curled barely noticeably as a response. Shannon could've sworn that she also saw a trace of a smile.

Tony's face lit up as he blinded himself momentarily to all the injury. It was the first and last time she ever saw him cry, only a few tears but still. "It's… It's Clint. It's definitely Clint."

Fifteen minutes later she followed Tony out of the room, mainly to ensure that he made it safely to his friends. "It was Clint, he's still alive", were the first words Tony uttered to them. And that seemed to be all which mattered. There was still no guarantee that Clint would make it. If he did, there was a hellish road of pain, recovery, adjustment and rehabilitation ahead. But he was alive.

There was hope.

* * *

Steve was there to observe and follow when the medical professionals finally decided that Clint was ready to leave the ICU. The nurse in her late fifties pushing the bed, Sandra, gave the soldier a smile. "You do know that he's in safe hands with us, don't you, love?"

Steve's cheeks colored. "Yes, ma'am. Of course", he assured hurriedly. "Just…" His eyes swept towards Clint, although it was evident that he tried to look that way as little as possible. "I want to make sure." Too many close-calls, too much pain.

Sandra gave him a look of sympathy, even if the man didn't see it. Then looked down towards Clint, who appeared peaceful. "Well, he appreciates you being here. Finally that stubborn man seems to be sleeping soundly."

Steve smiled.

* * *

Jack Jones had been a nurse at his current ward for over ten years. He'd seen, more times than he could count, how overwhelming meeting injured and possibly dying loved ones could be. How it shattered some of even the strongest people.

A young, red-haired woman the staff had come to know as Wanda stood frozen by the doorway of Clint's room. She wasn't crying but her eyes weren't dry, either. She was trembling so badly that it was a miracle she managed to stay upright.

Jack moved to make his way to, to tell her that she should go home and get some rest, when another person got to her first. A slightly older woman, also a redhead. Natasha, wasn't she? There was no physical contact, the arrival merely stood right beside the younger one. A strong, calming presence. Natasha murmured a few words in a language Jack couldn't understand. Wanda considered them, then nodded, her shoulders relaxing, and entered.

Once the door slid closed Jack approached. "What did you say to her?" Of course it was none of his business but he was curious. Too few heartwarming things took place at his bleak ward.

Natasha's jawline tightened. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That it'll get easier."

He smiled. "You're a good friend."

"No, I'm not." Natasha turned sharply and began to walk away. "I lied."

* * *

Two more weeks later Jack was certain that he'd met all of Clint's friends. Until he found a woman he'd never seen before. She'd slumped to a sitting position right outside the room, face buried into both hands and gasping desperately. He frowned, walking closer with healthy caution. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head. Once, twice, thrice. "I just… I just had to tell him… that he'll never launch another arrow… That he'll never see properly… That… That he doesn't have his fucking legs anymore… That he'll never walk, even with prosthetic legs… without feeling like he's set on fire…" She gasped, hyperventilating and too much in a shock to even cry. "So… No… I'm not okay… I'm not…" She trailed off.

Jack had no words. No magic tricks that would've made her pain go away. So, without saying a word, he sat down beside her, offering the only comfort he could. And there he remained for almost half an hour, while a colleague with whom he exchanged nods of understanding slipped into the room to medicate Clint.

Not for the first time Jack cursed the injustice of the world.

* * *

Dr. Sarah Harris sighed heavily as she marched towards Clint's hospital room like someone preparing themselves for a war. As the Avengers' more or less official shrink she'd faced a lot of… challenges. She had no idea where to even begin with this one.

Clint lay on his bed with his back towards her. He stiffened the second she walked in. "Whatever you've got to say, not now. Just…" Was that a sob? "Not yet."

Her gaze spotted the remains of a phone on the floor. She winced, knowing that he wouldn't see. "So, here's the thing." She sat down and stretched her legs. "I'm not going to insult you by saying that I get what you're going through. Because honestly? I have no idea. That's why I need you to help me understand."

It was impossible to identify the sound Clint emitted. It took ages before he produced speech. "I can't." That tone would've shattered anyone's heart.

Sarah gritted her teeth and hardened herself. _Damnit, Barton…!_ "Yes, you can. And you won't be doing it alone."

* * *

Three weeks later Sarah made her way to the hospital for the fifth time. She would've never admitted it out loud but after their past few sessions she was terrified of what she might find. Against all odds the sight inside brought a grin to her lips.

Apparently all restrictions concerning the number of visitors were off. Because the whole gang, Laura and Pepper included, was in the room. Even Clint was finally allowed to a proper sitting position. Clearly they were all sick of hospital food, because they were having a junk food party. The Hawk wasn't quite smiling. But the defeated look that was in his eyes the previous time Sarah saw him was gone. For now that was enough. There was hope.

Sarah slipped away soundlessly as a ghost, and breathed easily.

* * *

A month passed. Then another. Until one rainy afternoon the rehabilitation center where physical therapist Clara Tyler worked received a new visitor.

She'd studied the new patient's information carefully in beforehand. She knew to expect challenges. For both emotional and physical reasons.

Working with Clint was somehow a nightmare and a dream come true all at once.

One afternoon five weeks after his arrival they were so exhausted after exercising that they could only lay on the floor, panting. "Why…" Clint coughed, his lungs still adjusting. "Why do you push me so hard?"

"Because… I'm a New Yorker." Clara stretched, her breathing already even. "I don't know if you remember, but… During the Battle of New York, you saved my life. Killed one of those… aliens just before it would've killed me." She punched his uninjured shoulder gently. "I saw how much of a fighter you are then. And I'm not going to let you give up now."

"So… No mercy?"

"None", she affirmed.

For the first time since waking up with almost half of him missing Clint smiled.

* * *

John Cooper had spent half of his life building and remodeling houses. He smiled as his eyes scanned through the farm that was his newest job. It'd been built and renovated with great amount of love. He'd make sure that he'd do it justice.

"That husband of yours… Is he a war veteran?" John asked conversationally as he began to take measurements for a wheelchair ramp.

His employer, Laura, seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment. Then nodded. He wondered if she was aware of the sad little smile on her lips, of the dreamy and pained look in her eyes. "Yeah. He is."

"No he isn't!" a little girl who'd been playing nearby argued. "Daddy's a superhero."

John smiled. So much love in this house. Whatever the man returning there had gone through, whatever there was ahead of him emotionally and physically, he'd never have to go through it alone. "In that case I'll make this the best house in the whole wide world. How does that sound?"

The girl nodded. And smiled. John couldn't know that it was the first time she smiled since hearing that her daddy got hurt.

* * *

A lot of time passed by. But eventually Clara was watching Clint leave the rehabilitation center. He was in a wheelchair because walking more than thirty steps at a time would never, ever be possible. His life would never be the same again. _He_ would never be the same again.

But he'd also never be alone.

Tony pushed the chair fast enough to earn a scolding from Pepper and a eyeroll from Natasha. Clint only grinned and said something that made the rest of the gang laugh. Of course the Hawk didn't need to be pushed around anymore. But he seemed to have come to the decision that it was something Tony needed.

"Is he going to be alright?" Nick Fury demanded from beside her, and only a careful ear caught the emotions in his voice.

Clara nodded with a smile. "It still won't be easy, but he will be. I'll make a few house calls to make sure." Her eyes softened when she saw a hand grabbing one of her patient's, and a secret little kiss. "They'll all be just fine."

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: PHEW! DAAAAAAAAANG, was that the cruelest I've been to Clint in this collection? (shudders) The poor thing! And poor team!

SO. This is one of those storylines that I could consider stretching to an independent five or six chapters long fic. Deleted scenes of Clint's recovery, and the team's as well. How would you feel about that?

AND, even more importantly, how was the chapter? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you always means the world to me.

Awkay, I REALLY have to go to bed now. Until next time! I hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

Carry692: Hello again! (BEAMS) DANG, I can be pure evil sometimes. I'm SO HAPPY that you enjoyed the chapter AND the perspective! I REALLY hope that the second part will please you as well!

LOL, poor Clint, and poor readers… (smirks sheepishly)

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Anonymous: WELCOME BACK! I've missed you. (BEAMS and hugs)

I'm ridiculously happy that you've enjoyed the chapters so much! LOL, I TRULY HOPE that the second part will have you as excited. Now, I should probably hide…? (smirks)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	104. The Island (FEAT Pietro)

A/N: PHEW! It took me a little longer than I expected to get this typed. But here we are! Yay?

Before getting started… DAAAANG! THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and love. I CAN'T BELIEVE how popular this collection has become! (BEAMS and hugs)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Island (FEAT Pietro)

* * *

Clint had been fighting since he was a little boy. Big battles and small. Sometimes such that endangered his life.

First his opponent was his father. Then came the orphanage. Followed by the circus. And Barney, which he regretted the most of all, even after all the years that'd gone by. Then… came the Life After. Until Phil Coulson and S.H.I.E.L.D found him, to give him something real and proper to fight against. And eventually he even joined the Avengers.

Clint was so used to having to fight, to always having an opponent, that a moment of peace felt unnatural. He didn't trust the silence. Didn't trust the serenity.

At home Laura preferred pretending that she didn't notice. Until she couldn't play a fool any longer and the inevitable arguments ensued. How could she not have noticed? There were times when he spent several nights awake, often standing at their porch and glaring into the horizon, waiting. There were nights when he could only sleep with steel under his pillow, and even then he woke up covered in cold sweat and panting, ghosts all around him. Sometimes he simply disappeared into his own mind for hours. That was when he started a new renovation project and destroyed something until he was bleeding or able to breathe easily.

It wasn't fair on her, he knew with misery filling his heart. That there were times when he wasn't really there, even when he was home. That Hawkeye stole so much of the life that was supposed to be Clint Barton's.

But now he stood on the stony shore of a tiny island, cold water caressing his bare feet. There were no other islands or people as far as his eyes could see. And there, staring at the lake that seemed to continue to all eternity, Clint felt at peace with the silence surrounding him.

Well, not that there would've been a lot of 'quiet' with his companion. "Old man! I was shot several times just three weeks ago. Are you going to make me carry all my bags?"

Clint woke up from his thoughts and rolled his eyes before making his way to the boy. "You've got only one bag, kid", he pointed out. "And you make it sound like you're moving in." He groaned when lifting the luggage, his own still healing wound protesting violently. "What the hell do you have in this thing? Stones? Hate to break it to you, but we've got a lot of those right here."

"Language!"

"I'm never leaving you alone with Rogers again."

"Someone's grumpy." Pietro Maximoff gave him a brief, seemingly indifferent look. A seasoned assassin saw more. "At least you're a little less green. What's with you and water, anyway?"

Clint shivered, a very unpleasant memory seeping to his mind without being summoned. "Hawks fly, kid. They don't float very well." He preferred focusing on the tiny cabin stood on top of a steep hill. It was a very old thing, built long before he was born and already weary. A layer of paint would've done it miracles. As would've a bulldozer. But it was the only building on the island Fury alone knew of. And the one place safe enough in the whole world for Pietro to recover fully without being discovered by Hydra. They'd make do. "Now let's move it. We've got a lot of work to do if we don't want to freeze to death tonight."

Pietro groaned loudly and muttered something in his native tongue, Clint smirked, feeling bizarrely at peace.

He owed Pietro his life. The kid nearly died to save him. Spending a few weeks in this strange, gloomy place was a pathetically small repayment.

And if he was perfectly honest, he found himself liking it there.

* * *

It took a couple of hours to get the fire going properly. It was dark outside. Mist rose from the water like a thief, wrapping around their cabin and the whole island like a blanket. The sight was as terrifying as it was beautiful.

By then Pietro was already asleep, snoring softly. Usually the speedster healed quickly, or so the boy had said, but the kind of injuries the lad received were nonetheless taxing. Clint busied himself with looking after the fire and tried his hardest to not think.

It was close to midnight, he was fairly sure, when the archer heard the noise. Soft thuds. Then even softer wails that he first imagined were the wind. It felt almost like someone was calling out to him. And he answered, never having been a coward, knife in hand.

There were steep, narrow stairs that led to the cottage's tiny basement. Clint followed them carefully, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light far more slowly than he would've liked. The further he went the louder the noises became. The thuds, the taunting calls.

' _… Clint …_ '

' _… please …_ '

' _… hear me …_ '

There was a gray rug on the floor that had to be at least as old as the cabin. Clint stared at it for a few moments, the dark playing tricks on his mind, and cursed himself for being stupid. Then, with firmly gritted teeth, he grabbed the rug and tossed it aside.

Underneath was a heavy-looking, firmly bolted hatch. Just big enough for a person to slip through. The thuds and whispers seemed to come from underneath it. He would've needed a key to open it. He had no intention to over touch it again.

After a few seconds of staring Clint scoffed, then covered the hatch again. He was a grown man. It was time to stop believing in ghosts. He just needed some sleep.

So sleep Clint did. He dreamt of sinking into the waves that surrounded the cabin. Of the cold water wrapping around him, pulling him deeper and deeper like hands. He woke up gasping, and for a while he was sure that his breath fogged up the air.

* * *

Three days passed by almost exactly the same way. They woke up shortly after dawn, Clint naturally and Pietro with a lot of complaints. Although it was cold they ate breakfast outside, watching how the fog retreated and disappeared like it was never even there. Afterwards he tended to the kid's wounds. They didn't seem to be healing at all. Every day they glared at Clint, mocking him.

"Why the hell did you do something this stupid?"

Pietro shrugged. "Because I wanted to do something right in my life." The boy winced when a wound was cleaned. "I could ask you the same thing."

Clint took a deep, not quite steady breath. In his mind the face of that boy still mixed with Cooper's, and Lila's. "Because if it was my kid… All alone, horrified… I'd want someone to do something." The thought sickened him but he couldn't chase it away.

"So you'd die for somebody else's family?"

"I had to make peace with that decision when I first joined S.H.I.E.L.D."

Pietro considered. Then wrinkled his nose. "It sucks."

"It does", Clint agreed. He didn't want to count how many times he'd been willing to make that choice. And how many times he'd been able to do nothing but watch as others did. He shivered and winced when a bad taste filled his mouth all of a sudden. "And language like that? We've gotta cut down the time you spend around Stark, too."

Pietro snorted. "Really? Out of you two, you're much worse."

Clint's eyebrow bounced up. "I'm the one with my hands on your wounds. I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you."

Silence fell. For a while. "Did you just stick your tongue out at me?"

"Maybe."

"Really mature, Speedy Gonzales."

"Ouch! So was that, Old Man." Pietro pouted, and frowned. "Who's Speedy Gonzales?"

"As soon as we get away from here, we really need to make sure that you get to live a little, kid."

* * *

That night Clint dreamt of drowning again. There was no fear, no fighting. Just peace, and coldness. And darkness.

The second Clint gasped back to wakefulness he felt that he wasn't alone in the room. He tensed up, all his senses strained to extreme. "Kid?" There was no response. He gritted his teeth. "If this is one of your stupid jokes, I swear…!"

Something touched him. A cold, soft hand caressed his face, sending electric jolts through him. Clint stiffened, his head spinning.

Was he still dreaming, was this a part of some sick nightmare?

The banging was there yet again, louder this time. The voice that used to whisper was like a roar. ' _CLINT, PLEASE!_ '

Clint screamed.

* * *

The following day Pietro didn't ask about the nightmare. The kid was already used to them after the days they'd spent together. They were both a little more quiet than usual, too tense and exhausted for their usual banter.

They had breakfast outside but this time the fog persisted, concealing everything but their little island from sight. The air felt colder, carried a promise of winter. The waves crashing against the stony shore sounded like sobs.

"You'll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, old man."

For once Clint didn't have a witty comeback.

* * *

That night Clint approached the hatch. Absolutely certain that he was dreaming yet again. It was still firmly bolted, which relieved him more than he would've cared to admit. But almost blindingly bright light streamed from underneath, reaching out towards him like tentacles.

Clint slammed the cellar's door closed, locked it and told Pietro that they wouldn't open it again for as long as they were on the island.

* * *

Eventually ten days had flown by. Pietro's wounds still didn't seem to be healing. Clint's head hurt from stress and lack of sleep. What was once a place of peace became something of a hell.

"I'm feeling better, you know?" Pietro pointed out. "They don't even hurt. It's time to go home."

"With you looking like Swiss cheese? I don't think so." Clint's jaw tightened, a particularly brutal slash of headache striking him. "Now hold still so I won't spill this stuff everywhere."

"I wasn't made for staying still, old man. Not even before I got my powers." Pietro was fidgeting under his hands. "I'll have to start running again soon."

Clint rolled his eyes at the other's stubbornness. It was painfully familiar. "Again, not while you're still Swiss cheese."

Pietro looked towards his bare toes that were in constant motion. "Clint. We need to go home." It sounded almost like a prayer.

"Not until you're better."

"This place is killing you."

"Drama queen."

Pietro said nothing.

* * *

That night Clint woke up to the unmistakable sounds of steps. He tensed up, until he realized that he knew these. His eyebrows furrowed. "Pietro? Kid?" When there was no response he climbed out of the bed, trying to brace himself for anything.

Clint's legs felt oddly stiff while he made his way to the hallway. An already familiar cold filled him when he saw the unnatural light spreading from the cellar. His heart began to thump so hard that his chest hurt while he moved closer against his will. His mouth opened, but whatever he planned on saying got stuck in his throat.

The mist had seeped into the cabin as well, he noticed with a degree of alarm. It wrapped around his toes and ankles hungrily, caressed him with icy fingertips. Moving forward became even more of a challenge than it already was.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Clint reached the cellar. The fog was much thicker there, made it nearly impossible to see Pietro although the boy stood only a step or two away. "You need to wake up, now", the speedster told him in a voice that didn't sound familiar. "You've already been sleeping too long. Can't you hear them?"

The pleas…

' _Clint?_ '

'… _you hear me_ …?'

'… _open your eyes_ …'

'… _please_ …'

The hatch that used to be bolted and locked had flown wide open. The bright light shone through with all its might, easily overpowering the fog. It felt warm, stung when it competed with cold over power on his skin.

"You need to wake up", Pietro announced again, firmly. There was sadness in the boy's familiar grin. "And I need to keep running. There's nothing for either of us here."

Just like that, with such clarity that hurt more than any amount of bullets or knives, Clint remembered and understood.

The bullets raining down…

Pietro's dead eyes looking at him…

/ _"Bet you didn't see that coming."_ /

Clint swallowed thickly. The weight of guilt crashing on his shoulders once more. His eyes filled with moisture. Not that he would've ever admitted as much.

"You helped me do something right in my life. Now go back and do the same for someone else." Pietro shrugged. "Maybe that's your superpower."

Clint stepped towards the hatch, the light. Because he knew that he had no other choice. "Look, kid…"

"I know. Let's not make this any cornier than this already is." Pietro shifted, fast on his way to disappearing into the mist. "And… Tell Wanda…"

"Didn't we agree to not make this any cornier?" The light was almost burning hot after all the cold. Grabbed him so hungrily that it was terrifying. "I'll… see you."

"Not if I see you first, old man."

It was a 'I'm sorry', 'Take care', 'I'll be okay', 'Thank you' and 'Goodbye' all rolled into one. Pietro disappeared into the fog. The light swallowed Clint.

The whole world disappeared.

* * *

Only to begin again.

The beeping of machinery… The sterile reek… The fog in his head too much pain medication caused… They were all familiar.

The hand holding his wasn't.

Getting his eyes open was a struggle. Turning his head even worse. It took infuriatingly long before Clint's line of vision cleared enough for him to understand what he was seeing.

Wanda appeared pale and absolutely exhausted. The air of grief hung heavily on her. But the joy that sparked in her eyes when she realized that he was awake was genuine. "Hey", she whispered. Then swallowed, her hold on his hand tightening. "When… When they found you unconscious and bleeding… I thought that I'd lose you, too. That my brother died for nothing."

Clint frowned. Then found it all coming back to him. Pietro got shot, and so did he, even if it took him a while to notice. He managed to make sure that the little boy was okay. He lay down, closed his eyes, and then…

"Sorry", he rasped. And winced at how he sounded. Obviously he'd been sleeping too long. His eyebrows furrowed. "… how long?"

Wanda sighed heavily. She appeared far older than her age somehow. "Ten days, maybe twelve." She tilted her head and wiped her eyes, her other hand maintaining its stubborn grip on his. He was the last thing left of her brother, Pietro's sacrifice. "What were you dreaming about, anyway? Because… You were crying in your sleep."

Clint didn't know if it was a good idea to tell her. At least yet. The loss was still too fresh and raw, and he had no idea how to process… any of it. In the end the drugs in his system and his mouth made the decision for him. "'was with Pietro", he mumbled, his eyelids drooping heavily. Only sheer willpower kept him awake. "'told me to go wake up… 'said he needed to run again."

Wanda burst into tears that were a mixture of joy and sorrow.

* * *

A few weeks later Clint stood before where Wanda had decided to bury her brother. And he wasn't alone. At his right stood Laura, one hand on her very heavily pregnant belly and her head leaning against his shoulder. At his left stood Wanda. The three of them were dressed in black, and they'd each brought a single white rose.

It was time to say goodbye. And to try and start again. Thanks to Pietro Clint still could.

"So…" Clint took a deep breath. "We've been thinking about the second name for the little one. And… I've got an idea."

A few moments later Clint could've sworn that he felt a familiar presence, only for a moment. He didn't bother looking. Pietro would've been too fast for him to see, anyway.

Wanda's hand tightened around his.

* * *

End of oneshot

* * *

A/N: That… was a bit bizarre. But also emotional. (sniffles) Pietro's sacrifice WAS NOT for nothing!

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? It was REALLY different so I'd LOVE to hear your opinion. AND REMEMBER THAT REQUESTS ARE STILL MORE THAN WELCOMED!

FURTHER ANNOUNCEMENT: Tomorrow I'll launch a short story based on the previous two-shot. There was SO MUCH SUFFERING, and Clint has SO MUCH RECOVERING to do, that I feel it deserves its own story. Anyone interested?

Awkay, I really need to get going, now. Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: Painful it was! GOSH, poor Clint. (WHIMPERS) BUT, I'm insanely happy that you enjoyed it despite the brutality! (BEAMS)

Awww, I REALLY hope that you'll be as excited about what's to come!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time?

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: (HUGS) The poor, poor Hawk! DEFINITELY the most brutal… EVER. (whimpers) THANK GOSH he's as strong as they come, and was able to start recovering!

I've gotta admit that I'm flattered you found it so touching.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: (chuckles, and hugs) (then whimpers) Poor, POOR CLINT! THANK GOSH this didn't ACTUALLY happen to him. The poor dear suffered SO MUCH!

(Don't blame ya, LOL!)

Huuuge thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Carry692: I'm really, really happy that you enjoyed it so, despite it being different! (BEAMS) Poor Clint indeed! Thank gosh he had his friends and family.

Massive thank yous for the review!


	105. Of Hawks and Men of Iron (post Civil War

A/N: DAAAAAAANG, wrapping up this chapter took AGES. Then again, it's pretty long. (chuckles and shakes head) Before getting to the business, though…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews, listings, love and support! They mean THE WORLD to me. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Of Hawks and Men of Iron (post Civil War)

* * *

It took several attempts to wake up properly.

The first time the sense of feeling came back, slowly yet surely. His legs and arms stung hellishly when he attempted to squirm, blood-circulation returning with a roar of fury. There was steel underneath him, so cold it made him shiver. His back and head ached. Was he injured? How badly? Seconds, or maybe hours, later something struck his head hard, and he felt nothing more.

His head hurt even worse the second time he drifted back to awareness. He shuddered when something cold and hard was pressed against his lips. Then lukewarm liquid was poured into his mouth, faster than he could process to swallow it. It tasted of rust and blood. He was choking, and his stomach was twisting from nausea. He coughed hard, ending up spitting out most of the substance, and flickered out once more.

The third time he wasn't sure if the voices he heard were real. Maybe he was dreaming or hallucinating. A woman whimpered, the sound a feral one of fear and despair, before an unfamiliar male-voice spoke. Was that an accent…? "Will you give us what we want?" The woman whimpered again. "I'm sure that she would appreciate it."

He wanted to scream, rage and rant. But he couldn't even open his mouth, let alone talk. Properly, anyway. "… her go …"

"Let her go?" The other man sounded amused. And irritated. "Whether I let her go or not is entirely up to you. You give us what we want and everyone's happy. Sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?"

No, it didn't, it really didn't. He couldn't stand the thought of what they'd do to the woman any more than he could stomach what'd happen if he gave them what they wanted. If this was some kind of a nightmare or his own head taunting him, he was very much ready to wake up, now.

He faded away at the sound of a gunshot.

The next time the reality, or perhaps rather a horribly dark nightmare, swallowed him back he smelled death. There was no other word to describe the rotten, nauseating reek that slapped him. He gagged twice, then threw up properly. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

 _I'm sorry…! I'm sorry…! I'm so sorry…!_

Then there was nothing.

Before a hand struck his face, hard. "Enough with the beauty nap." Something metallic was placed against his throat. "Open your eyes or I'll slit your throat."

He obeyed. Not out of fear, but because he wanted to see who his companion was. Sharp and ice-cold blue eyes looked right into his, the other man's paleness making them seem unnaturally bright. The criminal looked too much like Steve Rogers for comfort. He shivered and spat, tasting and seeing a hint of blood from where he'd bitten his tongue. Then smiled sweetly. "Morning."

The other didn't use the knife, knowing full well that dead men did a poor job at giving what one wanted. Instead a stone-hard fist struck his face, making him bite his tongue again. The criminal also smiled sweetly. "Good morning. Now…" A slow and steady, elegant hand used a flawlessly white tissue to wipe away the spit. "After a… difficult start, are we ready to begin?"

He shook his head determinedly. The room was cold and he was shivering. He was determined to show no discomfort.

The criminal in a Hydra-uniform rolled his eyes. "Well aren't you being a little pest." The man's eyes narrowed, radiating threat. "Give us what we want… or I'll find ways to persuade you."

"If I give you what you want, thousands of people will die."

The other shrugged. "And if you don't, your whole world does. Check your priorities." The man then wrinkled he's nose and shuddered. "I'm going. The stench of her is getting… unpleasant." The criminal turned and marched away. "I'll see you tomorrow."

With dread Tony looked down, not wanting to see. On the floor was a woman in a Hydra-uniform, a bullet hole in her head. Her lips were open for a scream that'd never come out, at least in this world. How long had she been…? How long had he been…?

The lights were switched off, leaving him alone into the dark with her.

* * *

It was still dark when he heard someone enter the room. Tension filling all his body, he waited as the arrival approached. He didn't see the spoon coming although he should've. The sudden mixture of cool metal and hot soup were overwhelming and he coughed, then gagged.

His mystery companion gave him a moment before trying again. He couldn't tell what was fed to him. With his current inability to see it tasted like meat, fish and chicken all at once. But it didn't taste rotten or poisoned, and he was so hungry that it threatened to drive him insane. So he ate, all his instincts roaring that he was an idiot. Once there was no more food he was given several sips of water. It was too warm but still one of the best things he'd ever consumed.

He swallowed two times too many. Listening, evaluating. "Thanks", he murmured, his voice hoarse from lack of use. "For helping me." A cheap psychological trick, really. But to have an ally in a place like this…

What little desperate hopes he had were crushed were crushed when the other laughed. It was the man from before. "Help you? No one is going to help you here." Steps began to move away. "Only you can help yourself." A heavy door was slammed closed, harder than a judge's hammer.

He was alone in the dark again.

* * *

He slept, because a human body can only stay awake for so long, especially when injured to an unknown extend. He dreamt of safe, familiar places. Of home.

He woke up to a loud sound that was barely more tolerable than a fire-alarm. His eyes flew open instinctively, and the sudden assault of bright light made them fill with moisture. He groaned and hissed, wishing dearly that he would've been able to move his hands.

His tormentor spoke a few minutes later, when the noise died down as suddenly as it began and his vision was a little clearer. The man seemed sickeningly pleased with himself. "Wakey, wakey. I told you that I'd be back, didn't I?"

He arched an eyebrow. A few very tempting ideas what to do with that smug face come to mind. "Couldn't resist my charming company any longer?" He wasn't slurring. Good.

"I really couldn't", the other practically purred. And revealed a cell phone. "Neither could she."

As though a switch had been flicked, he lost his ability to produce snide remarks. He was far too aware of how clearly the shock had to show from his face. Rage came next, rolling through him like a tsunami. "You son of a…!"

The phone was placed to his ear before he could finish. " _Tony?_ " Pepper's voice made all thoughts come to a screeching halt in his busy head. " _Are you okay?_ " Only someone who knew her well caught the ripples of panic hidden behind her firm, almost professional tone.

Tony swallowed once, twice. "Yeah, yeah. In one piece. Made a new friend." He didn't want to ask but knew he had to. "You?" If that creep smirking in front of him and his men had cut even a single hair from her head…!

" _I'm fine._ " And she meant it. " _Well, as fine as anyone after wrapping up a meeting with Janussey._ "

Cold filled Tony's stomach at the codename. She was being followed or watched and knew it. "I hate that guy", he muttered under his breath, trying not to glare at his captor because it would've given away the ploy. He breathed, not feeling as brave as he did before with her safety hanging in the balance. "Look, Pep… I'm… not gonna…"

" _You don't. You can't._ " She sounded firm and confident, which helped him feel marginally better. " _Just… Hang in there. We're tracking you down._ "

Tony bit back a bitter laugh of irony, glancing up at the chains holding him still. "I know. Not my first time getting into an idiotic situation like this, remember?"

" _Oh yes, I remember._ " Pepper's tone revealed that she didn't appreciate the joke. She swallowed so hard that he heard, her composure nearly cracking. " _Look, Tony, I…_ " She trailed off, and it might've made him panic if she hadn't sounded surprised rather than alarmed. " _How did you…?_ "

The phone was snatched from her, and another familiar voice drowned out her protests. " _Expect extraction within thirty seconds._ " He'd never been quite as happy to hear Nick Fury's voice.

Tony smirked with a ridiculous amount of relief. Pepper was safe. And he'd be out of this hellhole soon. He was planning on chastising Fury over getting slow with age, but that was when his captor finally seemed to sense that something was wrong.

Suspicion written all over his face, the man took away the phone, bringing it to his own ear. "If you're trying any tricks…" It was impossible to tell what Fury said. But the words made his captor's face lose all color. The man swallowed convulsively. Then pulled out a gun and pointed it at Tony's head with an expression of chilling resolve. "In that case, what point is there in keeping him alive?"

A million thoughts flashed through Tony's mind in the next few moments. Along with half a million regrets. The cold creeping through his bloodstream was nothing natural or human. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

There was a barely audible sound, like a breath. Something whistled past Tony's head, almost brushing his cheek along the way. And then an arrow pierced his captor's neck. For a few seconds the man stood, eyes wide and mouth open with shock, then fell limply as a ragdoll. The gun rattled noisily but harmlessly as it went down with him.

Within seconds Clint was there. Dressed in black winter-clothes that weren't his uniform _from before_ , carrying along an unfamiliar set of bow and arrows. "Is Pepper okay?" It took a few seconds before Tony realized that his friend – were they friends, still? – wasn't talking to him. Instead the man held a finger of one hand on an old-fashioned looking ear comm. The relief appearing to the archer's face was palpable. "Roger that. Over and out." Their eyes met, and for a few blissful moments it felt like none of the Civil War crap ever happened. "Are _you_ okay? Because you look ready to pass out."

It was so surreal that Tony wanted to laugh out loud. "How did you know…?" He trailed off. He would've asked why Clint was helping him if he dared to.

Clint shrugged while searching through the fallen enemy's clothes. "I've been trying to keep an eye on everyone. I was too slow to keep these creeps from getting you." The archer shrugged again and glared at the corpse. "That bastard made me blow a good hideout when I had to contact Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D."

The realization made Tony feel dizzy. Despite everything Clint had… What could he possibly say to that? "Thanks", felt like a logical place to start.

"I couldn't just leave you trapped here, now could I?" The accusation was thinly disguised, the wound still raw. Clint pushed down the anger with visible effort, then found what he'd been looking for. A tiny key. Seeming furiously determined and exhausted all at once, the archer straightened and made his way to him with oddly stiff steps. "Brace yourself", the Hawk advised, starting to work on the lock. "This may be a rough landing."

Tony didn't know how long he'd been hanging there but when his wrists were free he found himself crashing down heavily. Clint tensed up and shuddered when most of his weight collided with the man, but refused to let him stumble all the way to the floor. "Do you think you can walk?"

Tony really wasn't sure. But it wasn't like staying still was an option. "Yeah." He needed to get away from here, from the dead bodies, from Hydra, from the guilt and confusion. And he really wanted to avoid having to _talk_.

Clint seemed to feel something similar. Neither spoke as the archer helped him stand and they began to walk on, their pace a lot slower than either would've liked. Tony made a point of not looking at the woman's body that was starting to smell. He had enough nightmares already, thank you very much.

Unfortunately there was no looking away from what waited for them behind the room's door.

The Hydra-base was small but still housed ten… no, eleven agents. Tony knew this because every single one of them had been killed. Some lucky ones with arrows, others… He preferred not thinking about it, or looking too long. Nausea swirled threateningly in his stomach, making him gulp convulsively.

It wasn't like he'd never seen what Clint was capable of but…

Clint tensed up beside him, as though reading his mind, and he felt a slash of guilt. The archer spoke before he got the chance to say a thing. "You still okay to walk?"

Tony didn't exactly shine when it came to being emotionally sensitive. But he heard the unvoiced question. "Yeah." And he meant it.

Clint relaxed, even if only marginally. Tension was still thick and heavy as their journey continued. Tony opened his mouth several times but nothing came out. Considering how much the two of them used to talk, mostly about nothing, the silence felt unnatural.

Tony woke up from his gloomy thoughts when he realized that they were stepping outside. Freezing cold winter-air slapped them, making them shiver. Their breathing and the snow whispering under their footsteps were the only sounds in the frozen, white nothingness. There were no other buildings as far as Tony could see. "Where… exactly are we going?" A logical enough question.

"One foot in front of the other, Tin Can." Clint tried to grin but it didn't come out right. "One foot in front of the other."

Tony did just that. What other choice did he have? He didn't look back. If he did, he would've seen the stains of fresh blood following Clint's footsteps.

* * *

Tony had no idea how long they'd trekked on. It felt like ages. The billionaire was fairly sure that he didn't have broken bones but he had a lot of mighty bruising and a concussion. Marching forward wasn't a lot of fun. He was injured enough to not notice that the archer was limping a little more with each step.

Tony was so focused on staying upright and convincing himself to move forward the Clint's words nearly got lost into the wind. "Look… What I said and did, back then…"

Tony snorted. He hurried to speak when his friend began to tense up. "What about what _I_ said and did?"

There was an unreadable look on Clint's solemn face. The man refused to look towards him. "I dropped a pile of cars on you. And…"

"And I got you locked up and rubbed your family at your face." Tony couldn't suppress a wince at the memories. "Let's face it, Tweetie, it wasn't the best day for either of us."

Clint sighed heavily. And grimaced, quickly as it disappeared. "I was only supposed to…" The archer shook his head and grimaced again. "It all got out of hand."

Tony nodded, once, twice. "Yeah, it did." It was all one big, stinking disaster. "I'm sorry." The words slipped out before he could process them, startling them both. But he meant them. _Sorry that you got locked up. Sorry that you're now an outlaw. Sorry that you were torn away from your family. Sorry that…_

"Me too", Clint murmured with equal honesty.

It was the last thing they said in a very long time. The wind around them altered between whispering and screaming. The white nothingness didn't seem to ever end.

* * *

Tony closed his eyes at some point. Which wasn't a good idea. When he opened them again he realized that they'd advanced a great deal, Clint dragging him on. His hand slipped as he fought to regain his footing and carry himself, his fingers brushing the back of Clint's leg. He frowned upon finding something… moist. When he held up the hand his fingers were covered in blood. The ice from the world around them seemed to fill his whole body. "Clint…!"

"See that?" Clint nodded forward, eyelids drooping heavily. "A Hydra-plane only… comes here every three weeks, for… a fresh crew, and supplies. Couldn't make you wait, so…"

It was a quinjet, the dark color a dramatic contrast against all the white around them. Few things Tony had ever seen had been so beautiful. "Worth the walk."

"Yeah…" Clint unleashed a sound he couldn't identify. "Was afraid… that they'd find it…"

Tony grinned giddily. The relief and newfound determination pulsating through him were enough to wipe away everything else. They'd be okay. They'd be just fine. "You just keep coming up with surprises, Wilhelm Tell." He was too happy about the whole nightmare being over to notice that his friend didn't respond.

They continued on, more stubborn than ever now that their target was so close. Just a few more steps… "How did you even get your hands on this?" Tony shook his head, making himself feel dizzy, appalled by his lack of logic. "Right, right, Fury, of course."

"Hmm."

By then they'd just made it to the aircraft. Tony's brows furrowed as he looked towards the archer. Clint… didn't seem good. There, finally getting the chance to stop and look, he _saw_. The pale face, the dark shadows around the Hawk's eyes, the evidence of lost weight that was visible despite the winter-outfit… Clint looked dead on his feet, like a wild animal that hunters had been chasing far too long.

"Hey." His own injuries forgotten, Tony took his turn to support his friend's weight. A lot of it had disappeared. "Try to stay awake for a bit, okay? You can take a nap when we get home." He couldn't remember the last time he would've seen someone who looked like they needed a nap more. And then he remembered the blood.

"You…" Clint's eyes kept slipping closed. "You can still… fly this thing… right?"

Usually Tony might've been insulted by such a question. As it was he could only… panic. Yes. He wasn't too proud to admit that he was truly panicking. "Of course I can. But Clint, you're not going to…!"

Clint's body began to sag without a will before Tony could finish that sentence.

* * *

Clint had been keeping an eye on all his… well, former teammates ever since the Civil War. Perhaps they'd never, ever take missions together again, chances were that they wouldn't be able to stand being in the same room. But he needed to know that they were okay, because it'd always been his duty to keep watch.

Then, one miserably rainy afternoon, Nick Fury called and announced that Hydra wanted some Stark-inventions. Weapons of mass-destruction, the kind Tony's company used to produce and far too many times sold with too few questions. Weapons that in wrong hands might cause a horrific amount of devastation. So, when the billionaire was on a business trip, the organization finally attacked. They killed Tony's driver and three bodyguard, and took the genius with them. Unaware that the moment the man's vehicle was attacked a tracking device was activated. S.H.I.E.L.D and the new Avengers would've gotten to him quickly. Clint knew that he'd be faster.

' _I owe him_ ', was his explanation when Fury asked ' _why_ '.

Collapsing to Tony's arms, the last of his strength leaving him, Clint didn't regret his decision. Even if he was fairly sure that he was dying. Even if he had no idea what the billionaire would do to him.

Maybe now he could stop running.

* * *

There wasn't even nearly enough medical equipment on the jet to Tony's liking, but at least he knew how to use what he had. With hands that were far from steady he inspected his friend, feeling sicker and colder after every new discovery. "Goddamnit, Barton…!"

Three broken ribs. A mighty concussion. Extensive bruising… _everywhere_. Internal bleeding from a lacerated… he couldn't remember what after five seconds. And finally, a stab wound on thigh that'd nicked an artery but mercifully didn't slash it heavily. The amount of blood Clint had already lost was horrific. He was in a shock, and it was a tight race whether that or blood loss would kill him first.

Even the thought made Tony want to scream. Instead he emitted a mew that was one part despaired, five parts outraged and six parts remorseful. "You're not… You don't get to do this, do you hear me? Not because of saving my ass."

Clint didn't even twitch, let alone open his eyes.

"You just… You can't stop trying to save everyone, can you?" Tony felt a lump forming in his throat and swallowed mightily against it. "Since… _then_ only Rhodey and Vision stayed. Did you know that? No one…" He gritted his teeth, because he wasn't some stupid whiney kid who broke down like this. "No one else has even tried to contact me. Well, Cap sent a letter, but… Well, then he busted a bunch of people out of prison. I… guess you know that, right, since… you were there." He swallowed again. The lump was even bigger, and something nasty was happening to his eyes. "But otherwise… Nothing. I thought that no one else even cared anymore, and then… Here you are." He stared at the man he still considered a friend, his line of vision blurry. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

He would've scolded Clint over not taking along or waiting for backup but he understood why. The archer was a wanted criminal, and those didn't exactly have the privilege of getting backup. If he took Clint to the medical wing of the brand-new Avengers base the man would be found and get locked up, again. If he didn't…

"You need help. And fast", he muttered sullenly, taking a look towards the bandage around the other's thigh. It was already mostly crimson. "But where am I supposed to take a war criminal?" There was no place…

Until, impossibly, a thought occurred to him.

He looked towards Clint and struggled against a decidedly unmanly urge to hold his friend's hand. "You'd better hang in there, Clint." No surnames, no silly nicknames. That was how serious this was. Tony wasn't aware of the tear that rolled down his cheek. "If you die on me, I'll figure out a way to bring you back so I can kill you again myself. And I'll make it something totally embarrassing."

Clint remained nauseatingly still, unaffected by the threat. Tony transformed the sadness and terror caused by that discovery into iron-hard determination. He didn't look back as he slumped to the pilot's seat and took off. He didn't look back even once during the entire journey. Because he didn't want to risk discovering that he'd lost his friend again, this time even more bitterly.

* * *

Dr. Inga Bavil was in the middle of a long, busy shift when the about last person she'd expected to see barged in through the doors of her tiny ward. It could only be guessed whether the moisture on Tony Stark's cheeks was tears or rain-water. "Please…!" The billionaire seemed to be choking on his very breath. "You owe me… a favor, remember? Please…!"

Inga followed although a voice inside her was telling her not to. She was one of those people who didn't take their promises lightly. Yet when she saw her unexpected patient…

Tony leaned closer to the prone man, grinning almost manically. The billionaire's eyes shone from moisture. "See? We're here, and you're doing great. Just… Just keep your stubborn ass from giving up a little longer, and these people will fix your right up."

Inga took in the amount of blood the mystery-man had lost. Noticed the pale face, the colorless lips. She was absolutely certain that she was staring at a corpse.

Until she saw the tiny, strained breath that fought its way from the mangled body.

* * *

They took Clint into surgery almost instantly, leaving Tony with no other choice but to wait. Unable to call anyone, because he didn't want to risk anyone knowing, for their own sakes as much as Clint's. The fewer people knew the safer it was for everyone. At some point someone checked him over, frowning constantly, and apparently his answers were good enough because the grumpy looking woman went away. He slept although it was a horrible idea with his concussion. When he woke up his head hurt a thousand times worse than before and he felt even more tired. So he paced, and paced, and paced, until his knees went weak.

His shoulders hurt, too. Someone, probably a nurse, brought him a box of juice but he didn't bother trying to pick it up. He would've just dropped it again immediately.

Finally, after what was probably hours, he looked down to his hands. They were covered in Clint's already dried blood. That realization sent Tony speeding to a toilet, where he threw up until there was nothing in him, then washed his hands until his skin turned raw.

Tony was almost dozing off again when Dr. Bavil approached him. She sighed heavily, the grim expression on her face making the world spin in front of his eyes until she spoke. "… lost him a couple of times … severe injuries … barring any complications, he should recover."

Tony gasped like a drowning man. Barely daring to even hope… "He'll… be okay?"

Dr. Bavil smiled. "The first couple of days are critical. But… He's very stubborn. There's a chance."

Tony dashed into the toilet again, this time to hide something far more embarrassing than vomiting or the beginning of a panic attack.

* * *

When Clint first woke up he had no idea where he was or how he got there. But he did notice that he wasn't alone, and that succeeded in being more terrifying than anything else. He tensed up, bracing himself despite knowing full well that he wouldn't stand a chance against a kitten in his current condition.

He wrestled his eyes halfway open to find a human-shaped, blurry mass. Infuriatingly slowly it cleared enough to reveal Tony's face. There was bruising on the man's too pale face. But the billionaire was wearing his own clothes and appeared largely unharmed. Along with pain meds, it was enough to make Clint smile, despite everything. "'got you out", he slurred.

Tony tried to smile, too. "Yeah, Feathers. You got me out." The man swallowed. "Thanks…"

Clint shook his head. What he did… He hadn't done it for gratitude. Any of it.

Tony sighed heavily. "I've gotta go. People are going to start asking all sorts of annoying questions if I don't. But I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise. Clearly someone needs to keep an eye on you, too, to make sure that you don't get yourself killed."

Clint grinned, his eyelids fluttering closed. It was nice, to have someone watching his back. That thought comforted him although he knew that he'd wake up alone.

* * *

In the end it took Tony five days to go back without arousing unwanted attention. He wasn't surprised to find Clint already leaving, despite being far from healed. "You just got cut open. Would it be so bad to just hold still and recover for a while?"

Clint shrugged. The gray hoodie and black jeans the archer wore were too big on him, most likely a donation from the hospital. "I can't exactly stay in one place very long."

Tony shifted with discomfort, watching how his friend looked around the room, seeming lost, pained and miserable. The stay at the hospital had done little to help with the loud signs of exhaustion and malnutrition. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah." Clint nodded, meeting his eyes only briefly before looking away again. "The team there's left… Look after them."

It was Tony's turn to nod. A easy enough promise. "And you'll be looking after the rest of them, right?"

"Always." Clint's smile was tiny and didn't quite reach the man's eyes. "That's what I'm for."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed. Still, after days, there was a question that haunted him. "Why did you come and save me?" Why risk everything after having managed to stay below the radar for so long?

This time they locked eyes properly. Clint's were full of determination and something else. "Because you guys are my family, too. All of you. Aren't you a genius? I thought you knew as much."

In a rush Tony finally understood that Clint never meant to betray anyone. By the time he was able to focus on anything else his friend had limped his way to the door. "Where are you going, anyway? To Laura and the kids?"

Clint nodded slowly. The archer's smile seemed genuine, and his eyes shone with it. "It's Lila's birthday tomorrow."

Tony grinned. "Tell her Happy Birthday from her coolest uncle." He swore solemnly to himself that he'd make sure the Hawk's family stayed safe. That his friend wouldn't have to lose his most precious ones, his one remaining safe haven in the whole world.

"I will." Clint gave him a wave, one foot already out of the room. "Take care, Shellhead."

Tony nodded, wishing that there was something he could do, some way he could help. "You too, Budgie." Because it didn't look like Clint had been taking care of himself lately.

And then Clint was gone, like a trick of imagination. Tony did what little he could to force back the unease twisting in his stomach. They'd meet again.

* * *

Clint knew that he shouldn't have even been out of the bed yet. But he was, and somehow he even made it out of the hospital. Finding a cab only a few steps away was a tremendous relief.

The driver gave him a look of sympathy. "Still feeling a little rough? Just don't start bleeding or throw up on my seat." The man went on before he got the chance to respond. "Where to?"

Clint looked out the window, haunted eyes staring vacantly as rain beat down the world around him. Where to? Honestly, he had no idea. "Just… south. Anywhere south." He leaned back with a wince and wrapped a too thin, too big coat firmly around himself. He felt tired and horribly sore. "I've had enough of cold."

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: A dear friend of mine may noticed that the ending was inspired by 'Broadchurch'. (winks and smirks) BUT, gosh…! Poor, poor Clint. Why isn't he going to his family? Where will he go? The questions…!

THE BIGGEST ONE, of course… Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from you.

COMING UP… Steve's been neglected lately, so there'll a story with him heavily on board in near horizon. And would you like to meet the Guardians of the Galaxy…?

Until next time, folks! I REALLY HOPE that I'll see ya all there.

Take care!

* * *

Carry692: I absolutely adore Clint and the twins, and the bonds between them! He's such a great father-figure to Wanda, and he would've been to Pietro as well. (sighs)

I once did a story a bit like that, AGES AGO, BUT I'm more than happy to touch upon the topic again! We all love Bruce, but Hulk is REALLY dangerous to be around. A brilliant prompt!

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Goodness me…! It makes me happier than I can say that you enjoyed it so much. (BEAMS) Keeping the chapters fresh is IMPORTANT to me, so I'm really happy that you think I succeeded.

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anonymous: I'm SO HAPPY that you enjoyed it and found it moving, despite it being different! (BEAMS) I still miss Pietro, so much. (sighs)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Anon: Oh mine…! That's a VERY tough, but also important topic. I'm making no promises yet, but I'm definitely intrigued! Such an amazing prompt!

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	106. Don't Miss!

A/N: PHEW! This chapter was in the middle of its birth-process for three days. Several drafts were made before this came out. And now, AT LAST, we're here! Yay?

First, though… THANK YOU, a million times over, for all your reviews, listings, love and support! This collection is my personal favorite of all the stories I've ever created. But you, my dears, are the power that helps keep its heart beating! So thank you. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's rock! Poor Steve's been neglected lately, but now it's his turn. Although I think he'd like to avoid it. (winces)

* * *

Don't Miss!

* * *

/ _"You need to lift the bow a little higher…" Clint gave a nod of approval, his eyes sharp and focused. "Good. Now tighten the string." The archer winced just when the string vibrated in a manner that probably wasn't supposed to happen, as though hearing it. "Not that much. You need to go gentle on her."_

 _"'Her'?" Steve repeated, amusement bubbling into his voice._

 _"Shut up." There was no malice in Clint's tone. "Gotta admit, though… You're a lot more fun since you got a sense of humor."_

 _Steve couldn't help but smile at that._

 _"Good. Now you're relaxed." Clint braced himself as he did, both of them staring intently at the target-board. "Remember what I told you before, okay? One… Two…"_

 _The arrow was already flying. No matter how careful Steve tried to be. They watched it land nowhere near the target._

 _"Well." Clint took the weapon from him. "It's a relief to see that you suck at something, Cap."_ /

* * *

The Avengers had been a team for a year. It definitely hadn't been smooth sailing. There were times when all of them had been ready to call it quits. When they questioned their sanity over ever agreeing to become a part of it all. But they also became a real, proper team. Something closer than friends. Despite all their flaws, pasts and emotional scars, together they became strong enough to face the horrors their missions brought.

But there were things no one could've ever braced themselves for.

The intel for their newest mission was fairly pathetic. They had far too little idea of what was waiting for them. Just that it was a Hydra-base, and that after searching from several wrong places they might finally find what they were looking for.

When Steve and Clint broke down a door and barged in they froze immediately. Because there, staring right back at them with wide, horrified eyes, were ten children. Huddled to a far too small room's corner, seeking comfort from each other. One of them, a girl who couldn't be older than four, looked at Clint's bow and began to scream.

Recovering remarkably quickly from the immediate shock, Clint put away his trusted weapon and showed both hands placatingly. Steve had no idea what the archer was saying, murmuring softly in the kids' native language. He only saw that it was working. And couldn't avoid thinking how much like a parent the Hawk sounded, or how little he actually knew about his friend.

One of the children, a little boy who most like hadn't seen his ninth birthday yet but still tried to act as the protector of the group, took a cautious step forward. Painfully young blue eyes full of mistrust and desperate hope all at once. He asked something, to which Clint responded with nod and a few soft words. Which seemed to make a deal of some sort. "Cap? I'm gonna get these kids out of here."

Steve nodded, trying to will himself to relax. Their mission was almost over, there were barely any enemies left. So why did he have a bad feeling about all this? "Get them to a secure location. I'll clear this building."

Clint didn't waste time. With paternal tenderness and protectiveness the archer began to herd his charges out of the building. When one of the smallest children was too frozen by shock to move, the Hawk picked her up and let her cling to him as though to a lifeline.

Despite the gloomy circumstances the sight brought a tiny smile to Steve's lips. "Be glad you didn't team up with Stark. He'd have a field-day with this."

Clint grinned. There was something serene and pained at the same time on his face that'd never been seen before. "I know." With a nod the archer was almost out. "Stay safe."

Steve was about to tell his friend to do the same until he heard it. A whimper, such that would've gone unnoticed by anyone else. He frowned, letting his eyes scan through the room. Until he saw a faint beam of light, coming from underneath what was supposed to be a solid wall. The line on his forehead deepening he felt around, mindful to avoid potential traps. He ran into something worse than a trap.

On the floor of an even smaller room eight more children and a woman in a Hydra-uniform sat in a circle. These were older than those on the other side of the wall, further along in whatever training or procedures the youngsters had been subject to. Only one of them was crying, the rest stared at him with horrifyingly hollow expressions. Like their souls weren't there anymore. The woman in a lab-coat sitting with them looked at him with the eyes of a cornered wild beast. "The children here… They're valuable, far more so than you realize." Her English was broken and stress didn't improve it. "If you take them… If I lose them, even one… Then I'm dead." Tears of such terror and despair that broke his heart filled her eyes. "Please…! I can't… I can't lose them… If I lose them…!"

"Don't worry, mommy." A angelically beautiful little girl with long, wavy blonde hair and huge blue eyes leaned her head against the woman. "They won't ever leave, this is home. Vlad will stop them." She tapped at her forehead with two fingers. "I told him to."

Sheer, utter terror grabbed a hold of Steve's chest. Squeezed around it like a wand. Forgetting all else he dashed to the window and peered down.

Clint and the children were just crossing a bridge that led away from the building of horrors. Until what looked more like a beast than a human-being appeared. The kids clearly knew the arrival because most of them started screaming, some burst into tears.

The enemy was massive, his tall frame full of hard-trained muscle. But Clint wasn't about to back down. Not when he had innocent lives to protect. With great tenderness he put down the girl he'd been carrying and wrapped his coat around her trembling form. Immediately after he barked out a command that sent the kids running. Then, typically and dangerously stubborn, the archer took a valiant, defiant step towards his opponent. Even snarled something that didn't sound like a compliment.

The massive enemy, predictably, didn't take Clint's approach well. A blink, a breath, and the monster was charging head first into battle. The Hawk fought well, and bravely. He was absolutely lethal in hand-to-hand combat. But he was no match against such overwhelming brutal force, especially with whatever mental push the girl had given the other man.

Enhanced as he was, Steve knew that he had no hope of getting down there before it was too late. Judging by the reports raining down on his ear comm the others were preoccupied. He had no functional weapons that would've had hope of crossing the distance. There was only one choice.

With tense hands he picked up Clint's much loved bow and an arrow. True, he wasn't much use when it came to that item. But if it was the only option…

Steve gulped thickly while he took aim. Clint and the enemy kept moving around, making it impossible to tell which direction they'd go next. It was an insane shot. But it was easy to see that Clint wouldn't last many more of the enemy's merciless, unnatural blows. The Hawk's archery lessons kept bombarding the soldier's mind in a useless, jumbled mess. The Captain swallowed again, and with his next exhale the arrow was flying.

 _Don't miss, don't miss, don't miss…!_

Both men fell off the bridge before Steve got the chance to see what happened or which one he hit, and his chest tightened to an extend that made it difficult to breathe.

He was about to turn and run when he felt a small hand touching him. "Stay still and don't say a word", the girl from before told him, sounding far too much like an adult. "You stand there, and let us go. Shh!"

Steve tried to spin around, furiously. But it was like his body had been super-glued to the floor. While the sounds of distancing steps came from behind him all he could do was stand there and stare at the bridge. Soon the kids were gone, with him unable to do a thing to help. There still wasn't a trace of his fallen friend. His eyes blurred, and days after the whole nightmare was over he understood why.

" _Cap, wasn't Feathers supposed to be with you?_ " Barely concealed panic coated Tony's voice. It grew sharper when he couldn't respond. " _Cap, was that Barton I just saw tumbling down from a bridge? What the hell is going on?_ " There was no apology over the foul language.

It was like straight out of a horror movie. Steve wanted to run, wanted to scream at Tony to hurry up and find Clint, wanted to smash something. But all he could was stand there and stare, his muscles screaming from the effort to move.

" _Cap?_ "

* * *

Tony's announcement was sharp and uncharacteristically brief. Loaded with barely contained emotion. " _Something's wrong with Barton and Rogers._ "

Natasha gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, her eyes flashing and narrowing. "Give me their last known location and I'm on my way." She went on as soon as the genius had complied. "Thor, keep going through the base. We have to ensure that the threat's been neutralized." She didn't have to command Hulk. Familiar roars could be heard, and on occasion a wall or a ceiling came down when Big Green's rage caressed them.

" _Alright._ " Thor didn't sound pleased with the plan but recognized that there was no alternative. " _Report immediately when you find them._ "

Her jaw tightened again. She was moving before making a conscious decision to do so. "I'll just beat them up first", she hissed, bringing down one more Hydra-agent who tried to get up from where she'd introduced him to the floor. She was worried, and after years of Clint teaching her a thing or two about sentiment recognized as much. She _hated_ being worried.

She found the bridge easily. And froze, her eyes widening a fraction. Because a group of small children was rushing her way, all of them crying from sheer terror.

Kids. Of course. If there was one thing in the world…

The children looked at her with fear and mistrust. One of them, the smallest little girl, was finally brave enough to whisper. With long, black hair and massive, surreally blue eyes she was like something from another world. " _Are you one of them? Those who came to help? Like Mr. Hawk?_ "

Natasha nodded tensely. Struggling to find patience she didn't have. " _He's my friend. Where is he?_ "

The girl gulped. " _He… He told us to not look back, but… I did. He fell. I… I saw him fall._ "

* * *

When Clint's eyes fluttered open he wasn't sure he was actually conscious. He was in water, at least partially. He felt cold, and numb. There was a nauseating, metallic taste in his mouth and no matter how much he swallowed it wouldn't go away. He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move?

With a small, pitiable whimper he moved his head. The man he fought with now lay on top of him, most definitely dead. Which explained quite well why moving wasn't exactly an option at the moment. An arrow stuck out from the corpse and for a moment the archer wondered how it got there. He left his bow behind to avoid terrifying the kids, didn't he? So how…?

 _Steve!_ He left Steve behind, too. Was the Captain alright? What if another hostile giant had been sent there…?

Something was happening to Clint's trail of thought. He couldn't concentrate enough to worry anymore. Instead he stared at the arrow, how it'd buried itself almost entirely into his enemy with the brutal force that slammed it home. Steve didn't miss, too bad the giant had to crash-land on top of him afterwards.

So suddenly that Clint shivered, his enemy's eyes opened. Full of barely human rage and pain. It was like staring at an even more brutal version of Hulk.

Clint was barely in the condition to determine what was real and what wasn't. He watched, dazed and drifting away quickly, as the much bigger man grabbed the arrow like it was a splinter, growled and pulled. Instantly blood began to pour out, hinting that an organ had been pierced. The giant didn't seem to care. A large, calloused hand was smashed against Clint's chest, and with monstrous determination it began to feel around. Until it found the exact spot where the archer's heart was beating.

Instantly a degree more aware, Clint wheezed harshly and painfully, even attempted to lift a hand. His enemy responded by grabbing the limb with his free hand and twisting until there was a snap. The Hawk groaned against the blinding wave of agony which followed, but refused to stay down so easily. He raised another arm, only to find those long fingers curling around it like the limb was nothing but a twig. Another snap, and Clint's world exploded in agony. He opened his mouth for a howl but all that came out was a moan. "Don't…!" _Don't you dare…! Get away from me, right now, or I swear…!_

Clint still had his legs to use, but they were so numb from the freezing water embracing them that they barely moved. He shifted, writhed and groaned, only to realize that his body just didn't have what it would've taken to save itself. And despite all the adrenaline coursing through his veins his mind was also drifting once more.

Through haze he saw the giant raise the hand still holding the arrow. It came down as though in slowed motion. The thunder of pain it brought along was so intense that he was relieved to slip into the dark.

* * *

Steve had no idea how long he stood there. No will in his body. Unable to do anything but listen to the reports flying in through the comm.

The kids were safe, Natasha ensured that before rushing to find Clint. Next he heard her feet hit water, but soon her steps were as soundless as those of a cat. And then there was a gunshot, so loud that it could've as well been an explosion. " _Target down_ ", the Widow announced coldly, and the Captain released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Whatever power the child had on Steve was almost gone. He was able to move his toes and fingers already. Even his arm and leg twitched. Soon…

" _Barton?_ " That tone had never, ever crawled out of Natasha before. Had he been able to focus on such trivial matters, Steve would've wondered if that was how she sounded when she was scared. At the moment, however, all his thoughts zeroed on just one. _No, please, no…!_ There was a loud splash when the redhead landed. " _Clint, you complete, utter idiot… Can you…?_ " The silence was colder than the ice the Captain once crashed into. " _Shit…! We need a med evac, right now! Does anyone copy?_ "

"I'll be there in just a sec. Make sure that he has the patience to wait or I'll kick his sorry ass." Tony's voice came from right behind Steve, making him shudder. The billionaire didn't sound like himself. "Cap? You okay?"

No. Steve definitely wasn't okay. In fact… He dared to say that he was as far from okay as humanly possible. But he did his best to nod, anyway. "… arrow … wah …?" He swallowed thickly, then tried again. "What happened?"

"No idea. But we need to go, now. We've gotta get Clint out of here. And I'm ready to leave, too", Tony babbled, eyes wide and shockingly open worry filling them. Under different circumstances it might've been heartwarming how much the members of their team of misfits had come to care about each other.

As it was Steve could only feel cold. If this was his fault… If his desperate attempt would kill his friend… He had no idea how he'd be able to live with it.

* * *

The arrow was so close to Clint's heart that it twitched a little with each lethargic beat. There was too much blood. And far too little hope.

Natasha clenched her teeth and fought to apply even more pressure although her hands were slick with red. "You won't do this. Do you understand me, Barton?" She hated the despair in her voice almost as much as the fact that there was nothing more than this she could do. "You don't get to let me live… pull me into all this insanity… and then ditch me. That wasn't the deal we made!"

Clint didn't respond. Or open his eyes. Barely even breathed. And the beats under her hands that rooted Natasha to sanity continued to slow down. The last time she felt so utterly alone in the world was before they first met. Although she would've never admitted it to a soul she hated the feeling.

Soft, nearly inaudible steps caught her off-guard, especially when there were supposed to be no enemies left. Tony Stark didn't do silent entrances. So who…?

She turned her head, already reaching out for a gun, to find the same little girl who told her where to find her friend. The child was frozen in shock, staring at the blood on her hands and all over Clint. The girl's lips opened several times without a sound. And then she was approaching, slowly and cautiously. She sat gingerly right beside Clint's head and began to comb her trembling fingers through the man's hair. Natasha stared until she felt a thud under her hands that wasn't supposed to be there, and all her attention was locked on her friend. "Barton?" Her own heart was hammering mercilessly while his stumbled. "Barton, don't you dare…!" The words got stuck in her throat.

If she had been able to focus long enough to notice, she would've seen that the trembling child's hands were glowing while tears of panic, ache and a million other emotions filled the girl's eyes.

He was the first adult who ever showed her any kindness. The same applied to both of them. And neither was willing to lose him.

* * *

Steve did his best to brace himself for any and every scenario. But no matter what horrors he imagined the reality succeeded in being worse. He didn't really see Natasha, the child, Tony rushing to the scene or even the blood. All he had eyes for was the arrow, so close to Clint's heart that it was impossible to imagine anyone surviving it.

Steve's legs, which he regained control over only recently, nearly gave out underneath him.

Through some sort of a fog he watched how Tony took off with Clint, heading to the nearest hospital because there was no way the archer would've survived the flight to the Tower. The second she realized that the Hawk would be taken away the girl began to scream, begging and pleading in a language Steve couldn't understand. In the end Natasha had no other choice but to hold the child before the girl would've hurt herself. The two were so preoccupied that they didn't even notice him standing there.

Steve's head was spinning as the took one step backwards, then another. He couldn't save Bucky. Now Clint was hurt _like this_ , possibly dying. If he couldn't even save his friends when they needed him… Then what was the use of him?

When Natasha finally got the chance to look towards where he just stood, he was already gone.

* * *

It was a long, painful wait. Hours that felt like days blurred together. Tony couldn't stop pacing around, and for once the billionaire was terrifyingly quiet. Natasha sat absolutely still, altering between murderously furious and desperate. She'd never gotten around to wash her best friend's blood from her hands. The little girl, the name of whom neither had remembered to ask, sat silently a respectful distance away from the two, hugging Clint's coat. It was unclear when and how she got a hold of it but she was adamant to not let go.

When a doctor finally appeared the look on his face seemed to suck all air out of the room. He seemed exhausted, and there was deep-etched sadness in his eyes as he shook his head. And then he started talking, his English heavily accented and wobbly but understandable. "I… have no idea how, but… Your friend, he's alive."

Tony stared, as though trying to decide if the doctor was lying. Then burst into hysterical giggles. "Yeah, well, he, ah… He's stubborn that way."

The doctor shook his head again. "No, no, you misunderstand. With the… injuries he had… He should be dead." He blinked, catching his own words. "Apologies, but this… that he even made it to the hospital… It's a miracle."

They had no idea what to say. Or what to think. It seemed that Clint had succeeded in beating the impossible yet again. Did it really matter how?

Neither exactly known for their patience, they would've wanted to see Clint immediately. The doctor promised to let them know as soon as he was stable enough. Tony fled the room almost right after the physician, muttering something about calling Bruce. Natasha had a feeling it wasn't the only reason he needed a moment alone.

" _Is he… Is he going to live?_ " For the first time since that place of horrors the girl spoke, her voice lighter than a whisper. Her eyes were pleading as they searched hers. " _They… They gave me this… gift, and… I wanted to use it on someone good, just once._ "

Natasha took some time to register what she just heard. She might not have believed it, if she hadn't seen what she had in her life. If Hydra had been experimenting on those children, so many of them and for years… " _Did you heal him?_ "

The girl nodded, appearing shy all of a sudden. " _I… I tried. But… I'm not very strong yet._ "

Natasha stared. She was horrible with children. (Well, most of them.) But somehow, the long, horrible day's stress weighing on her shoulders, she managed to smile. " _Thank you._ " Because if the child wasn't there, if she didn't show up when she did… The Widow looked down, finally becoming aware of the dried blood coating her hands. She shivered. That sight was far too familiar.

Natasha tensed up and balled her fists reflexively when the child came closer, then curled up so that her head was resting against her thigh. The girl yawned and closed her eyes, obviously drained from having strained her powers and all the stress. " _You're a good person, too_ ", the child whispered, just before falling asleep. Trusting herself into the hands of someone who'd been trained to kill since she was a girl younger than her current, unwanted charge.

Natasha stared. And stared. And for once in her life she had absolutely no idea what to do. She groaned and glared, reacting like a wild animal when they felt cornered and insecure. "What the hell are we going to do with you?"

* * *

In the meantime Tony was pleased to find out that the Hydra-base had been handled entirely. Bruce announced that he and Thor would be on their way to the hospital soon. "And Rogers?"

Bruce's heavy sigh said it all. " _According to him the report to Fury can't wait. He keeps coming up with excuses to stay here._ "

Tony groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. _That guy and his stubbornness…!_ "Try to tell that moron that this mess isn't his fault." In a couple of seconds he thought better. "And don't tell him that I called him a moron."

" _I won't._ " Bruce sounded amused, which was an accomplishment when he was still recovering from Hulking out. The moment's distraction from the endless day's horrors ended with a new heavy sigh. " _So… The doctor's sure that with whatever the girl did… Clint's going to be fine?_ "

"It takes more than a giant to kill that guy." Tony hoped that he sounded more convinced than he felt. In truth, it'd take at least another day before the archer was out of the woods. But if he thought about that too much he'd go out of his mind. "Just get here so we can annoy him into recovering faster. And grab Captain Broody-pants with you."

" _Do you want me to tell him that you called him_ that _?_ "

Tony rolled his eyes. With no adrenaline left he was feeling cold, tired and miserable. And he didn't like the way his eyes stung. "You've spent too much time with Barton."

If Bruce noticed how his voice broke his science brother was kind enough to not mention it.

* * *

When Clint woke up for the first time he wondered, for long, if he was dead. It would've only made sense. People didn't often survive an arrow to the heart. Everything around him was surreally white. Until he saw red.

Natasha appeared tense and tired. Still seeing her made his heart, the poor thing that'd gone through too much lately, jump from joy. "… 'l alive?" he slurred.

Natasha nodded stiffly. "Still alive", she confirmed, the sharpness of her tone betraying her emotions. "Although you tried very hard not to be. They lost you a couple of times. Half an inch to the left, and the arrow would've gone straight through your heart. Did you know that?"

Clint wanted to comfort her. Wanted to point out that he was okay, that everything was alright. But all that came out of his mouth was "Oh".

Natasha didn't seem impressed. "Yeah, you idiot. 'Oh'." He could've sworn that he felt a hand stroking his hair comfortingly before she went on. "You look like crap. Get some sleep so I can yell at you more when you wake up."

Sleeping wasn't anywhere near the top of the things Clint wanted to do. He was heavily medicated, and whenever he was nightmares came. But he was already fast on his way under.

"Stop fighting it", Natasha scolded. "Sleep. I'll keep watch."

Clint wanted to tell her that he knew, but fell asleep before he could. It was okay. She knew, anyway.

* * *

The second time Clint woke up he was surprised to find a little girl looking at him. He blinked several times, then frowned before hazy pieces of a memory collided. " _Hey_ ", he rasped. " _'you okay?_ "

She nodded. " _I've been waiting for you to wake up. I wanted to see that you're okay, too._ "

He nodded the best as he could. " _I am. 'heard that you saved me._ "

She licked her lips and looked down, the smile fading. " _The gift they gave me… It hurts, sometimes. But I wanted to try._ "

Clint felt a twinge that had nothing to do with his still healing injuries. He took a deep breath, willing himself to stay awake a little longer. " _Listen… If there's anything I can do to help you…_ "

She shook her head. Her new smile was even brighter than the previous, pure and full of childish joy. " _You don't have to worry, Mr. Hawk. I'll be okay, now._ " She gave him a brief, awkward hug. And then, without any warning, she was gone. Like a dream.

Perhaps she was nothing but an illusion, Clint mused as he finally lost the battle to stay awake.

(He was soon proven wrong. He had no idea how she could possibly get his contact information. But every month since then, without a fail, he would receive a letter. For the first eight months they always said the same, simple words. ' _I'm still okay._ ' After that a few more words were added. ' _And I'm happy._ ')

* * *

Outside the room the child smiled upon seeing an already familiar one-eyed man, and another man she only just met.

The second man, older and bald, sat in a wheelchair. His eyes carried great sadness but even more warmth when they turned towards her and he smiled. "Are you ready to go, Serena?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes, Professor." Her English was far from perfect but neither of them minded. She took his hand, and felt free for the first time in her life. "I want to go home."

* * *

Steve had never been the type that ran away from his problems. Or friends. But every time he even began to consider facing Clint the mental image of that arrow sticking from the archer filled his head and he changed his mind. He should've known that the Hawk wouldn't let him keep running forever.

Exactly six weeks had passed by from that day Steve wasn't keen to remember. He dragged himself to the apartment that wasn't really a home, ready to sleep for a full day now that he was too tired to dream. His plans were blown apart when he discovered that he had a guest.

Clint had been asleep on his couch, but quickly opened his eyes at the noise he made. Steve arched an eyebrow while the other man yawned like a cat. "Do I want to know how you got in?" If he could stall the inevitable, even a little…

Clint gave him a dry look. "You know how long I've been an agent. You wound me, Rogers." The man winced. "No offense, buddy, but you look worse than I do."

Steve took a deep breath. He still wanted to run, as quickly as he could, but knew that it was too late. "Clint, I'm…"

"You say you're sorry and I'll punch you." No matter how exhausted the archer was, the man's eyes blazed. "Because I'm not too proud to admit that the guy would've crushed me. You saved my life. And I'm not going to listen to you apologizing for saving my life."

"I almost killed you!"

"Nope. That guy tried to slam the arrow at my heart as a thank you for causing his death." Clint groaned and shook his head. "Which I would've told you weeks ago, but you kept running around and I wasn't exactly in the shape to chase you." The hawk smirked in an absolutely disarming manner. "You actually hit what you were supposed to for once, Rogers."

Steve tried to smile, but it didn't come out right.

Of course Clint noticed. The man's eyes hardened again. "Do you know why Coulson was my handler for so damned long?" Naturally he didn't, so the archer went on almost immediately. "Because I refused to let anyone else lead me. Because I didn't trust anyone else in the whole S.H.I.E.L.D enough to let them lead me. But I trusted you, from day one. I still do. I know that you'll always have my back." The man gritted his teeth. "I don't trust a lot of people, Cap. And I'm not gonna watch one of them run around like a headless chicken, trying to avoid me. Because I want to have your back, too. Are we clear?"

Steve nodded, all words crushed under the lump forming in his throat.

"Great." Clint yawned again, then stretched without remembering his wound and grimaced. "So… We've now established that you can actually hit something. Which means that we can continue your lessons."

Touching the bow again was one of the last things Steve wanted to do. But Clint was persistent. Two months later they both grinned like loons when the Captain hit bull's eye for the first time. Clint never forced the soldier to use the bow again. Steve joked that it was because Clint feared he might outmatch the archer. They both knew that it was because the Hawk saw that his friend was no longer afraid of the weapon.

Their wounds had healed.

* * *

End of story

* * *

A/N: Awww! Poor Clint! And GOSH, poor Steve! Just imagine what would've become of him, if Clint didn't survive to set him right. (SHUDDERS)

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you.

UP NEXT: A person from Natasha's past comes back to haunt her. Clint pays the price. And then, are you ready to meet the Guardians of the Galaxy?

Awkay, I really need to go to bed. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all then.

Take care!

* * *

Angeniko: Welcome aboard! (BEAMS AND HUGS) I'm absolutely overjoyed that you've enjoyed the tales you've read thus far so much! Goodness, such words of praise. (smiles) I really hope that the tales to come won't disappoint, either.

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Carry692: I love to surprise on occasion. (grins) Poor Tony and Clint, right? I'm SUPER happy that you enjoyed it, and I really hope that the next won't disappoint, either!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I've missed him, too. (smiles fondly) His bromance with Clint is BEAUTIFUL, isn't it? I LOVE those two, to bits!

And we all love Steve, too! So happy that I finally have a chapter with him in it coming up. (BEAMS)

QUESTIONS indeed! Gosh, it sounds like not everything's okay with Clint. I'm considering typing a chapter-fic related to this, so we'll see. (grins)

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	107. A Hawk and a Sparrow

A/N: This chapter turned out to be NOTHING of what I'd planned it to be! I'm not sure if that's a good thing or bad. (chuckles) It became… intense, at least, I suppose.

BUT, before letting you be the judges… THANK YOU, a million times over, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings, love and support! This collection has been here FOR YEARS. And it's all thanks to you! (HUUUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! Brace yourselves for insanity?

* * *

A Hawk and a Sparrow

* * *

The café was full of chatter and the scent of coffee wrapped around Clint as he walked in. He grinned upon spotting a woman sitting at a calm, isolated table with her back to him. She was munching a lemon muffin while observing the world on the other side of the window.

"Hey", he greeted as he approached. "I didn't know that you were back already." He'd been surprised to get a text from Natasha a couple of hours earlier. Wasn't she supposed to be on a mission for at least a few more days?

"Ah, you're finally here!" That voice was unfamiliar. So were those impossibly blue eyes turning towards him. She smiled in a way that made him feel cold while taking away her wig, letting a long, jet-black braid fall loose. " _I'm under the impression that you speak Russian?_ "

One of Clint's hands was already reaching out towards a concealed knife. " _What have you done to Natasha?_ " was what he hissed as a response. If she'd even…!

The woman, however, shrugged. " _Nothing._ " She smiled again, sweetly. " _And if you want things to remain that way, sit down and have tea with me._ "

Of course Clint knew that she was most likely bluffing. But he couldn't take the risk, not when it was his best friend's safety on the line. So he sat, tense and on guard. There was already a mug of tea waiting for him. " _Who are you?_ "

The woman lifted a finger and tilted her head, amusement all over her face. She looked like she was playing her favorite game and winning. " _One sip, one answer. Those are the rules, little bird._ "

Clint knew that he absolutely shouldn't take even a sip of the tea. But now that he was in it, he had no other choice but to see this game through. And he knew that she wouldn't kill him yet. There was obviously something she wanted from him first. Obedient and defiant all at once, he drank.

" _Good boy_ ", the woman purred. She tasted her own drink and wrinkled her nose. " _The tea here is even worse than those muffins._ " Then she finally seemed to remember his question. " _At the moment I go by ten different aliases. The most real of those names is Sparrow._ " She chuckled, a deep, velvety sound that registered instantly as attractive. " _They named me that because I was the smallest, the weakest. Yet here I am, still alive, while they're all dead._ "

A shiver went down Clint's spine. " _You're from Red Room._ " Natasha had always refused to tell him what, exactly, became of that place. He was starting to have some dark guesses.

She tutted and pointed towards his tea. " _You know the rules. Do you want to play naughty with me?_ " She, for one, seemed to enjoy the thought of playing dirty.

Biting back a growl, Clint tasted the beverage again, this time distinguishing a flavor that wasn't supposed to be there.

" _You're smarter than you look._ " She appeared pleased. " _Yes, we were born in the same place, Natalia and I._ " She decided to give the tea a one more chance, and flinched at the taste. " _I'm sure that you know what the graduation ceremony was like. But tell me… Has she ever told you about the final exam?_ "

Clint's eyebrows furrowed, which was the only reaction he was about to gift her with.

She snorted. " _Of course she didn't. She's more than happy to forget._ " She gritted her teeth and looked away, showing aggression for the first time. " _It was a one-on-one against each other. A fight to the death. To ensure that only those of us who were worthy would graduate._ " Their eyes met, hers full of fire. " _I stood right there, watching her kill my sister. So did our mother. She was the one who commanded and monitored the whole thing._ "

Clint was starting to feel dizzy. He swallowed thickly and clenched his jaw. Wondering just how bad this would get.

She clearly noticed that whatever she gave him was taking affect and leaned closer. Like a predator closing in on their already doomed prey. " _My mother has paid for her sins, now. And so will Natalia._ "

* * *

The mission was long and tedious. Aside a few… tense moments it was also horribly dull. Marching into the apartment she considered her favorite of those she owned all over the world, Natasha wanted a hot bath and a lemon muffin.

However, the instant she closed the door she froze, her eyes narrowing. Something was off. She could sense an intruder.

Stealthy and soundless as a cat, she grabbed her favorite knife and moved further into the apartment. Her sharp, outraged eyes scanned through the signs, spotting each one easily. Someone had been sitting on her couch. Flipping through the book she'd been reading.

Feeling furious and violated, she clenched her jaw. Which was when her eyes landed on the phone she'd left home when heading to the mission. A blue light winked back at her, indicating a received message. Examining the item, she found one sent message and one received.

Her unwanted guest had invited Clint for a muffin, to one of their favorite cafés. The received message, typed in Russian, was obviously meant for her. ' _Welcome back home. Call me as soon as you get this. We've missed you._ '

Natasha's teeth hurt from how tightly she bit them together. She couldn't remember the previous time she would've felt as cold as she did then. This was the part of her life that was supposed to be in the past coming back to haunt her. This was a nightmare coming to life.

She shuddered involuntarily when the phone vibrated in her hold. Another message had fallen through. ' _In case you're already home… I left you a gift._ '

Slowly, unwillingly, Natasha turned her head. Far too quickly she spotted what she'd been supposed to find. On her floor, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through a window, lay a dead sparrow, an arrow placed beside it.

* * *

Clint wasn't knocked out by whatever drug he was given. It left him dazed, unable to make any independent decisions. When Sparrow announced that they were leaving the café he went with her, leaning unwillingly on her when the world spun and swayed in front of his eyes. A few people gave him worried, even disgusted looks, most likely imagining that he was drunk or high. No one made a move to stop them. As soon as they were in her car she offered him a piece of fabric. " _Are you going to wrap this around your eyes or should I?_ " He took the blindfold and tied it quickly despite how clumsy the drug made his fingers, not wanting her hands anywhere near him. As though reading his mind she petted his cheek, showing in no uncertain terms who was in charge. " _Aren't you a good boy? Like a well-trained puppy. No wonder Natalia enjoys playing with you so much._ "

Clint had to use all his willpower to keep the venomous words gathering on his tongue from slipping out. He'd learned, through several severe and unfortunate lessons, that sometimes anything he said could be used against him. So he kept his mouth shut, listened, waited. Tried to will the drug into fading away quickly.

Sparrow didn't seem to mind his sullen silence. It made her giggle. " _You're absolutely adorable when you sulk. Pity that I'll have to dispose of you so quickly._ "

" _Dispose of me?_ " He wasn't surprised. He'd had no illusions when it came to her plans.

" _Well of course. Natalia always despised sharing her… toys. And you, little bird, are something far more precious. You're the only family she has left._ "

Clint shook his head. Tossing whatever oath of silence he'd made to the wind. " _No, I'm not._ " Even without him Natasha wouldn't be alone in the world anymore. He'd made sure of that.

" _Yet you're the only one as close to her as a brother._ " There was something chilling in her tone. " _And for that she'll get to watch me butcher you in front of her eyes._ "

" _She's going to kill you._ "

" _We'll see about that_ ", she mused merrily. Then made a sound of pleasure. " _Ah, we're here._ "

Clint was dragged out of the vehicle almost as soon as it stopped. They headed inside through what sounded like a heavy, metallic door, and entered a space that reeked of something nauseating. He tensed up, instinctively preparing himself to fight. Until he heard a loud, threatening growl that definitely didn't come from a human being.

" _You heard that, didn't you? You're not the only pet keeping me company._ " She murmured something he couldn't hear properly, and the growling intensified. " _She's very protective of me. Be nice to me, and she'll be nice to you._ " She scratched rough fur. " _Isn't that right, darling?_ " Whatever beast accompanied them growled yet again as a response.

Sharp nails tapped ominously against the floor, causing a truly horrifying sound, as they advanced further into the pit of hell. Until something sharp and metallic pressed against his throat caused him to freeze. " _Try with either foot and you'll feel a platform in front of you. Step on it and prepare to give the performance of your life._ " Indeed, when he kicked he felt something wooden. Cautious, fully expecting a trap, he stepped on it. The beast snarled from deep within its throat somewhere at his left, nearly drowning out Sparrow's next words. " _Good boy. Now, hands behind you back._ " As soon as he obeyed reluctantly something hard and cold wrapped around both his wrists, causing him to flinch involuntarily. " _What's this? You're not afraid of a little metal, are you?_ " Two locks clicked in a sound of doom. The blade disappeared from his throat, at least. It was a tiny relief until something else was wrapped around his neck, tightened just enough to ensure that he noticed. His heart began to race as realization dawned. A noose. " _Good! Now stay nice and still. We wouldn't want any unpleasant… accidents, now would we?_ " Her voice was growing further as she walked away. " _Oh, and little bird? I would advice against falling asleep. Because I won't cut the rope if you fall on your knees. Those who kneel deserve no mercy. My mother made sure that I knew as much since I was five-years-old. It was one of the few valuable lessons I learned from her._ "

There was a deeply, disturbing sound soon after. Like rusty metal squeaking. It was rhythmic and haunting, swung on and on. At some point it felt like his heart was beginning to match it. Every now and then he could also hear the beast. It growled, sighed, howled, moved around. Even came to sniff at him, the warm breath making everything inside him turn cold. The unwanted, horrifying attention didn't vanish until Sparrow gave her pet something to eat. It devoured the treat noisily, flesh and bone crunching sickeningly. Clint didn't want to know what the meal was.

Minutes and hours bled into what felt like years. At least thrice Sparrow left and came back again just when he wondered if she'd abandoned him. Most of the time he couldn't hear a thing aside the beast's noises and the screeching sound. He attempted to escape twice but the monster made him think better of it. Somehow the nearly absolutely silence was the worst torture. The exhaustion creeping in, trying to consume him, was crushing. Eventually Clint no longer had any concept of time. His throat was so dry that it hurt, his head was pounding and his legs were on fire from the constant standing up. In the end his knees began to wobble.

" _I wouldn't fall down, if I were you._ " The screeching noise seemed to grow louder, which was most likely a trick of his imagination. " _What you're going through right now… I was put through it when I was nine. As a punishment for crying when an older girl broke my arm. I don't know how long I stood there, with no pain medication. But I know that it took inhumanly long before my sister finally came and cut the rope. I was forced to punish her for it, to teach us both a lesson. Do you know which lesson I learned?_ " Her voice echoed painfully in his head, making it seem like she was everywhere at once. " _That mercy is for the weak. And the dead._ "

Clint smiled wryly. Memories that hadn't crossed his mind in a long time floated through. " _Natasha said something similar when we first met. I spared her life to prove her wrong._ "

" _Would you do it again, if you knew that you'd die because of her one day?_ " Sparrow inquired, sounding genuinely curious.

" _Yeah_ ", Clint swore without any hesitation. " _It's not her fault that I'm here, though. Or that your sister is dead._ "

Something whistled past his head. He considered himself lucky that it didn't hit. It took a few seconds before the woman spoke. " _Has anyone told you that your mouth is too big for your own good?_ "

Clint smirked, no matter how badly his legs were hurting. " _So many people that at some point I lost track._ " His mouth had definitely caused him some trouble over the years.

Sparrow laughed. Which was quickly followed by a clicking sound. The beast approached him, sniffed at him from several angles. The attention made his heart jump erratically. His hands, almost free of the metal restraining them, froze. A drop of blood meandered down his finger from where the skin of his wrists had been irritated. It had an instant impact. A set of teeth, sharper than anything he'd ever encountered before, sunk into his thigh. Clint couldn't hold it back, no matter how hard he tried. He screamed as pain exploded and spread through his whole body like fire.

There was another clicking sound. The teeth released them with a displeased snarl. " _Enough, thank you._ " A phone made a noise. " _Natalia just sent a message. Apparently she isn't very happy with me. I'm sending her a recording of the ruckus you just made to assure her that we're having a lot of fun._ "

Clint's chest tightened. He could barely stand, especially when he now only had one good leg and blood was escaping alarmingly. But the thought of Natasha coming here, of her being forced to face the past she'd fought so hard to leave behind… That was the unbearable part.

Clint continued to fight with the metal binding him, even though it nearly pushed him off of whatever little balance he'd found. He was a circus star, once, an acrobat. He wasn't planning on accepting defeat like this. " _What makes you think that she'll come?_ "

" _She'll be here soon_ ", Sparrow declared with certainty. He felt her eyes on him, even if he couldn't see a thing. " _Because you ruined her. Thanks to you I have a worse punishment for her than killing her._ "

" _She'll come after you._ "

" _And I'll make her run for the rest of her life._ " Sparrow was practically purring. " _The great Black Widow, chasing like a rabid dog until she takes her last breath._ " She got up, bare feet not making a sound to indicate where she was until she spoke again. " _She'll hate you, too, eventually. For bringing her heart back to life._ "

Clint wanted to tell her how wrong she was. That she might've known Natalia, but he knew Natasha. She didn't know him, either. He wasn't planning on going down.

All of a sudden a gentle hand caressed his wrists, which were still trapped behind his back. Fingers brushed the damaged skin, explored the limbs that'd almost been released. " _You're very stubborn, I'll admit that._ " She tightened the cuffs, so much that it nearly cut off blood circulation. " _But it won't do you a lot of good here, little bird._ "

It was all in his head, of course, but Clint could've sworn that the noose grew tighter as well. The inability to see didn't make him feel any better. Breathing didn't feel right and he swallowed convulsively to keep himself together. True, this was a tight spot, but panicking wasn't going to solve anything.

" _Birdy…_ " A hand tapped his cheek, making him shudder as much as he could without losing the balance he had left. " _You're not going to take a nap yet, are you? You wouldn't do that to Natalia, would you?_ "

Clint hadn't realized how close to passing out he was until his head jerked, nearly pushing him off his feet. He struggled, much too aware of the blood running down his other leg, but remained standing. This time the noose definitely pressed more tightly against his throat. " _… would hate to… disappoint you …_ ", he slurred, as threateningly as he could.

Sparrow giggled.

After that it became quiet. Unnervingly so. Clint wondered, for an unpleasant moment, if he was dead. No, he could still feel his heart racing, his blood rushing. There was a little more fight left in him. " _… no point… in listening…_ ", he murmured, his sluggish head registering what his companion was doing. " _… won't hear her coming …_ " He'd seen how deadly silent Natasha could be.

" _I won't._ " Sparrow sounded deviously calm. " _But my friend here will._ "

It was so quiet that Clint could barely breathe under the weight. The tension was heavy, electric. And then the beast began to growl, from deep within its throat.

" _Glad you could join us, Natalia._ "

" _Give me one good reason to not cut your throat open_ ", Natasha snarled, sounding even more dangerous than the beast that obviously wasn't happy with whatever was happening.

" _Cut me open… and my pet will tear your precious Hawk to pieces._ " Sparrow sounded perfectly tranquil, in control. " _And I'm the only one who can stop her._ "

" _Do you really think that she'd be faster than my bullet?_ "

" _Yes_ ", Sparrow replied without hesitation. " _Sentiment slows you down. She has no such limitations._ " The woman obviously enjoyed the situation. " _See that blood on her muzzle? She's had a taste of Clint. She'd love to try again._ "

Natasha breathed sharply through her nose. Furious, barely stable. It was torture to be able to do nothing to help her. " _Ronja… What happened to Inga…_ "

" _Do you know why she was called Nightingale? Because she never had to harm anyone for information. That silver tongue of hers… It was the most dangerous weapon I've ever seen. I hated her, feared her and loved her for it._ " Sparrow held a pause. " _She could make anyone sing her a song. The only ones immune to her were you, and our mother._ " Something changed in the air. It grew colder. " _You took away my sister. And now it's going to cost you a brother._ "

There was a kick. Which led to an alarming, crackling sound. And suddenly there was nothing under Clint's feet. He fell, for what felt like eternity, until he was hanging by the rope around his neck. Hard as he tried to kick, his toes barely brushed the ground. He gasped for dear life, only to realize that there was no way any oxygen would make it through.

" _You have two choices, Natalia._ " Sparrow's – or Ronja's, wasn't that her name? – voice seemed to come from further, or maybe his consciousness was fleeing. " _Chase me, finish me off… Or stay and see if there's anything you can do to save his miserable life._ " A frantic heartbeat ticked by, then another. " _We're so alike, aren't we? Our family is our downfall._ " There was a beautiful, melodic whistle. " _Red Shadow, come._ " Nails scratched against the floor, and then the woman and her beast were leaving.

Clint continued to fight but it was futile, with both his arms and legs rendered useless. He shivered when a pair of hands were suddenly there. "Goddamnit, Barton…!" Natasha tried her hardest, but there was no way she was strong enough to hold him up. And there was nothing for her to place under his feet.

Time was running out. It didn't concern Clint like it should've. He finally stopped struggling uselessly for a breath.

"Barton, is it still in your boot?"

Was what in his boot? Why was she whispering? Clint tried to sigh, but it didn't sound right.

"Clint…!"

He knew nothing more.

* * *

For Natasha it all felt surreal. Clint fell, and Ronja simply left him there. Walked away like it was the easiest thing in the world. She tried to will herself into following, as a big part of her wanted to do. Instead she rushed to Clint, her head counting the seconds.

Too many, passing by too quickly…

The moment her fingers wrapped around the knife hidden into Clint's boot the archer became nauseatingly limp. She tensed up. Called out to him with despair she would've never, ever let anyone else hear. Nothing.

For exactly ten heartbeats she was that little girl again. The one who killed Ronja's sister. The one who begged, with tears in her eyes, that she wouldn't have to. The one who stared at the blood all over her hands afterwards, what little was left alive of her heart growing cold at the realization that this kill was the first of many. The tears didn't fall. She passed her exam, soon graduated. Natalia died and Black Widow came to life.

It was Clint who introduced her to Natasha, and she wasn't going to let him fall into the shadows following her every step.

Her hand was unnaturally steady as the knife dug into the rope. Clint was meticulous when it came to his weaponry. The blade was terrifyingly sharp. A few vicious assaults and the rope broke, sending him tumbling to the floor. He didn't groan, didn't move. Wasn't even breathing. And Natasha's head was, unhelpfully, counting the seconds again.

 _Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…_

"NO!" she roared, or perhaps it was closer to a whimper. She landed beside him so hard that her knees were bruised, and continued the battle he'd given up. She tossed away the rope, unable to avoid staring at the already vivid bruising around his neck. Her own chest tightening, she began the compressions, putting her all into every motion. She didn't have the time to wonder why her eyes hurt the way they did. "Barton, you're tougher than this…!"

 _Tick… Tock… Tick…_

Unfortunately Clint proved to be as stubborn as he always was. Once he'd decided to stop breathing he wasn't about to start again easily. Natasha was much too aware that there was only so long she'd be able to carry on. Blood pooled underneath them from where his thigh was bleeding.

Natasha cried out from pain and frustration. Slammed her fist at his chest with everything she had. "CLINT!"

 _Tick… Tock…_

Time was running out. Just like Clint's blood and his life. And he still wasn't fighting to keep it from happening.

"Do you remember what you promised? In Budapest?" She clenched her jaw, so close to losing control that it hurt physically to hold on. For both of them. "You promised, you bastard! So don't you dare…!" She trailed off.

 _Tick…_

Clint inhaled. Sharply and desperately, enough so make him break into a fit of wheezing coughs. He groaned and turned to his side, every fresh, new breath an agonizing battle he barely won. "Ow…"

Natasha was gasping as well. Trembling to her core. "Yeah, idiot. Ow." She felt a ridiculous need to hold his hand, to hug him, and even more unreasonably she dared to do neither. She just breathed, trying to convince herself that he was finally able to do the same. Her hand was no longer steady when it snatched away his blindfold harshly.

Clint groaned and tried to shield his eyes until he realized that he didn't have the strength to lift his hand. He turned his head, barely managing the task, to look at her. His eyes seemed horribly red and there was a bluish tint on his lips. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him look so dazed. He swallowed and shivered from how badly it hurt. "Tasha…", he rasped and blinked heavily. Those red, unfocused eyes darted around sluggishly, seeking. "Where… Where's Phil…? 'Just heard Phil…"

* * *

Five days later a lone figure hobbled through a cemetery, snow crunching uncomfortably loudly under his feet. He didn't stop until he found another lonely soul, standing in front of a tombstone. They both stared at the engraved words.

' _Phillip Coulson_ '

"I thought I told you to stay at the hospital", Natasha pointed out, far more sharply than she probably intended. She was pale and the dark shadows around her eyes revealed that she hadn't slept in a while. It wasn't hard to guess what she would've dreamt of if she tried.

Clint snorted, not insulted or taken aback. He knew how hard she could bite when she was hurting. "You know how much I hate those places. Like hell I was planning on staying for a vacation."

"And what happened to your cane?"

"We had a disagreement and decided that we were happier without each other." He took her hand, and while the limb stiffened it wasn't pulled away. "I had a feeling that you might come here."

Natasha gulped. Far less than a handful of people had seen the side of her he did then. She refused to look towards him, ashamed and furious with herself. "You two were the first people who ever looked at me and didn't see a weapon. Or a monster." Her jawline tightened. "Sometimes I just… I have to remind myself that I deserved it. That I deserve a family, after taking away so many others'."

Clint nodded. "I know the feeling", he murmured softly, a cavalcade of unpleasant memories rolling in. Often when he watched Laura and the kids he wondered how in the world he could possibly deserve them. And feared the day when the universe would notice its great error and take them away from him. He squeezed his friend's hand a little tighter. "You just have to believe that whoever you see in the mirror, whatever blood you imagine is on your hands… They're not there anymore. And the kid they once took into that hellhole, molded to be their tool… deserves a second chance." There were still days when he stood in front of a mirror and told himself the same, over and over again.

Natasha snorted. But her fingers curled almost desperately around his. "Is that the best pep-talk you could come up with?"

"Hey, give me a break! I'm supposed to be in bed." In a hospital, really. His thigh, as well as his chest, was screaming in agony to prove as much. He took a deep breath, testing it. It hurt like hell but at least oxygen still made it to his lungs. Good.

The silence stretched. Surprisingly it was Natasha who broke it. "Ronja… I wanted to slash her throat. Snap her neck. I wanted to be that person again."

"But you weren't. You saved my life instead." His throat seriously wasn't liking all this talking. He held back a wince, barely. "Thanks, for that."

"It was my fault that you almost got yourself killed", Natasha pointed out darkly.

"Now who's being an idiot?" Clint decided that it was time to lead her thoughts elsewhere. "So… Lila's been asking about auntie Tasha. She seems upset that I haven't dragged you for a visit in ages. How would you feel about a Barton weekend?"

Natasha nodded slowly, her mind clearly somewhere far away.

She didn't seem ready to leave just yet. Clint accepted that with a nod of his own. And stood there, keeping her company as she fought with all her might to lay ghosts of the past to rest.

He knew that they'd meet Ronja again. And that then his best friend would face this same struggle all over again. He wasn't worried. Natalia fought all alone, but Natasha never, ever would.

* * *

End

* * *

TO THOSE WHO MAY WONDER… There are characters by the names Sparrow and Nightingale in the Marvel universe. (Although I dare suspect they're not exactly widely known.) These two sisters have NOTHING to do with those characters! I just couldn't resist giving them these names.

A/N: Oh dear, poor Natasha! (whimpers) This had to be TORTURE on her. I've gotta admit that I probably enjoyed creating Ronja more than I should've…

Soooooooo… Was the chapter any good, at all? PLEASE, DO LEAVE A NOTE TO LET ME KNOW YOUR VERDICT! Hearing from you ALWAYS makes my day, every single time.

Awkay, I REEEEEEEALLY need some sleep, now. Until next time, folks! I REALLY HOPE that you'll stay tuned for more feathery adventures.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: So do I! He's precious. (smiles) Those poor things! (whimpers) I'm thrilled that you liked the little girl! I just couldn't resist. (grins)

We'll see if that story actually comes to life one day. It means a lot that you'd be eager to read it! (BEAMS)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: (BEEEEAEMS) I'm overjoyed that you've enjoyed these tales so much! LOL, we'll see. Might be a blessing, or horribly cruel, to keep him awake… (smirks cheekily, already plotting)

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

Carry692: Awwww! I'm SUPER HAPPY that you enjoyed the chapter, and liked the little girl. Clint just keeps saving those precious little ones. (smiles fondly)

I HOPE, so bad, that you'll find the special addition worth your expectations!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

JolyJolt: Hearing that means SO MUCH! (HUGS) I REALLY, REALLY HOPE that you'll continue to enjoy these mad, feathery tales.

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	108. Quarantine, part 1 (FEAT Guardians of)

A/N: PHEW! It took me AGES to get this chapter typed. (chuckles) It got pretty huge. And I wanted to TRY to make it as perfect as humanly possible. (blushes) BUUUT, here we are!

FIRST, though…! THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, love and support! MY DEAR GOSH. It's been SO LONG, and SO MANY of you are still along – and so many new followers have joined this insane flight! (HUGS) Thank you!

Awkay, because stalling is rude (just ask Steve)… Let's go! I REALLY, REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy this SPECIAL chapter!

 **TAKES PLACE BEFORE 'AGE OF ULTRON' AND ONLY A LITTLE AFTER THE FIRST 'GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY'.**

* * *

Quarantine, part 1 of 2 (FEAT Guardians of the Galaxy)

* * *

At one of the worst parts of New York a man who only went by the name Earl these days opened one pale-brown eye when he heard a bizarre, whistling sound. It came from the sky, and for a few moments he tensed up, unpleasant war-memories rushing towards surface. Then he noticed something unlike anything he'd ever seen before. And both his eyes flew wide.

It was a smallish, egg-shaped aircraft. Definitely not from Earth. It came closer, and closer, crashing down for some reason he couldn't pinpoint. Until it landed hard, barely avoiding an abandoned building.

Earl stared. Then got up, as quickly as his old legs allowed, and hurried away. The men in suits would come soon. And he wasn't going to answer their questions. Not this time.

In his haste Earl didn't notice that he wasn't the only one on the move. From the wreckage a tiny creature slipped out. They both disappeared into the night. Unseen in a city that never slept.

* * *

It had been a very long, strange and unpleasant day. Which combined with the fact that he hadn't slept in thirty-six hours didn't exactly set Clint on the best of moods. He wanted to sleep but couldn't from his buzzing thoughts and the tingling of adrenaline in his veins. So he did the next best thing and jogged to the other side of the city to get a steaming takeaway-mug from his favorite café. Because for a place so fancy, the coffee at the Tower was a travesty. Unfortunately he barely got the chance to taste his treat before things got… weird. Weird, even in the Avengers standards.

He was about to take a turn to right, towards the Tower, when his ever-vigilant eyes spotted something on a tiny, filthy alley. A shadow moving towards a massive former factory. Clint frowned and squinted his eyes. Then froze in disbelief.

It was a surprise that his hand was steady as he took his phone and dialed. "Cap? I just saw a big a…" He remembered who he was talking to and rethought his wording. "… _big_ , big raccoon sneaking into an abandoned building."

Steve was quiet. For an infuriatingly long time. " _A raccoon?_ " Well, he couldn't exactly blame his friend on sounding… hesitant. At least the Captain wasn't questioning his sanity. Out loud.

"Yeah, a raccoon." Clint was all too aware how insane he sounded. "A fully clothed one, on two feet. And it was carrying a huge gun."

Another silence. It would've been worth a good sum of money to see the look on Steve's face. " _Do you think it's an alien invasion?_ "

"Honestly? I have no idea what this is." Clint wasn't dismissing the possibility that his coffee had been spiked. "Just… Get here. We should probably check this out." Something of an understatement.

" _We should_ ", Steve agreed. Sounding about as bewildered as he felt. " _Keep monitoring the situation but don't initiate contact until backup gets there._ "

"Don't worry, Cap. I'll stay safe on my perch." Sadly, they both knew how poor of a track-record he had on achieving such.

Clint didn't make a sound as he entered. He stood in the shadows for a few seconds, unseen and unheard, observing. Then he heard someone cursing. Loudly. Well, that settled the problem of where to go.

Still soundless as a cat, Clint made his way towards the ruckus. As he got closer he was able to distinguish the words. "… that! I'm trying to help you."

If the hissing sound was any indication, the creature wasn't impressed.

"Yeah, yeah, you're pissed off. Well, I'm pissed off, too. And having your furry ass trying to maim me isn't helping!"

By then Clint was close enough to see a man in a long leather coat. The stranger was grouching and panting, clearly in the middle of trying to catch something. Quite reasonably Clint imagined that the 'something' was the raccoon he saw before. But when his gaze followed a new hissing sound he discovered something else.

There was another, far smaller animal on the floor in what was obviously a battle-stance. The creature obviously came from some other planet or world or… something. It looked a lot like a hamster, only this one was slightly bigger. Its half-long, thick blue fur was sticking up from rage as it hissed again, tiny coal-eyes blazing hellfire. Some moments later he noticed the long, ridiculously fluffy tail that pointed upwards in a display of wrath.

It was definitely one of the most adorable things Clint had ever seen.

Clearly the man chasing it didn't agree. The dissatisfied groan coming from the stranger's right wasn't impressed, either. "Quill, just let me give it a nice little zap." Clint turned his gaze towards the new voice and was taken by surprise when he realized that it was the raccoon. _It can talk?_ "It wouldn't even hurt that furry bastard. Just put it back to sleep."

"No zapping!"

"I am Groot!"

 _What… the…?_ Was there a kid involved? Alarmed, Clint's eyes darted until he saw something peering from behind the blond man's shoulder. A talking… miniature tree…? Certainly another creature to be added on his 'most adorable things ever seen' list. The archer shook his head, trying to make at least some sense of the insanity he was witnessing.

What was in that coffee he just drank…?

The blue-furred animal's attention was instantly nailed on the talking tree. It tilted its head and blinked slowly several times, both lids moving simultaneously. It unleashed a very worrying, purring sound. Suddenly more a cat than a hamster.

The raccoon tensed up. Teeth revealed in a threat. "Oh, no you don't…!" The step forward was what it took.

The creature started snarling, and its fur puffed up so that it appeared twice as big as it actually was. The hair around its neck spiked up like a mighty collar. Out of nowhere a pair large, razor sharp fangs appeared. Still the creature appeared cute beyond all belief. Until it was charging towards the talking bonsai tree.

The man – Quill – instantly moved an arm to protect the petrified looking being on his shoulder. "Hey, no! Bad…!" Those fangs were eager to sink into the soft skin and flesh of the man's hand. "Ouch!"

The blue animal sneered once more. It cast a longing look towards the talking tree that was now glaring back with a deeply insulted "I am Groot!". The rodent chirped as a response before hissing with frustration. Then, startling them all, it dashed into motion and climbed up, up, up, tiny feet sticking to the wall. It settled to a support beam tantalizingly close to Clint.

Quill's wound was bleeding far more than it should've, Clint saw that much immediately. He also realized that they couldn't leave the… alien-hamster on the loose. And he came to the conclusion that he couldn't just stand back not helping.

No matter how sensible it might've been Clint couldn't bring himself to put a bullet on the outraged creature. Not when it seemed as terrified, hungry and desperate as it was outraged. He took a deep breath, instantly hearing Natasha's voice echoing in his head and calling him an idiot, then took action. "No one… zap me, or anything, yeah?" Slowly, purposefully cutting the creature's only escape route, he took a step forward to let himself be seen. "You guys got a cage or something?" When one has a million questions, it's best to start with the simplest one.

"Yeah", Quill confirmed. There was a hesitant expression on the man's face. "But how are you planning on catching it?"

Clint had no idea. It didn't improve matters that he'd already been spotted. The creature glared at him heatedly, its astonishingly puffy, long tail pointed upwards in a declaration of war.

Clint groaned. This _wasn't_ going to be a lot of fun. "I'm not gonna hurt you. But you can't be left running around here. So…" He trailed off when the bizarre animal began to move towards him, sniffing the air curiously. Then, before he could do more than blink, it was pawing at his pocket, a purring noise rumbling from its throat. Which was when he remembered the chocolate bar he bought with the coffee. He would've laughed if he wasn't worried about startling the beast. "Chocolate, huh? That's your thing?"

"Be careful", Quill called out. The man seemed nervous. "Those things have worse temper than Rocket, here." Which earned a 'Hey!' and a glare from the raccoon. "Don't let it bite you!"

"You're seriously not helping", Clint muttered.

His inaction didn't sit well with the alien. It began to huff, what looked a lot like a pout on its face. It was pawing at his pocket even more insistently. When he still didn't fulfill the demand the creature climbed to sit on his leg. Which was when it discovered a way into the pocket. An explosion of purring erupted as it began to work on the wrappings. The second its teeth sank into the chocolate its eyes widened and glazed over, the purring from before transforming to deep, low moans. Most importantly, it was distracted. Clint was able to lay his hand on it without getting a reaction.

This might be the only opportunity.

Just then there was a great degree of commotion. Clint tensed up, forced to look away from the animal to see if there was a more serious threat coming. In seconds a muscular man marched into the room, a look of irritation and embarrassment in his blue eyes. Those red patterns on that bizarrely colored skin… Were they veins, scars or paintings…? The arrival definitely looked like a warrior. Or would've if he wasn't scowling and holding a hand to his cheek.

Quill and the raccoon tensed up. "Drax?" The man nodded towards something behind the arrival. A spark of… curiosity lit up in his eyes. "Who's your new friend?"

"The women of this species are very hostile", Drax muttered darkly, sounding so much like a sulking child that it made Clint smirk on his perch.

"You… Drax the Destroyer… got your ass kicked by a _girl_?" The raccoon seemed to find that the funniest thing he'd ever heard, if the fit of laughter was anything to go by.

"Would you please shut up? I've got a headache and I have a feeling that because of you I didn't get the chance to have my evening tea." Natasha stepped into view, her left eyebrow twitching as her attention shifted back to Drax. There'd been a knife in her hold but she put it away slowly to show that she meant no harm but would react if she was provoked. "I wouldn't have been so hostile if you had paused for a few seconds to listen to me."

The raccoon snorted. Then folded his arms, not letting go of his gun. "He doesn't usually listen."

Natasha ignored the strange animal. She sounded calm but there was something hazardous lurking underneath. "I'm looking for my friend. He has this annoying habit of running into trouble wherever he goes."

Quill smirked. When the man spoke next he was practically purring, the still bleeding wound forgotten when he only had eyes for Natasha. "Does he like high places?" A single finger was pointed towards his direction.

Clint waved, as much as he dared to with the temperamental being keeping him company. "Hey, Tasha. Do you have any chocolate along?"

Natasha stared. Then groaned. "Do I want to know?"

Clint never got the chance to respond. Because the creature sitting on his leg was done with the treat it found. It became aware of the hand held on it, and of all the people below them. And instantly decided that it wanted no part in any of it.

Clint had no hope of managing to do a thing before a set of razor-sharp teeth bit into his arm.

* * *

Things were marginally less tense a small distance away, where Gamora was doing her best to explain the whole situation to bewildered Steve and Tony, and to grim faced Thor. Steve seemed to take her… unusual appearance remarkably well and Tony mused with a degree of good-natured humor if all women were alien to the Captain, green or not. He also wondered what the cold steel in Thor's suspicious eyes was all about. Did the Asgardian know something about her he and Steve didn't? Getting the answer to that one could wait.

"We were looking for someone's stolen pet", she recapped. "Their ship crashed nearby here. There were already people examining it when we came. We decided that finding the pet was more important than confronting them."

"Are you sure that it survived the crash?" Steve inquired.

"It caused the crash", Gamora clarified. "And yes, I'm sure. My teammates are currently inside that building, trying to capture it. It needs to be contained before it makes contact with anyone else."

"It sounds like mighty beast", Thor mused, visibly preparing himself for a battle.

"It is", Gamora affirmed. "It can kill with a single bite. Its saliva is highly toxic. If your friend is in there, you need to tell him not to touch it."

They didn't even have the time to react to those news before Natasha's voice came through their ear comms. Steve took off his and held it out, so that Gamora could hear as well. " _We've got that rat contained._ " The tension in her voice spoke volumes. " _But we've got a problem. It bit Barton and…_ "

" _Star-Lord. Or Peter Quill. You… can call me anything._ "

Natasha, quite rightfully, ignored the cheesy line. Under different circumstances Tony might've been proud of her self-control. " _We need to get them to the Tower. They're bleeding badly._ "

Gamora swore under her breath in some weird language. Tony did the same in English, loudly. Steve didn't chastise either of them, instead gritted his teeth. "We're coming in."

In they went, to find what had to be the weirdest group Tony had ever encountered. A green skinned woman. And now a tiny, clearly very much alive tree, who was looking at them with wide eyes. And… "Is that…?"

Peter's whispered "Don't say…" came hopelessly too late.

"… a raccoon?"

The mentioned creature's left eyebrow began to twitch dangerously. A sneer revealed a set of very sharp teeth. " _Do not_ call me a raccoon! I'm not a raccoon!"

The tiny, tree-like being climbed from Peter's shoulder to the raccoon's. Then squeezed comfortingly. "I am Groot", it reassured in a soft tone.

The raccoon's jawline tightened. "I know. He's an ignorant idiot." If the second, much sharper 'I am Groot!' was any indication that wasn't exactly what the… well, Groot, meant.

"Sorry." Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. And his friends called _him_ a drama queen… "Touchy subject?"

"Touchy subject", Peter and Gamora confirmed as one, the latter already inspecting the former's wound and looking like she'd done that too much.

"Guys?" It was easy to hear how hard Clint fought to keep his tone casual, but hints of pain and alarm still slipped through. "Do you think, maybe, we can postpone the introductions a bit? Because… I'd really, really like to get out of here." The archer was pale, and blood dripped to the floor despite the fabric Natasha was squeezing against his arm with enough force to turn her knuckles white. On the Hawk's shoulder slumbered an oversized, blue hamster, purring like a kitten. "Before that thing wakes up and bites off a chunk of my neck."

For once, just this once, Tony Stark was rendered speechless.

Bruce rushed to meet them as soon as they emerged from the building. If the scientist was surprised by their… not exactly human companions the man didn't let it show. The look on his face promised nothing good. "I just talked to the S.H.I.E.L.D team going through the wreckage." He cast an apologetic look towards Clint and Peter. "We have to call the Tower ahead to have quarantine rooms arranged."

Well… If those words didn't cause some tension… "Why?" Steve was the brave one to ask.

Bruce gulped. "I… just saw a lot of evidence of the venom's possible affects." There was a pained look on the man's face. "The thieves… They tore each other apart under the venom's influence. Literally."

* * *

Bruce and Tony's medical team needed samples. Clint glared at the collection of tubes that held his blood with dismay. "You sure that's enough, doc?" His tone wasn't as light as he'd hoped.

Dr. Cho gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry about that. But we're working hard to figure out what's wrong and how to help you two." She packed up her equipment. "Now, try to get some rest." She knew as well as he did that stress would only make matters worse. Which didn't make chilling out with some creepy alien-rabies coursing through his veins any easier.

"Don't bother telling him that", Natasha advised. After all the years he'd known her these soundless arrivals had lost their impact, but Dr. Cho jumped. The Widow was in her favorite workout outfit. Clearly a punching bag or two had suffered the brunt of her frustrated fury. Hopefully she'd settled for inanimate objects… "That guy doesn't know how to sit back and relax on a good day."

One corner of Gamora's lips twitched. Her stealthy arrival caught even Natasha off-guard. "Sounds like someone I know."

The second Natasha's eyes met Peter's the Star-Lord grinned radiantly, oozing charm. His gaze was a touch too hungry to take in her tight clothes. "Hey." Somehow he didn't have to say anything more for it to sound like a suggestion. When it came to flirting this guy was a force of nature.

But this was Natasha Romanoff he was dealing with. The utterly unimpressed, fed up expression that appeared to her face made Clint cover a grin with his hand. Peter didn't seem to realize how lucky the man was to have a plexiglass separating him from the former assassin.

Clint's amusement turned to curiosity when more drama began to unfold. Peter's eyes were quick to follow, suddenly sheepish, when Gamora rolled her eyes and announced that she'd check up on 'the rat', then walked off. The space traveler's lips opened as he stared at his teammate's distancing back, until he hissed and winced. "Ouch!"

Bruce's face colored while he pulled away the blood sample needle. No matter how subconscious it was, the extra sting may not have been an accident. "Sorry", the scientist apologized immediately and earnestly. "I… I don't know what happened."

Natasha shrugged. "That was far less painful than what I would've done if I was on the same side of the glass." She then shifted, and only a careful eye caught the nearly perfectly disguised worry as she glanced towards Clint. "Any idea how long it'll take before the results are in?"

"A couple of hours." Bruce took a deep breath, fighting to control the monster within, and gave Peter one more apologetic look before focusing on him. "You know the Stark technology. And you know how stubborn Tony is. We'll figure this out."

Clint smiled and nodded. Trust was still something he struggled with. But he knew that he could trust his friends. "I know." He looked towards Natasha, and delivered his best pleading expression. "Any chance I might get a glass of water?" Because he was far too aware of the fever beginning to take over his body. His was feeling painfully hot one moment, unnaturally cold the next, and sweat had started to creep on his skin.

Natasha rolled her eyes. But her left hand twitched in an instinctive need to squeeze his for mutual comfort, betraying her. "I'll be right back, you spoiled brat."

Peter and Bruce both watched her go, in vastly different ways. In the end the scientist shook his head, cheeks gaining a rosy hue. "I, ah… I'll go and deliver these samples." Apology filled the man's eyes yet again. "I still don't…"

"Forget it", Peter advised in a good-natured dismissal. "I've had a piece of my hand chewed off today. A needle felt like nothing." Just before Bruce would've left the space traveler called out, something like nervousness appearing to his face. "The results… They may reveal that I'm not exactly… one-hundred percent human."

That took both Bruce and Clint by surprise. In a few seconds the scientist shrugged. "Some of us Avengers aren't exactly one-hundred percent human, either. So don't expect anyone to judge you or fear you in this building." It meant a lot, to hear those words from the man with a beast within.

Peter's shoulders dropped from relief. The man nodded. "Thanks."

Once Bruce left Peter remained tense and, in comparison to the nearly constant babbling from before, uncharacteristically quiet. He was clearly waiting for Clint to start a round of questions. Which the archer chose against. Whatever the… not-exactly-human thing was all about, it was clearly still new and raw. He had no intention to poke at sore spots. When Natasha showed up with the water, which led to a new comically unsuccessful flirting attempt, Clint decided that it was time to direct his jail mate's thoughts away from genetics.

"You have a thing for dangerous women, don't you?" he observed with amusement.

Peter grinned. Sheepish or proud, was hard to tell. "I started suspecting as much when one struck a fork at me."

"And Natasha usually walks around heavily armed."

"Yeah, I noticed." Which was when something seemed to cross Peter's mind. Discomfort settled on the man's features. "Oh…! Are you two…?" The hand gesture which followed wasn't suitable for children to witness.

Clint actually laughed at the thought. "Nah. We're just friends who have spent the past…" He tried to remember but couldn't. It was hard to focus with the headache rising rapidly. "… I don't even know how many years trying to keep each other alive." He stretched and winced at how sore his muscles were. "What about you and Gamora?"

A strange look flashed on Peter's face. But only for a moment. "Just… Some unspoken thing."

Clint stared. And snorted. "What does that even mean?"

"I'll let you know when I've figured it out." After a while of sullen silence Peter began tapping the floor with his foot, then clapped his hands together. "Okay, enough with the girl-moment. What do you say about some music?"

Clint wasn't sure his head was up to it. Even a simple melody might tear his skull apart. But he needed a distraction, desperately. "Why not. It's not like we've got anything better for entertainment."

* * *

Despite all the Tower's surveillance cameras the teams also wanted to check up on their friends in person. Tony and Bruce were absorbed by working their hardest to come up with an antidote. But the rest of them took turns to visit the quarantine area. All except for one.

Steve was the one who headed to seek out Rocket. Mainly because he was probably the most likely candidate to not strangle him. Following Jarvis' lead towards a balcony, he wondered when his life started including human-like animals and talking plants.

Well, since the serum, the crash and waking up in the future his life got a bit weird.

Steve froze when he reached his target. Because unlike he'd expected Rocket wasn't alone. Groot sat on the raccoon's shoulder. Solemn air lingered around the two. Steve didn't want to eavesdrop or intrude but he couldn't make himself walk away, either.

"I am Groot", the tiny tree sighed, a heartbreaking amount of misery in its tone.

"Hey, none of that!" Rocket probably didn't mean for his tone to come out as sharp as it did. "Quill's tough. He'll be fine. I'm not a fan of this place, but… These people will figure out how to fix this mess."

"I am Groot?"

"I don't know how! That's why I'm sitting out here wasting time like some stupid, useless idiot instead of _doing something_!" Rocket groaned, loudly. "See, this is why I never wanted a team! It makes things complicated."

Groot appeared hurt for a moment. But then determination rose, and a tiny hand began to tug at the bigger creature. "I am Groot!"

"No!" Rocket refused, firmly. "I already told you. I'm not going there. I'll see him when he's out."

"It's not that bad, you know?" Steve decided to finally make himself known. "Once you've gotten used to it."

Rocket snorted. "Oh yeah? I've spent too much of my stupidly short life playing a lab rat. I don't trust anyone with a laboratory." A glare was darted his way. "And I'm not crazy about eavesdroppers, either."

Steve gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry. I was on my way to check up on you and… overheard." He hadn't been exactly invited but sat down, anyway. "Look… I also know a thing or two about being a lab rat. And I'm not sure I like this… mad scientist side of Stark. But… He really does care about his friends, you know? Even though he isn't always good at showing it."

Rocket nodded slowly, suddenly deep in thought. "Yeah. I know."

Feeling like he was close to a small breakthrough, Steve went on. "And he's stubborn. He's not going to give up before the antidote is ready. So, he and his team… They're the best chance Barton and Quill have."

Rocket was quiet for so long that Steve considered leaving. Before gruff words were blurted out. "Barton decided to try and catch a violent alien rodent alone. Is he always that stupid?" _Brave_ , was buried somewhere deep between the lines.

Steve was about to deny it. Then decided that this wasn't the moment for lying. "Yeah, I guess he is."

Rocket grinned, revealing his teeth. "Good. I think I'm starting to like him already."

"I am Groot", the strange creature's even more bizarre, tiny companion agreed with a disarming smile.

Rocket went on after a moment of contemplation, eyes on the world below. "The people on this planet seem horribly boring." He shrugged. "But… Maybe you guys make an exception."

* * *

Natasha stared at the animal that started the whole mess. Glared, really. Sure, it was… cute, in its own way. But still… "Who the hell would want you for a pet?" she muttered.

It glared right back at her from its cage, hissing loudly to make it obvious that it didn't like her any more than she liked it.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "You bit at my friend. If he…" She couldn't bring herself to voice the last word. "… then I'll grab that tail of yours and…" She cut herself short in the middle of the threat when she heard steps.

A second or two later Gamora entered the room. There was new tension on the green skinned woman's face. "They've finally stopped singing… whatever that song was."

"'Ain't No Mountain High Enough'", Natasha supplied immediately. She knew that song very well. "Clint's been obsessed with it for as long as I've known him."

"So that's what it's called." Gamora also aimed a glare at their caged culprit and seemed to think about sitting down but decided against it. "Right now they're comparing scars and war-stories. I think their fever's spiking up."

Natasha didn't want to hear. Didn't want to know. Because there were possibilities she couldn't allow herself to consider. "We both need a break. Come on, I'll show you the training rooms."

Gamora seemed tempted but frowned. "What about…?" She nodded towards the still visibly displeased creature.

"I think it's high time another team of babysitters takes over."

Elsewhere in the building Thor and Drax were watching a movie. Pepper had introduced them to it rather than risked them trying to… help. She gave them strict orders to stay put and promised to have them informed if there was any change in Clint or Peter, then rushed to help Tony and Bruce. Stay put the irritated and worried men did, the program numbing their minds from noticing how infuriating it was to be unable to do anything.

Drax tilted his head. Then wrinkled his nose and shuddered. "I'm not sure I approve of the mating habits of this species."

Thor's eyebrows were furrowed. There was genuine concern on the Asgardian's face. "I have not seen them display this sort of behavior." He also tilted his head. His cheeks flushed. "Or… that level of… flexibility."

" _Pardon my interruption._ " Jarvis was nothing if not polite. " _But agent Romanoff requested that you two should keep an eye on the rodent for a moment. She was quite insistent._ "

Thor nodded. "Inform her that we shall be there shortly." The Asgardian was already on the move.

Drax followed, a frown on his face. It was impossible to tell if he was simply processing or disliked something. "Are women the dominant gender on this planet?"

Thor thought about it for a moment. Then nodded. "Yes. Based on my observations, I do believe they are. But… These people are so confusing that it's difficult to say."

Drax nodded solemnly. Making mental notes. "This seems to be a very confusing place."

"I have noticed."

Downstairs, Natasha and Gamora sparred until they were breathless and it was a relief, even if only for a moment.

* * *

Peter wasn't sure how good idea it was to fall asleep. But he was feverish and felt absolutely miserable. So slumber he did. And dreamt of his mom.

 _"… take my hand …"_

Peter woke up with a loud gasp, moist eyes darting around wildly. It took too long for him to figure out where he was. And even longer to pinpoint what woke him up.

Coughing, coming from his neighbor plexi-prison.

Peter turned his head slowly, the dull throb nagging at his very brain. Clint clearly hadn't slept at all. Red color rimmed the man's tightly closed eyes, which stood out against the sickly paleness. The man had a hand held against his mouth as he coughed loudly and desperately, over and over again, each new repeat wheezing more than the last.

Peter sat gingerly, a frown appearing to his face. His stomach knotted at the sight of the other's illness. Sure, they'd only just met, but it was sort of his fault that Clint ended up into this mess. "Barton?" Should he alert the medical team? And weren't they supposed to be under some sort of supervision? Where were all those people? "Do you need help or… something?" It was maddening to be able to do nothing.

At least the coughs finally subsided. Clint continued to gasp while lowering his trembling hand slowly from his lips. Those exhausted eyes, bright form fever, fell on the limb. Was it possible that the man paled further? "I, ah… I guess…" One more gulp, followed by a wince. "I guess this is something new and cool to report." Clint turned the hand towards him. It was coated with blood, and some red tainted the man's otherwise bluish lips.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Uh huh… So the teams have met! But not exactly under the best circumstances. Will Clint and Peter be okay?

It's always a little unnerving to include new characters. Sooooo… PLEASE, DO LEAVE A NOTE! Hit? A colossal miss? Do let me know!

 **A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT!** I'm thinking about typing TWO short(ish) stories that are based on this collection. One about Clint's time after the prison-break. And one of Natasha and Ronja (from previous chapter), their past together – and how Ronja is planning on making her suffer (Clint-whump ahoy)… How do these ideas sound to you?

Awkay, I REALLY need to head to bed. Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

anon: We'll see! I'm REALLY interested in the idea. It may appear sooner or later, as a story of its own or a part of this collection. (smiles)

Thank you so much for the review!

* * *

Carry692: I'm SUPER happy that it pleased you so much! (BEAMS) Awww! Gotta love the friendship between Clint and Natasha, right?

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Guest: It was DEFINITELY something different. I'm SO HAPPY that you found it entertaining and refreshing! (BEEEEEAMS) I try to remember to test something different every now and then. (grins)

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I do try to surprise every now and then! (grins) It means A LOT that you enjoyed it so much! (HUGS)

Ya know… Ronja may indeed appear again! I've gotta admit that I enjoyed typing her.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	109. Quarantine, part 2 (FEAT Guardians of)

A/N: Wrapping up this monster of a chapter took AGES! (chuckles) BUT, for better or for worse, it's here!

Before letting you tackle it, though… A MILLION thank yous for your absolutely amazing reviews, love and support! It's been SUCH A LONG TIME, and you're all still here. (HUGS) THANK YOU!

Awkay, because I'm anxious to see how you'll like this… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE a little after the first 'Guardians', and before 'Age of Ultron'.**

* * *

Quarantine, part 2 of 2 (FEAT Guardians of the Galaxy)

* * *

The room was full of tension and nervous energy. Intense eyes watched as fingers curled to grab a firm, proper hold. A large, strong hand lifted. Or attempted to, anyway.

The hammer wouldn't budge.

Thor's shoulders sagged in relief he would've never admitted out loud. The frown on his face was replaced by a haughty, satisfied smirk. "You are not worthy."

Drax glared at him, then at his hammer. "No", the new comrade from another planet denied firmly, then gestured animatedly towards the weapon. "That… _thing_ isn't worthy."

Thor's eyes flashed dangerously. Or like those of a toddler about to have a mighty temper tantrum. "That thing is a weapon of immeasurable value…!"

"You two, enough!" The look on Pepper's face was far from impressed. Her left eyebrow was twitching threateningly. "We're supposed to be working together and you're bickering like a couple of brats over a favorite toy!"

"Not a toy", Thor sulked under his breath, but was heard. The look Pepper aimed his way made the Asgardian pale a little. "I'm sorry", both men muttered as one, every bit as remorseful as a pair of misbehaving children. Sorry that they were caught. Thor recovered faster and attempted to look like the future ruler he was. "How is friend Barton?"

Pepper sighed heavily and massaged the bridge of her nose with two fingers. The night before was too long. "Not good." According to Tony's medical team Clint had less than a day left, if they didn't produce an antidote. With Peter it was harder to estimate, apparently, but she knew that the Star-Lord wasn't exactly feeling well, either. To distract herself from those thoughts she forced her thoughts elsewhere and looked towards the… rodent Natasha left the men in charge over. It was alive and caged still, at least. Its behind was turned towards them in what was definitely a metaphorical middle-finger. How could something so small and… adorable cause such a mess? "A little pest", she growled, not even realizing that she uttered it out loud.

"Its species is called…", Drax supplied unhelpfully, ignoring the warning shake of a head from Thor. And shut up immediately at the look she aimed his way. "Yes, a pest." Under different circumstances the expression on his face might've made Pepper grin.

Just then a computer voice made them all tense up. " _Doctors Banner and Cho requested me to inform you. There is a medical emergency._ "

Pepper was about to demand Thor and Drax to stay behind, but changed her mind at the sight of their heartwarming, poorly concealed worry. The darned hamster didn't seem to be running off anywhere from its cage, anyway. "Let's go."

The two followed shockingly meekly. Even bit back the uncharacteristic need to utter 'Yes, ma'am'. It wasn't until they could be sure that she wouldn't hear Drax dared to speak barely audibly. "The women of this species are terrifying." A grin crept to his face. "I like it."

Thor grinned as well, pleased to be distracted from worries. The Asgardian nodded, comforting himself with the memory of Jane punching Loki. He wished she was with him now, telling him that Clint would be alright and this would be over soon. "Me too."

* * *

Tony had always loved experimenting, researching and inventing things. Which was probably why Pepper once bought him a T-shirt with 'MY MAD SCIENTIST' printed on it. Now he'd just met a team that traveled all over the galaxy and an alien hamster. It should've been pretty much the most exciting thing he'd ever encountered. Well, it wasn't when it resulted to Clint coughing up blood and looking like the archer might keel over at any given moment.

"So… What, exactly, is happening to us?" Clint sounded nothing like himself. "Call me a masochist, but I wanna know."

Bruce, who'd just finished up examining the Hawk, cast an uncertain glance towards Peter. "Go for it. I'm a masochist, too", the Star-Lord urged.

Bruce sighed heavily. There was strain on the scientist's face from how hard he was fighting to keep the monster inside in check. "The… creature's saliva contains something that keeps blood from clotting. Which is why your wounds bled so much. And why Barton's coughing up blood. It also makes the victim's immune system crash down rapidly." The man rubbed his face roughly with one hand, trying to wake himself up properly. His audience waited with patience they didn't really have. "Neither of those explains why the thieves tore each other apart, though. So we examined the samples further. And found some sort of a powerful hallucinogenic."

Clint and Peter groaned simultaneously. Loudly. "So basically…" The archer coughed, and no one missed how his breathing wheezed. "… we can look forward to an acid-trip from hell?"

"Hey, chin up!" Tony forced a grin, although the sight of Clint's gloomy condition made panic squirm in the pit of his stomach. "Like your very own science bros would let some space-hamster take you down. We'll figure this out, like we always do."

"You know…" Rocket had something like amusement on his tense. "You kind of make it sound like you guys do this a lot."

"Are you kidding?" Tony Stark, a champion at transforming his fear into a joke. "Keeping that guy alive is a fulltime job."

"I know the feeling", Rocket and Gamora sympathized darkly.

"Hilarious", Clint scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I am Groot", Groot agreed with a nod and a bright smile, oblivious to the sarcasm.

* * *

Both patients' fever was spiking rapidly, Clint's far more sharply than his not-exactly-a-hundred-percent-human companion's. Their blood pressures also left a lot to be desired. They were exhausted, yet refused to or were unable to rest. In the end, no matter how much the men hated it, Bruce succeeded in talking them into taking some medication. Draining themselves wouldn't do them any good, after all.

Steve had seen before how bad Clint's fever dreams could be. How terrible the ghosts and horrors marching into the defenseless, illness ridden mind were. So he stayed, long after he'd succeeded in ordering the others to leave.

Almost everyone, anyway. Because Rocket stayed as well. A grim look on his furry face.

"You don't have to do this, you know", Steve murmured. Careful not to disturb Peter who'd just fallen into a light, fitful slumber. The Star-Lord had curled up right next to the wall so that his back was towards the rest of the world and seemed to be trembling. The miserable sight tugged at the Captain's heart and he could imagine that the raccoon felt much worse. "Jarv or I will let you know if anything changes."

"Nah." It sounded sharp, which Rocket tried to play off with a seemingly careless shrug. "Let's face it. We're pretty useless right now. But this babysitting? We've got this."

"Babysitting?" Clint's voice was barely recognizable. The archer coughed long and hard before he managed to continue. "… 'don't need one."

"Good joke, Tweetie." Rocket stretched and yawned, his teeth showing. "A babysitter is exactly what the two of you need."

Clint rolled his eyes, as much as anyone who looked ready to pass out any second could. It was horrifying how much paler the man had become over the span of a couple of hours. "… talk to Stark. 'd hit it off."

"Clint, just get some sleep", Steve advised. His stomach knotted a little at the numbers on a screen monitoring his friend's heartrate and blood pressure. "Stark and Banner will figure this out. You need to rest." _And hang in there._

Clint sighed heavily and winced. Pain flashed in his fever-brightened eyes. "Look, you guys… I appreciate this. And I know that Quill does, too. But…" A new coughing fit interrupted him for a while. When it was finally over he checked to make sure that Peter was still asleep, then went on. "'can't sleep… with you two staring." His gaze, somehow still sharp, scanned through them. "… 'u need sleep, too."

Rocket opened his mouth. Steve cut the intended words with a shake of head.

"I know." Rocket pointed towards Peter. "I've got that one for a team leader, remember?" The raccoon stifled a yawn. "They're both idiots."

Clint smirked. As well as he could in his current condition, anyway. "I like you, fur ball."

Rocket stared. Then snorted. "How high is that fever?"

Steve allowed himself to smile. Just for a second. Until the intense weight he'd already grown sadly used to crashed down on his shoulders. If only he showed up a little faster, before Clint got bit, if only… "Let's go", he sighed, unable to chase those thoughts away tonight. He didn't want to leave, but he also knew that with staying he'd only make things worse. "Jarv, let me know immediately if something changes."

" _Of course, Captain._ "

Clint gave him a look of relief and gratitude for the understanding. Then huddled to the very corner of the bed, so that he had a view towards Peter. Steve could only hope that his friend would sleep.

"Captain?" Rocket sounded amused until realization dawned. "Wait, you're an actual Captain? Oh man, I'm so going to tell Peter as soon as he wakes up…!"

* * *

Natasha and Gamora both wanted to smash something. Unfortunately the two training rooms they'd already destroyed were enough for Tony. So, sulking mightily as a protest against being banned from using the other training areas, the women did the next best thing. They took over the Tower's most peaceful room and sat down to meditate.

"That idiot has almost gotten himself killed over a hundred times." Natasha's eyes were closed but there wasn't a hint of calm on her face. "And somehow I didn't see a venomous hamster coming."

"Peter was chased by… what did he call them, monkeys, last week." Gamora gritted her teeth. "I _should've_ seen it coming."

"Morons, both of them." Natasha took a deep, steadying breath. It didn't help. "We'll tell them as much when this is all over." Because that they'd never get the chance to… It just wasn't an option.

"Yes, we will", Gamora agreed firmly, on both the voiced and unvoiced. A few long, heavy moments of silence passed by. Her mind whirred, uncharacteristically out of control, and she hated it. "Barton's in trouble because he decided to help people he'd never even met. Does he do that a lot?"

"Too much", Natasha confirmed dryly.

It didn't make sense to Gamora. All her life she'd been modified, trained mercilessly and mutilated to become the perfect killer. Facing people like Peter, and now Clint, challenged everything she'd ever been taught about the world. Such compassion and… heart were foreign to her. "Quill… He risked his life to save mine, almost right after we first met", she wondered out loud before she managed to stop herself.

"Barton risked his and defied the orders he had to kill me when we first met."

Gamora frowned, she knew as much even without looking. Processed. "I don't understand Quill."

"I don't understand Barton, either", Natasha confessed. She still didn't get her best friend whose heart was too big for his own good, not really, even after all these years. "But maybe we will one day, if we manage to keep them alive long enough."

"And how are we going to do that?"

"I have no idea", Natasha replied with brutal honesty.

"I was afraid you'd say that", Gamora grumbled.

Neither opened their eyes but both tensed up upon sensing someone approaching. They didn't relax until Rocket spoke. "So… What are you doing?"

"Meditating. It isn't working." Natasha finally opened her eyes, just in time to see the raccoon sit down. She frowned upon spotting no trace of Steve.

Rocket seemed to read her mind. "Rogers headed to the training room. Seeing the look on his face, I didn't feel like stopping him." He frowned. "Humans are weird."

Natasha saw the way the raccoon was fidgeting every now and then from worry, and felt her eyes soften a fraction. The right to be weird wasn't only reserved for humans, it seemed. She kept her mouth shut.

" _Pardon me, but I felt the need to inform you._ " Was it possible that Jarvis sounded exhausted? " _Thor and Drax succeeded in locating alcohol. Now they appear to be wrestling._ "

So that was how those two idiots chose to alleviate their frustration and concern. Natasha swore. Loudly. It wasn't like Steve's delicate ears were there to hear. She muttered darkly in Russian under her breath the entire way as she left the room.

Rocket winced. "I almost feel sorry for Drax." Almost.

Gamora was about to comment, until she noticed something that made her chest tighten. "Rocket. Where's Groot?"

* * *

It wasn't the first time Peter had such a nightmare. But the fever, venom and overall feeling like crap made it worse than it usually was. He saw his mom, like she was on the day she died. She wasn't smiling, instead looked at him with pained, tear-filled eyes. "Why didn't you take my hand?" Her voice was full of agony and sorrow. "You ran away… Just like your father… Why didn't you take my hand?"

Peter wanted to say that he never meant to leave. Wanted to tell her that he was sorry. Wanted to take her hand, to stop her from…

But he couldn't utter a sound. Much less move. He could only stand there and watch as she reached out for him, until she exploded to a million little bits of stardust.

Peter woke up his own scream. Or… Was it his scream? Why was he still screaming when he was wide awake? Why was he calling out to…?

"BARNEY!"

Peter breathed sharply, dismayed to discover that it hurt. He swallowed down something nasty. "Clint?" Maybe his jail-mate was having a nightmare, too. Only, when he looked he found the Avenger wide awake.

Sort of. Because while the man's eyes were open… They didn't seem to see the same world Peter did. Which was when he remembered Bruce's description on the venom. _Oh crap…!_

Peter gulped. Then began to approach the wall separating them although his legs didn't like the thought of walking very much. "Barton? Clint? Whatever you're seeing now… It's not real, okay?"

He jumped a bit with startle when Clint nodded, slowly and faintly. "I know." The man seemed to feel a thousand times worse than before. "Just…" A harsh gulp cut the man short. Those wild, hazy eyes kept staring at something Peter couldn't even imagine. "Just feels a bit too real, is all."

Peter nodded dazedly, trying to think. Everything was a little fuzzy. "'s not real", he repeated, stubbornly. Unsure which one of them he was trying to convince. "I'm real, though." He frowned. "I think."

"'think you're real, too", Clint declared. Very seriously. And that seemed to settle the matter. They both drifted in their thoughts for a while. "'you dream of your mom?"

Peter tensed up. Usually he would've refused to speak a word of the matter but fever tends to loosen one's tongue. "She died", he blurted out. The words still tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Mine did, too. And my dad." Clint wrinkled his nose like he just tasted something foul. "Never liked my dad." The man coughed, red appearing to the hand covering his mouth. "It was just me and Barney, after 'at."

It took embarrassingly long before Peter finally figured it out. He almost unleashed a 'OH!' once he did. "'got a brother? 'wish I had a brother, too. Or a dad, but he… left." No other way to describe it, really. "'got Yondu instead."

"Who's that?"

"He's… Yondu." Peter, especially in his current condition, didn't even try to explain. "Took me to the stars. SWOOSH!" He made a dramatic hand gesture.

Clint smiled. Even if it looked like the man was in pain. "'sounds nice."

Peter pursed his lips. Then shook his head. "Yondu isn't very nice. But… He didn't let anyone eat me. That's nice. I think." He was about to drift into his thoughts when he heard a groan. Following the sound with his gaze, he found the other man holding a hand against his head. "'you okay?"

Clint took a deep breath. Once, twice. "'had worse", the Avenger assured him. He man shifted, which didn't seem to be a good idea if the shudder was anything to go by. "Sleep."

Peter frowned. Unhealthily stubborn and, so sue him, worried. "'need sleep, too", he insisted.

"I will." It was impossible to tell if Clint was lying or not. "'just gonna keep watch for a bit."

Peter liked the sound of that. It was good that someone was keeping watch, right? Even though he wasn't sure what for.

Peter lay down, but couldn't relax or even close his eyes. He didn't want to dream about his mom again. Didn't want to dream about anything.

His jumping thoughts screeched to a halt when heard the faintest sound. The slot through which food and water came in cases the door couldn't be opened shifted. There was a tiny thud. And soon something touched his arm.

He turned his head, startled, to find Groot sitting on his bed. Concern was loud and clear on the arrival's face. "I am Groot?"

Peter couldn't help but smile. "'be fine, soon", he promised. Then frowned. "'sure if you should be here." Wasn't this supposed to be a quarantine? In case the venom made him and Clint… stupid. What if…?

Groot placed something to his ears. He finally realized what it was when soothingly familiar music began to float to his ears. Seeing his delight the creature smiled, appearing very proud of himself. "I am Groot."

Peter tried to utter a 'thank you' but wasn't sure if he fell asleep before he managed to.

* * *

Rocket and Gamora didn't have to seek – because of course they didn't panic – long. In a matter of minutes Jarvis announced helpfully that Groot was very much safe and sound. They followed the instructions to where Clint and Peter were, both lay with their backs towards potential audience. Peter was snoring, a sound which Gamora associated with the times when he was recovering from his nastiest injuries. He wasn't alone. Groot had snuggled as close as possible to the Star-Lord's leg, seeming to enjoy the feverish warmth, and was also slumbering with a smile on his face.

"That's so cute it's disgusting", Rocket declared, but didn't succeed in sounding very appalled. Maybe a little jealous. For a quite long time it was just him and Groot. And now, all of a sudden, they had a whole team. It had to take some getting used to.

She was just about to suggest that they should leave the ailing men be when the machinery began to wail.

* * *

Tony took great pride in the fact that he usually functioned phenomenally well under immense pressure. So yes, it wasn't always healthy. And sometimes he screwed up royally. But usually it got the job done in the worst of all situations.

Tony hadn't slept in… what, a couple of days. He was stressed out, exhausted and overwhelmed. So when he and Bruce realized that they finally had something of an antidote… Was it any wonder that he wanted to cry, just a little bit? Of course he didn't, because it would've been totally embarrassing. Instead he began to laugh hysterically, which wasn't much better.

"Did we…?" Bruce blinked several times, barely able to believe his tired eyes. "Did we… do it?"

"Yeah", Tony breathed out. Wondering how long he'd been holding his breath without noticing it. "We did." They had the antidote. Clint would be okay. Peter, too. Everything would be just fine.

Of course the universe decided to spit at his face once more.

Just when they thought that maybe, just maybe, this nightmare would be over… Just when they almost dared to sigh with relief… Dr. Cho ran into the room, her eyes wide. "We've gotta go, now. There's an emergency."

Tony wasn't sure if it was actually possible, but he could've sworn he felt his stomach drop.

* * *

Clint wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he woke up to a nightmare. The second he opened his eyes Barney was there. Glaring at him with accusing eyes. Bleeding. Dying, or dead.

Was Clint dead, too? Was his brother there to get him? Was this hell?

Barney took a step closer towards him. He would've retreated but his whole body was frozen to the spot. The intensifying glare seemed to burn a hole. "You were supposed to be my brother." Barney's voice boomed painfully in his aching, splitting skull. "You abandoned me. You killed me. Did you really think that I wouldn't come to punish you? That I wouldn't come back to take you under with me?"

Everything hurt too much. Seeing Barney like this. Breathing. Hanging on.

"You think that hurts?" a new voice sneered. And all of a sudden the face in front of him belonged to Phil Coulson. Those eyes looking into his were full of malice and disgust he'd never seen in them. Before he could say a word to apologize, or to defend himself, a large hand closed around his throat. "Try getting impaled to death. Try having a hole in you. All because someone you considered family betrayed you, led the enemy directly to you." The hand tightened, cutting off all breath. Phil's eyes flashed hazardously and he would've whimpered if he was able to make a sound. "And then… Then you know what it's like to be really hurting."

Everything spun and swayed nauseatingly. Clint's poor heart was hammering at its very limit, so hard he feared it might burst. Tears and lack of oxygen blurred his eyes. The pain clawing at his chest was pure hell.

 _I'm sorry…! I'm sorry…! I'm…!_

"Clint!" This voice seemed to come from another world. Reached out to him through fog and pain. He didn't know how he'd ended up to the floor. But Natasha was right there in front of him, holding his face between her hands. "Focus on me. Just breathe, and focus on me. I'm real. Do you understand? I'm real. You're safe."

No…! No, no, no…! She wasn't supposed to be there! What if he'd lose control again, just like he did with… _him_? What if he'd attack her?

He wanted to pushed her away. To tell her to walk away and save herself. But nothing such fit into his mouth. Instead he allowed his throbbing forehead to fall against her shoulder and screamed, from the bottom of his aching heart.

Maybe Loki plunged the scepter through him this time, because he felt something like that before darkness swallowed him up.

* * *

Peter woke up from hazy, unpleasant dreams to feeling cold. He frowned, too tired to open his eyes, and attempted to wrap a blanket more tightly around himself. Only to discover that there was no blanket. How unpleasant.

"Sorry about that", a female voice he had only a vague memory trace of sighed. She sounded tired, but not pissed off. Maybe this was headed towards something promising after the rocky start. "But we have to bring your fever down."

Peter cracked one eye open, curious, to see a blonde-haired woman. He tried to smirk. "'warm me up?" Oh great, he was slurring…

She rolled her eyes. "The goal is to bring your temperature down", she pointed out. Well, at least she seemed amused, rather than eager to smack him. "Natasha did warn me about you."

Well, not exactly the first time his reputation proceeded him… Peter yawned and stretched, wincing at how sore he was. "Antidote?" He was still alive. Wasn't that a good sign?

"It's working, although slowly." She gave him a look of genuine sympathy, clearly sensing how miserable he felt. "Get some rest. I'll let your team know that you woke up."

Watching her distancing behind, Peter was about to utter something suggestive. Until a thought crossed his mind, leaving him feeling even colder than before. He looked around the unfamiliar room to discover that his jail-mate was nowhere in sight. "Clint?" _Oh, no…! No…!_

She tensed up. It took a moment before she met his eyes, her own sad. "It's… still a touch and go. The blood-clotting problem was easy to treat on you both. But… The whole thing took its toll on his heart and whole system. Right now he's sleeping with the help of some meds to recover."

Peter nodded slowly, uncharacteristically solemn as he attempted to digest the news. He then grinned, gathering himself masterfully. "He's as stubborn as I am. He'll be okay."

She smiled, even though he wasn't sure she believed him. Pepper, her name was Pepper! "I know. But thanks for reminding me."

Peter smirked. Unable to help himself. "Anytime, beautiful." He did his best to make his smile charming. "Any chance I might get tea to warm up? Unless you want to help me with that?"

"Another bad pickup line and I'll spike your tea with laxatives."

* * *

Pepper planned on letting the others know that Peter was awake. She changed her mind with a smile upon facing the sight at the Tower's largest common space. She leaned against the doorway, enjoying the moment of calm after all the fear and stress.

Everyone, Avengers and Guardians included, had crammed into the room. They would've liked to be there with their recovering friends, of course, but the medical professionals hadn't dared to risk it until things were more stable. Apparently the turmoil of the past… she didn't even know how long had gotten to them. They were all asleep, and someone was snoring loudly. She fully expected it to be Drax or Thor. Instead she discovered that the culprit was Groot, who'd curled up against Rocket. The raccoon slept in a position identical to Tony's.

Pepper watched, admiring the rare peace. Until a thought crossed her mind. Careful to not make a sound she fetched a camera and snapped a picture.

Things weren't okay yet. But, she told herself, they would be soon. And they'd want to remember this.

* * *

Clint woke up to feeling horribly cold. He didn't remember ever having felt so cold in his whole life. Was that how one was supposed to feel after death?

"… you hear me? …"

He really wasn't sure. But he needed to see… His eyes cracked halfway open to meet red. Which quite soon cleared enough to reveal Natasha's tired face. He blinked once, twice. Surprised when his eyes opened again. "… alive?" Was he, still? Really?

Natasha nodded. She tried to look stern, or perhaps bored, but her eyes spoke the truth. "Yeah, you idiot. Although you tried very hard not to be."

Clint nodded. "Good." He was still there. And the ghosts of his past weren't, at least for a moment. The rest was details.

He fell asleep, feeling safe.

* * *

From a balcony at one of the Tower's highest floors Peter watched the city spreading around and below him. Feeling so much that he didn't bother even trying to process it all. He shivered when a cool breeze brushed him.

"Does it look like you remembered?" Gamora inquired softly from beside him.

Peter shook his head, slowly. "It's… I think everything's changed." Or at least this city looked nothing like the place where he came from. Everything was bigger, more confusing, faster, more hectic. This planet would always be special to him because it was his mom's home. But it didn't feel like a home anymore. "You know… I never expected to come back here like… this."

"Then how?"

"Honestly?" Peter sighed, feeling tired. Probably just the venom still getting to him. "I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to visit Terra again."

"Well, I'm glad we came here." Gamora leaned against the railing, her gaze drinking in all the life below. "I like this place."

"This city?" Peter shook his head. "It's big, but… This planet has so many better things to offer. Maybe I'll get to show you one day."

Gamora mused for a moment. Then, for a few seconds, offered a beyond rare smile. "I think I'd like that."

They looked at each other. That… unsaid thing pulsating through their veins like lava. He leaned closer, just a little bit…

Until they heard approaching steps and the spell broke. "Eh… Sorry. Did I… interrupt something?" Under different circumstances Clint's genuine confusion might've been adorable. At the moment Peter had a lot of… not very pleasant things burning his tongue.

Gamora cleared her throat, a picture of composure and dignity. "I'll go find Drax. He shouldn't be left alone with Thor for too long."

With that the men were left alone. Awkward silence lingered until Clint took the first step, figuratively and literally. "You've been avoiding me." Not exactly a feat, since this marked the first day the archer was able to spend more than five minutes out of his bed.

Peter thought about denying it. Then decided that he'd be a big boy with this, and sighed. "Sorry. About that. And…" Well, that was smooth. "… you know, getting you into this whole mess."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You didn't get me into this mess. I managed that all by myself." The archer shrugged. "Besides, that thing was pretty cute. Until it started biting."

Peter wasn't sure what to think. How to accept such an easy forgiveness. "That simple, huh?"

Clint looked at him knowingly. "It never is." Then, appearing eager to switch topic, the man went on. "Look, about… that stuff we said, when we were poisoned…"

"What stuff?"

"Aren't you a smart one."

* * *

The whole Avengers team, Pepper included, was there to see the Guardians and the visibly irritated hamster off. "Next time you guys stop by, no pets allowed", Tony announced. And meant it.

"Next time?" Peter grinned. "You'd actually dare to have us over again?"

Thor shrugged. "Why not? It couldn't possibly be worse than this visit." He winced when Natasha swatted the back of his head, hard. "What did you do that for?"

Natasha glared. "Basic rules. Never, ever say that out loud."

"I am Groot", Groot agreed solemnly.

Peter looked at them all with a smile. "Thanks, for everything." The team was already retreating to their ship when he peered over his shoulder once more. "Keep this place safe, will you?" Something like nostalgia shimmered in his eyes. "This is a great planet."

"We will", Steve swore, with the honor of a Captain.

Soon their new comrades were out of sight. They watched the night-sky, now knowing a little more of what was out there than before. "Do you really think we'll see them again?" Pepper inquired.

"Of course we will." Tony wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I just wonder if the world will be ending or something when we do."

On the ship two pictures were added to a private collection just out of sight. One of the sleeping teams. And the other including them all, exchanging adventure-stories around Clint's sickbed, none of them noticing the camera and all of them… happy.

* * *

Later that evening Natasha entered Clint's room to check up on him. She frowned upon finding him staring at his phone, pale and haunted-eyed. "What's wrong?"

Clint gulped. And cursed mightily. "Lila wants a hamster."

* * *

In the aftermath of all the unnecessary excitement the Guardians had only one thing left to do. Return their unwanted and disgruntled passenger to its rightful owner. "It's gonna bite its way out of the cage soon", Rocket reported darkly. "Now can I zap it?"

"No zapping!" Peter grinned in a manner that wasn't seen often. "We're here."

They didn't bother asking where they were, exactly. Or why the pet was stolen. Apparently those thieves simply saw a runaway pet and mistook it for something rare and valuable. Or who the mystery owner was. In this case Peter was shockingly tight-lipped. Upon heading to hand over the rodent he even told them to just chill and wait, since he'd be back soon. As if they would've just waited around. The rest of them crammed to the ship's window with curiosity they would've never admitted to a soul as the Star-Lord made his way through a field of purple grass towards a tiny house. Very soon a strikingly beautiful young woman emerged, a wide smile on her lips. Her long, silver colored hair shone in the light of two suns, the glow challenging the one in her huge, pitch-black eyes. A hint of color appeared to her ivory cheeks when she saw Peter. The two were quick to disappear into the house.

Rocket stared. Then smirked. "See? I told you it was about a girl."

Groot grinned as well. Childishly pleased. "I am Groot!"

Gamora gritted her teeth, something dangerous in her eyes. Then turned sharply and marched away. The rest of them didn't dare to comment further.

Until she was out of earshot, anyway. "Are you suggesting that he's planning on having sex with that woman?" Drax's nose wrinkled as he stared at the house's door. "Why? She's hideous!"

Rocket groaned. "Drax, buddy? We've gotta talk about your taste in women…"

In the house the young woman called out in a beautiful language few people understood. " _Grandma! Peter's here._ "

" _Little Peter!_ " They advanced to the next room, to find a woman who'd been smelling flowers in a vase. She seemed as old as time itself, her black eyes gone grey as sight left them and the silver of her hair having dimmed. But there was nothing dim about the smile on her lips. " _Did you find him?_ "

Peter smiled and opened the cage. Instantly the hamster raced to its owner's arms, purring lovingly as it received a hug as warm as two suns. " _I did, moma._ " He didn't know why she'd insisted to be called that, when they first met, but he liked it.

The old woman sighed heavily, burying her face to her pet's fur. " _Oh, you darling little thing…! I've missed you._ " She kissed the animal, her sightless eyes glancing his way next. " _Both of you._ " She let go, and the hamster settled to a deep sleep on her lap. " _He didn't cause any trouble, did he?_ "

Peter cleared his throat and shifted. " _No, moma. He didn't._ "

The woman sighed again, more sadly this time. " _You don't come by often enough anymore. And every time you do you sound older. That makes me feel old, young man!_ " Then, like a bloodhound, she seemed to catch a scent. A silvery eyebrow rose. " _But what's this? Have you finally talked to Gamora?_ "

Peter shivered. That was a topic he wasn't interested in discussing, even with her. " _Talked about what?_ "

The old woman shook her head with a smile. " _I may be blind, but I see more than you know._ " She opened her arms. " _I know how busy you are, love, and I don't want to keep you. Give me a hug before you go._ "

This time Peter smiled. She wasn't any better at goodbyes than he was. He accepted her hug gladly, let the warmth fill every single cell of his body. " _Moma, I…_ "

" _Shush, now, young man._ " She kissed his cheek. " _Look after yourself and come back soon. Then tell me all about your great adventures._ " She winked. " _Maybe next time you'll bring that lovely girl you always talk about with you._ "

" _Moma!_ "

Walking away, Peter discovered that his steps were far lighter than before. They always were after he visited her. As soon as he joined his team he grinned and rubbed his hands together. "So, what should we do next? Something good? Something bad? A little bit both?"

"We'll follow your lead, Star-Lord."

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: PHEW! Now see why I needed to divide this in two chapters? (grins) And so our two lovely teams have met!

BUT, the question goes… Was it any good, at all? Should Guardians stop by again? PLEASE, do let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from you!

 **A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT! NEXT WEEK IS THE BIRTHDAY OF 'SOS'. (BEAMS) WHICH MEANS THAT I'LL UPDATE ON WEDNESDAY (THE BIG DAY) AND DURING THE WEEKEND. If you have any birthday wishes, please let me know!**

Awkay, I really need to get some sleep. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

JolyJolt: It means A LOT that you enjoyed it, especially the Guardians! I REALLY hope that the second part will please you as much.

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: I'm SOOOOOOO happy that you enjoyed it so much! (BEAMS) LOL, I just couldn't resist the Drax-bit. I REALLY hope that the second part won't disappoint, either. And if it went after my chocolate… I'd FIGHT IT, totally! (giggles)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Carry692: I'm SOOOOOOO happy, and relieved, that you enjoyed it so much! Especially with how you'd been looking forward to it. LOL, how was I supposed to resist a killer hamster? We'll see what the second chapter brings. I REALLY hope that it won't disappoint! (gulps)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	110. Happy Birthday, Hawkeye!

A/N: This is a NARROW thing, but hopefully I'll manage to update on the actual day…!

OH MY GOSH…! IT'S BEEN TWO YEARS, GUYS! THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, love and support through this time. I CAN'T BELIEVE how far we've come! (HUUUUUUUGS) I've loved typing this, and you've made this a thousand times more enjoyable. And guess what? There'll be PLENTY of more chapters to come. (grins)

Awkay, before I'm late… Let's go! I REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy this tiny, special chapter.

* * *

Happy Birthday, Hawkeye!

* * *

 _Here's to the past, the present, and the future._

* * *

On the day Clinton Francis Barton was born one of the worst storms in decades raged outside. Perhaps it was the storm which called him into the world, almost nine weeks too early. The child himself wasn't raging and roaring upon arrival. His skin held a hint of blue and he was barely breathing.

The very first time Clint almost died he was only five minutes old. He couldn't even be given to his hysterically crying mother's arms. The hospital staff whisked him away and began to work desperately around the heartbreakingly tiny and lifeless infant, fighting a war to save his life.

For hours it looked like they were fighting a losing battle. Every possible step and a little more was taken to save the child but eventually the grim-faced medical professionals recommended an emergency-baptism. The distraught mother, still in agony from the childbirth and barely keeping it together in the emotional hurricane, was barely able to utter a name. Two nurses and a priest were there for her support through the quiet, solemn ceremony. None of them had dry eyes. The baby slept, too feeble to do anything else.

However, they were about to discover that Clint had as much vigor in him as the storm outside. He was born at two thirty in the morning. Half an hour to midnight he was still alive.

Lyanna Stokes, who'd worked with the sickest and frailest of newborns for the past ten years, was coming back from a coffee break when a man who reeked of old alcohol approached her, asking about his son. Usually such a person might've been turned away, especially when she couldn't be sure he was sober. But the despair in his eyes… How was she supposed to look past that?

Ten minutes later Lyanna knew that she'd made the right decision. The man was obviously rattled to the bone at the sight of his son. But he refused to run and turn his back. Nor would he ask about the infant's condition. "Clinton, eh? That's the name she decided on?"

Lyanna nodded, trying to decide the right response. "Things… were pretty hectic when he arrived, so it had to be chosen quickly. You can always change the name later."

The man was no longer listening. All he had eyes for was his son. A large and rough, cigar-stained hand was pressed against the surface separating him from the child. "Happy Birthday, Clint", the man muttered hoarsely.

Lyanna didn't know that it was one of the just five times he ever smiled at his son. Or that his love for alcohol would turn out to be stronger than the one he felt for his kids. There was only here and now, and a beyond rare moment of unconditional love.

Against all odds Clint survived his first birthday.

* * *

And against all odds Clint survived many more birthdays. Made it through ordeals that would've killed just about anyone else. The storm inside kept him going.

Once again a literal storm roared outside on Clint's birthday. This time he was spending the special day without his nearest and dearest. Civil War shattered his life as he knew it. Which was why he'd ended up stuck into a tiny, painfully cold city in the middle of nowhere. With two bullet-wounds.

But at least he wasn't all alone. No matter how much everything, himself included, had changed he hadn't been able to shake off his ability to find strays who needed his help. Which was why he had a sixteen-year-old for a reluctant nurse and doctor.

"We should take you to a hospital."

Clint groaned a protest. And winced when a hand was pressed harder against his wound. "… no …", he managed. Of course he knew that he needed a hospital. Because he wasn't an idiot, no matter how much he acted like one at times. But how was a fugitive on a run with a minor supposed to seek medical assistance without ending up to all sorts of trouble?

Hydra, apparently, stopped being a priority when it was decided that 'the Avengers gone rogue' would have to be stopped. But Clint didn't forget the actual enemy. When he found a tiny enemy base, which contained a young girl who reminded him so much of Wanda that it hurt… What was he supposed to do?

The girl scoffed, something almost like worry flashing in her stunningly green eyes. Her shortcut, pitch-black hair, which had been spiked angrily, intensified her glare. "Idiot", she hissed, her accent thicker than before.

Clint moaned when the pain got almost more than he could bear. Balled his fists so tightly that nails almost dug through skin. The chuckle that bubbled past his lips was tense and hysterical. "… some last birthday …", he wheezed.

The girl – Anya, her name was Anya, he remembered all of a sudden – shook her head vehemently. "No. You won't die like this." She sounded very sure of the matter. "This is not your last birthday." She tapped at her head with a strained version. "I have seen it."

Clint wanted to believe it, from the bottom of his heart. Because… He wasn't ready go, not yet, not like this. Labeled a criminal, missing his family and friends so much that it hurt more than any bullet. He couldn't leave when everything and everyone was in pieces. Even though it felt like he was bleeding out.

He wanted to get the chance to at least try to mend things with all of his former team, no matter how hurt he still felt, no matter how hard it'd be. He wanted to hold his kids and kiss his wife. He wanted to go home. That was his birthday wish.

Anya grabbed his hand with the one that just finished patching up his wounds. As though she somehow understood. Maybe she did, considering how much Hydra stole from her. Did he dream what he thought she whispered? "Sleep, and maybe I can take you where you want to go."

Clint drifted away, because he had fairly little choice over the matter. Outside thunder roared. In the morning he discovered that it indeed wasn't his last birthday.

* * *

More birthdays flew by. Until it became clear that this would be Clint's last. Because even the mightiest of warriors meet their end eventually.

Clint's story wasn't coming to an end at a hospital, because his friends and family knew that it was the last thing he would've wanted. He was in his own bed, surrounded by cards, flowers and sunlight streaming through the window. When he wrestled his eyes halfway open he smiled, even though the brightness hurt his eyes. "'storm ended", he mumbled.

"Yeah, it did. A couple of hours ago." Laura kissed his cheek gently. Her fingers squeezed his hand, feeling cold against his feverish skin. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

Clint yawned and nuzzled his head against his wife's shoulder. "Sleepy." He wasn't in pain. Or scared. Or even angry. There'd been enough of all those in his life. He was just exhausted to the bone.

Laura's soft hand stroked his cheek affectionately, making him want to lean against it. "Then sleep", she murmured. A loving kiss was pressed against his forehead. "When you wake up we'll have some cake."

Clint didn't know if he'd have the willpower and strength to wake up again. But he refused to think about it. Thinking too much only made things worse. So he closed his eyes, his wife's familiar scent and touch lulling him.

It was all going to be over soon, but if this was his time to go it was okay.

Laura began to hum the familiar melody of 'As Time Goes by'. Clint smiled and squeezed her hand. There was so much he would've wanted to say. Until he realized that there was no need to utter a thing.

His fading consciousness clung to the song. With his mind's eye he saw Laura singing it to a giggling Nate. He saw himself singing it as well, ever so softly, to a nearly asleep, contently smiling little Lila. He saw himself with Laura, the two of them watching Cooper singing it to both his younger siblings. And finally he watched his younger self dancing to the melody with Laura. When it was just the two of them, young and stupid, already ridiculously in love.

Clint was dimly aware of the fact that the room was getting crowded. The Avengers had been there and sneaked in when he began to slip away, somehow sensing that it was time. No words were needed as they gathered around the couple.

It was the last time the original Avengers would ever be together. But Clint was at peace with the thought. They weren't the broken, lost souls they once were anymore. Years had tried them and pushed them forward, helped them grow up, even given them happiness. It was more than any of them had dared to hope for.

Clint's whole extended family would be just fine. He'd had enough time to make sure of that. And as his last birthday's evening began to darken, his final adventure began. When he drifted away he could've sworn that he saw his mom's smiling face.

* * *

/ _"Did you just… show me that?" Clint murmured almost as soon as his eyes fluttered open. It was disturbing how little Anya's invasion bothered him. He was probably too in pain and injured to care. And, if he was honest, too homesick. Any shred of comfort, no matter how thin… "'s that… how it ends?"_

 _Anya shrugged. "It's one possibility. With most people there is only one path. But for you… I see six." She shook her head, appearing exhausted and old beyond her years. It had to be a horrible strain, to see into the future every time she touched someone. "It's all very confusing, everything depends on so many little details."_

 _Clint would've wanted to ask what the other… possibilities were like. What he should do to ensure the one he just saw. But sleep was pulling him under already. He could only hope that once he woke up again he'd remember, he'd manage to keep hoping… "'k you", he slurred._

 _"No, thank you." For the first time he saw Anya smile, tiny as it was. "And Happy Birthday."_

 _Finally Clint was able to fall asleep properly. He dreamt of all those people he – someone who spent so much of his life all alone – had been forced to leave behind. In his sweetest dream he was spending today with them, healthy and happy._

 _Laura kissed his cheek when he blew the candles on his cake. Nate squealed happily, Lila sat on his lap refusing to go anywhere and even Cooper was smiling. Tony goofed around, causing chaos, ignoring an exasperated Bruce who was trying to stop him. For just this once Steve let it happen, a rare open smile in his heartbreakingly old eyes as the homey atmosphere wrapped around him. Natasha was rolling her eyes but someone who knew her well could see the hint of a smile. Wanda had a hand pressed against her lips to hide that she was giggling. Vision seemed confused but not uncomfortable beside her, the ridiculous hat Lila gave him obediently on his head. Thor simply watched, his natural royal aura clashing amusingly against the homey, informal and…_ human _affair. The Asgardian clearly enjoyed himself despite the hint of nostalgia and longing on his face._

 _They were all together, Clint mused in the dream as the last candle lost its flame. In this reality there was no drama, hurt and arguments, just one big, dysfunctional family happily together. What more could he have wished for as a present?_

 _"Happy birthday!"_

 _A few tears slid down his cheeks as he slept._ /

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awww! HAPPY BIRTHDAY indeed! HOPEFULLY he'll get LOTS of happy ones. (sighs) I left the exact age of Clint during that death-scene vague, as well as the cause. It's only one possibility, of course, but HOPEFULLY he'll get to live to a gripe old age and pass away calmly, happily.

SOOOOO… Was that ANY GOOD, at all? AND, NOW THAT WE'VE ALREADY REACHED A RESPECTABLE AGE FOR THIS STORY, ANY REQUESTS? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you!

YOU GUYS, ONCE MORE THAN YOU SO MUCH FOR HAVING STAYED AROUND FOR SO LONG – HERE'S TO AT LEAST TWO MORE! Cheers!

Awkay, I really need to go get some sleep. Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

Joyce: I'm SUUUUUUPER happy that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) HAPPY BIRTHDAY! (HUGS)

I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the tales to come every bit as much.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: You sure do! (giggles) LOL, I've had several hamsters, so I couldn't resist the silly, somewhat cute idea.

I'm SOOOOOOO happy that you enjoyed the chapter! ESPECIALLY those personal favorite bits of mine. (BEAMS) Hopefully the next one will please you as much.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	111. Hulk Watching Over Me

A/N: SOOOOOOOOOOO, it's time to return to this toddler-aged collection! (grins) BUT, first things first…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart and soul, for all your reviews, love and support! Still, after all this time, so many of you are aboard. You have no idea how much it means to me! (HUUUUGS) And special thank yous for all the birthday wishes! HERE'S TO AT LEAST ANOTHER TWO YEARS!

DISCLAIMER: Since it's been two years from the last… NOPE, I still own absolutely nothing more than my DVDs and figurines. Just toying mercilessly with the borrowed characters. (smirks)

Awkay, LET'S GO! I REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Hulk Watching Over Me

* * *

The world spun around and around and around when Clint's eyes fluttered halfway open. For a moment he wondered if he was in some kind of a carousel. He liked carousels. That idea faded when his head, clearing infuriatingly slowly, pointed out that there was a massive, partially destroyed building around him. There was a hole in the ceiling directly above him, and through it he could see the night-time sky. Pretty.

His ears were ringing but his hearing was coming back, slowly yet steadily. He heard thuds, like a distant thunder. Thunder from a clear sky? How weird. Was it Thor? Thor would've been good company.

A mission… There was a mission… They faced a Hydra cell, trying to find… What was it again…?

The ground shook. Or perhaps he did. Maybe it was all a trick of his imagination. The thunder seemed to be inching closer. It made Clint smirk and giggled briefly, and he was surprised when it hurt and brought the taste of blood into his mouth.

Oh, those poor idiots would regret messing with the Avengers.

Or at least he hoped they would. He really should get up to find out, shouldn't he? But for some reason it felt like too much trouble. Just a little nap, maybe that was what he needed…

Perhaps he drifted away, just for a while. He didn't have any idea just how far away he slid. Until his eyes flew wide open at the sound of a roar.

That wasn't his alarm clock.

There was another roar. And a distant scream. Then the rumble of a wall going down. The ruckus was approaching him, quickly. Might be a good idea to do something about it, and fast.

Clint tried to move, he honestly did. Attempted to get up and run. But his muscles refused to listen to his commands. And every slightest twitch hurt too darned much. The archer groaned from pain and frustration, shifted a little defiantly although it sent hellfire through him. Then it was too late to do anything.

Because a roar came from almost directly beside him. Clint blinked furiously, fighting against the haze trying to overcome his head. He was pretty badly out of it, but he figured that losing consciousness wasn't an option at the moment.

He made the mistake of closing his eyes for a couple of seconds. When he wrenched them hallway open his line of vision was full of green. Hulk towered directly above him, peering down with what looked like confusion and… what was that…?

Clint sighed with exhaustion, because it was everything he could do, and whimpered against his will when agony surged through. Black spots danced in his line of vision, and it took all his determination to not sink into the dark. He swallowed thickly. It didn't hurt this time, but it required a ridiculous amount of effort and he didn't like the taste that accompanied. "… 'ce…"

Hulk tilted his head and growled. More confused or angry, was impossible to tell. The gigantic creature's eyebrows furrowed.

 _You've gotta do better than that, Barton_ , he told himself. Struggling mightily, he tried again. "… need Bruce …" Why the Big Guy hadn't crushed him yet was beyond him. But he needed Bruce, for medical purposes and because he didn't think the bizarre luck of Green having spared him would last long.

Hulk's frown deepened, like the giant was deep in thought. A single finger was placed against him, and although the pressure was shockingly light it hurt like hell. Red coated green, which clearly didn't please Hulk. The sound that came next was almost distressed. A few seconds later a single word was comprehensible. "Hurt", the creature mused, looking at him with troubled eyes.

Clint blinked once, twice, knowing full well how bad of an idea it was. This… was just too unbelievable…! "Yeah", he somehow managed to utter. "So… I need Bruce…" Getting that many words out was almost more than he could handle in his current condition. A hazardous amount of fatigue embraced him, tempting him to just close his eyes and drift.

Hulk tilted his head again, and it was anyone's guess how much the giant understood of what Clint was trying to say. Those eyes that usually blazed fury now had several new emotions in them. "Hurt", was said again, and it sounded absolutely miserable.

"Yeah, I know." Clint could feel shock starting to creep in, and wondered grimly how long he'd manage to hang on. Each breath was harder than the last. "… 'be okay, though. 'just need help." He really hoped that as much was true.

Hulk's brows furrowed. Obviously that was more than the creature could understand. "Help?"

"'s right, Big Guy", he confirmed. He didn't like how feeble he sounded and felt. "Help."

Hulk seemed to be adjusting to the thought. Which was when the last thing Clint needed happened. There was noise, until a group of six Hydra-agents burst into the room.

Hulk reacted instantly. He roared, and it was so loud that Clint feared his skull might crack from its force. Of course it got worse, it always did. Screams. Gigantic fists mauling flesh and the building alike. There was gunfire and screaming, until the human noises stopped.

Hulk clearly wasn't satisfied. He kept banging with both fists, roaring out his fury at the whole world. Continued to smash the floor when there was nothing else left.

Those assaults caused Clint body to jolt. And it was more than he could bear. He finally closed his eyes and whimpered, feeling like a hundred burning hot blades had been slashing him simultaneously. His heart stuttered unhealthily, shock tightening its grasp on him.

He'd never know if Hulk actually reacted to the pitiable sound or if it was simply a coincidence. But all of a sudden the creature was back. For several long and uncomfortable moments it was unclear what Big Green might decide to do. The eyes meeting his, at least, carried barely a hint of rage for once. "Help."

Clint nodded weakly, or perhaps his head just slipped to a different position. "You helped", he assured the creature most would've called a monster. He didn't feel any pain anymore and couldn't tell if it was a good thing or bad. His eyes were slipping closed, and he knew that soon would come a point where he wouldn't get them open again. As hard as he fought, his body was shutting down on him quickly.

Soon he was almost fully unconscious. He might've imagined the poke he felt. "Feather?"

Clint smirked. Because he was too dazed to worry, and he was actually feeling fairly comfortable. Just really, really cold. Why couldn't Hulk be a furry being? He would've appreciated the warmth. "You've spent too much time with Tony." He had no idea how much of it came out comprehensible. Nor did he care.

His consciousness faded to black in the presence of a creature who could've easily crushed him with a single smack.

Clint didn't know that Hulk sat there for a long moment. Staring at him with confusion, trying to decide his next move. Then, with gentleness no one would've expected, the giant gathered the frail, badly injured man into his arms. "Feather?"

* * *

When Clint stopped responding to his ear comm Natasha knew that something was badly wrong. With unnecessary viciousness she handled the two hostiles irritating her, then headed towards the last location her best friend had been able to give her. She'd make Tony prepare that full-body armor the billionaire had threatened Clint with for the next time. Because of course there'd be a next time. There'd have to be.

Evidence of Hulk's work was everywhere and intensified constantly the closer she went. Which couldn't possibly be a good thing. Natasha didn't like the way her stomach knotted as she approach, slowly and cautiously, trying to ignore the carnage around her.

"Big Guy?" she called out with a healthy amount of caution. There wasn't a sound, which was somehow more terrifying than anything else. "I'm going to come there. I'm not a threat, remember? So stay calm."

Hulk didn't respond. But didn't start roaring and raging, either. She wanted to believe that it was a positive sign.

Didn't even their team deserve a little luck every now and then?

Natasha could only hope for the best. And she wasn't the kind who did fool's hope. She would've never admitted to a soul how close to her throat her heart hammered as she finally braced herself and faced the sight. It succeeded nothing of the million things she might've anticipated.

Ten or maybe thirteen hostiles had been taken down in the room. She recognized Clint's style on six of them and Big Green had left his unmistakable mark on the rest. Hulk sat in the middle of the it all, for once appearing confused and lost rather than angry. Looking down at something in his arms. It took longer than it should've before she identified the bloodied heap as Clint. Her best friend was obviously in a bad condition. Really, really bad condition. Was the archer even breathing anymore? Red soaked Hulk's green skin.

Hulk finally recognized her presence. The green giant looked up, something that definitely came from Bruce in his eyes. "Help."

* * *

Getting Hulk to hand over Clint was far from easy. The growling began when their highly unusual trio was approaching a very hesitant pair of waiting medical professionals. The giant reacted instinctively and snarled, squeezing his delicate cargo too tightly.

"No", Natasha snapped as harshly as she dared to. "He needs help, remember? You need to let these people help him." She wondered if she was utterly insane, risking upsetting the beast like this. But she had to try, for the sake of both Clint and Bruce.

Letting Clint go and out of his sight clearly wasn't a pleasant idea. But eventually, just when the rest of them were starting to lose hope, Hulk obeyed. With one, last growl of threat. "Feather. Help."

The looks of the professionals' faces spoke everything necessary about Clint's condition. A lot of things Natasha couldn't understand was spouted. And then they were rushing away.

Hulk tensed up in a manner that could've easily ended in disaster. Natasha braced herself for anything. Still the shockingly emotional, loud moan of displeasure and the look on the giant's face tore at the heart she wasn't supposed to have.

Natasha took a deep breath. If it shuddered no one would ever have to know. _Goddamnit, Barton…!_ At the moment there was nothing she could do for the archer. But she had the chance to help Bruce. "Okay, big guy… Time for the lullaby."

* * *

Clint had two gunshot wounds, such a bad concussion that he was lucky to not have a cracked skull and he'd succeeded in breaking half of his ribs. The internal damage was a grim sight. One of the bullets came a breath away from piercing his heart.

Did it make Clint incredibly lucky, or spectacularly unlucky?

Such was a question Nick Fury had wondered more times than he cared to count since Phil Coulson dragged in a moody but wickedly talented kid. Back then Clint wasn't far from the death's door, and since then they'd almost lost him… too often. Far, far too often. If Fury had hair, the idiot would've turned it all grey. And then he made the mistake of taking in a full team of individuals with similar self-preservation instincts.

And here they were, again.

Fury sighed heavily. Like the long-suffering parent of a toddler or a teenager. "So he'll pull through?"

"The next couple of days are critical", a beautiful, middle aged doctor with long, bronze colored hair cautioned him. But there was a hint of promise in her warm, brown eyes. "But he's a real warrior. I wouldn't be surprised if he did."

If Fury smiled, just a tiny bit… Who was there to see? "He's made a habit out of defying statistics."

The doctor grinned widely as a response. Then nodded towards the crowd gathered around the still unconscious archer. "You know, usually we'd never allow that many visitors. But… Maybe I can make an exception. Just this once."

Not that anyone would've had the heart to make them leave. Natasha and Steve were both as close to Clint's bed as possible, their strategic spots such that they had a clear view to the door. Neither dared to drop their guard for even a second for as long as their friend was so vulnerable. They were the only people in the room awake. Tony snored loudly on the other side of the bed, his shoeless feet lifted to the mattress so that one of them was touching Clint. Thor had definitely fought mightily but was nonetheless slumbering in a further corner of the room. The Asgardian and Tony seemed to be in a contest over which one snored more loudly. Bruce, drained by post-Green and the day's drama, was also sleeping soundly. Relief was evident on the scientist's pale face. Fury didn't think he'd ever seen the man look so peaceful.

Usually Hulk was the brutal force whose whole mission was to wreak havoc and _smash_. It wasn't every day Big Green got the chance to save a life like this. It had to be a healing experience.

"Just so you know, I don't offer favors without expecting something in return."

The doctor's voice snatched Fury from his thoughts. His eyebrow bounced up. "What, exactly, do you have in mind?"

"You get to buy me some coffee." Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "And not the hospital cafeteria kind."

In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred Fury would've refused. Because… stuff like this… He didn't have time for it. But today… Today Hulk saved a teammate's life. And Clint survived yet again, against all odds. Maybe he should take a leap of faith, too. "Sounds reasonable, Dr. Harding."

"Call me Prue or you'll be buying me a slice of cheesecake as well."

* * *

It was obvious that Clint's recovery would take time. A lot of it. Which definitely didn't please the archer. No one who knew him at all expected him to actually stay on the bedrest he'd been ordered to. The rest of the team just hoped that Jarvis would be able to keep an eye on him when they couldn't.

That rainy and windy evening it was Bruce's turn to be on Hawk sitting duty, as they called it. He tried his best. But as it turned out his patient was elusive. Eventually he consulted Jarvis. To his shock the archer turned out to be in the most obvious yet least expected location. His own bed.

Knowing better than to startle a seasoned agent and former assassin, Bruce knocked before he dared to enter. Despite the time they'd known each other he still wondered if there were traps hidden all over the room. He proceeded with caution, just in case. "Hey. You okay?" Clint most definitely wasn't. He had to be in a horrific amount of agony or just feel beyond horrible to agree to lay down.

A hoarse "Yeah" came from the heap hidden under a blanket.

Bruce shifted. On his better days the Hawk was very talkative, so this withdrawn version that sought isolation took some getting used to. He knew that his friend liked to 'lick his wounds', as Natasha called it, in private, but… "Can I get you anything? Meds? Food?"

The movement he saw seemed like a shake of a head. "Not hungry." Which wasn't a surprise. Clint reacted to stress and injury alike by stopping eating. "And no meds. Head's foggy enough already."

"Okay." Bruce could've tried to push but knew that it would've done no good. "Just… Let me know if you need anything. I'll go and find myself a book."

No sound or motion from under the blanket. Bruce had already turned to go, begrudgingly accepting that this was the best he could do, when Clint murmured so quietly that he barely heard. "Hey Bruce?" There was a pause, like talking required extra effort. "I know what you think, but… Big Green… He's not a total monster."

Bruce was taken aback. That… was the about last thing he would've ever expected to hear from anyone. "You've seen what it's capable of. How can you say that?"

"'Cause I'd be dead without him. So… Thanks." Was that a yawn or a moan? It was hard to say. "Not just a monster", Clint proclaimed again stubbornly. "He's got a piece of you in him."

Bruce stared, something he hadn't felt in ages flooding through him. Then melted to a rare smile. For the first time since… _the day_ he felt the weight falling from his shoulders, no matter how briefly. And for a few stolen moments there was no anger in him.

Bruce lost himself into the world of the book. Which was why he nearly missed the fact that he had company. At some point, in the covers if the room's dim lightning, Clint he sneaked to the couch nearby. A blanket covered most of the archer, but Bruce saw enough of the face to know that his friend was sleeping soundly. Still very much recovering and definitely feeling vulnerable, yet willing to let him see it. In the world of Clint Barton there wasn't a greater sign of trust.

With the evening's second smile Bruce continued to read, his ailing friend safe and sound nearby. It was one of those few times when he felt at peace. Even Big Green was calm in his head, at least for a little while.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Awwww! Bruce deserves to NOT feel like a monster all the time, now doesn't he? (smiles) Poor Clint! But at least he's on the road to recovery.

SOOOOOOOO… Any good? At all? Hearing from you is one of my favorite things, so PLEASE, do drop a line or two!

IN THE ADVENTURES TO COME (no promises when it comes to the order)… Steve and Thor have been sort of neglected, so they'll get to take the stage. (Whether they like it or not…) Also, we'll meet a certain blind crime-fighter in an epic contest over who is a dumbster is injured worse. (Over achievers…!) AND, what's this? There's something alien growing inside Clint that DOESN'T belong there… (shudders)

Awkay, I REALLY need some sleep. Until next time, folks! I REALLY HOPE that you'll all join again then.

Take care!

* * *

Carry692: Don't worry! Sometimes real life gets in the way, and it sounds like your were having TONS of fun. (smiles and hugs)

It makes my heart sing that you enjoyed the Guardians-story so much! Because they WILL return. (grins and nods) I LOVED typing about them!

Awwww, glad to hear you liked the special, too! I wanted to do something birthday-themed, and that idea refused to leave me. (chuckles)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	112. The Heart of a Hawk, part 1 (post CW)

A/N: PHEW! Typing this chapter took a while. The plotline twisted at least four times in my head before settling to this! (chuckles) BUT, here we are.

THANK YOU, a million times, for all your AMAZING reviews, love and support! You have NO IDEA how much they mean to me. (HUGS) Let's keep this collection going for at least another two years!

Awkay, because the clock's ticking… Let's go!

Someone dear once wished for a story with Clint, Steve and Wanda, so here we go. (grins and sends hugs)

 **HAS LOOSE TIES** to a story in this collection called 'Of Hawks and Men of Iron'. I may have played with the timelines a little, but hopefully not enough to make it confusing.

* * *

The Heart of a Hawk, part 1 of 3 (post 'Civil War')

* * *

Virvá had lived in the cold north all her life. Sudden snowstorms and biting temperatures were something she'd grown well used to. She was accustomed to darkness as well.

One early morning she was wearing her warmest clothes to combat the freezing temperature and a snowstorm that'd been blowing relentlessly for almost a full day. That time of the year sun barely even climbed up so dusk lingered as she headed to chop more firewood. Aside the wind the only sounds disturbing nature's peace came from the steps of her and her two huskies. Until the dogs froze and began to growl threateningly, glaring towards the forest surrounding them.

Virvá frowned, alarm going through her like an electric jolt. She knew that a pack of wolves sometimes came close, especially if they were hungry and desperate for food. The night before she heard them singing but now there wasn't a trace of those wild animals. " _Aurora? Hilla? What is it?_ "

The huskies were on the move far faster than she had the time to react, charging deeper into the woods. Virvá followed, bracing herself for almost anything. The wind came from directly in front of her, now, and made her eyes sting until they watered. She gritted her teeth, trying to listen for signs of threat. All she could hear was her pets, and the storm.

She froze for a moment, every muscle in her body tensing up. Her blue eyes widened a little, taking in the fact that some of the snow was darker. Suddenly the nauseating stench of blood, which most likely alerted her dogs, was clear even to her. Had the wolves found game?

When Virvá finally found her huskies the sight she encountered made nausea twist and turn in her stomach. She stared for a few moments, her mouth open for a shout that never came. Instead of screaming she gasped, her breath visible in the freezing air.

There were three people on the snow, their blood having painted the white red. Aurora and Hilla were sniffed at the unexpected company intently, growling every now and then. One of the three was a woman, so young that she was still a girl. She was pale and unconscious, but aside a few bruises and traces of oncoming hypothermia she seemed fairly healthy. Same couldn't be said about the two men. They looked alike enough to pass off as brothers, although she had no idea if they were such. One of them bore signs of vicious beatings all over his face. Was that a gunshot wound? He didn't seem to be faring with the cold any better than the woman. At first Virvá thought that the second man, slightly smaller than the first, was already gone. He was covered in so much blood that it was impossible to tell how many wounds he had and where they were.

With a heavy heart Virvá gave her hounds a gentle yet firm command, and waited for them to settle before approaching the trio. Maybe there was something she could do for them, after all. She tried to pry the woman from the protective arms of the man she thought doomed. Until a pair of eyes flew open, hazy and pained but also full of such determination that didn't seem human. And quicker than she could blink, a deathly sharp knife found its way to her throat.

* * *

/ _They were all supposed to escape the prison Raft together. That was the plan. To get to safety together, their whole side of the torn apart Avengers._

 _That plan wasn't meant to be._

 _Escaping from such peril was far from easy. And Wanda had been left weakened by the whole experience. She ran until she couldn't. She slipped, slid and fell, unable to do a thing to stop it. Straight into the hungry, raging waves. The last thing she saw before merciless darkness swallowed her was Steve's hand reaching out for her, and the same sheer terror she felt reflected in his eyes._

 _Wanda went under, never knowing that someone dove as well to get to her._ /

* * *

Clint wasn't sure if he was still unconscious, awake or dead. Everything spun and swayed around him as he struggled to gain focus. He tightened his hold on the weapon because it was all he had to keep himself and his friends safe. First he saw Ross. Then Loki, sneering at him. And finally a beautiful woman with long, nearly white blonde hair and the biggest blue eyes he'd ever seen. She looked like an angel, if such existed, and seemed terrified. And not for the first time he felt like the criminal he was accused of being.

Feeling drained and defeated he let both of his hands fall. The one holding the knife, and the other that'd been clutching at the woman's white winter-coat. There was growling everywhere around him but it died down, slowly, when he turned out to not be a threat.

The woman gasped, clearly having held her breath. She eyed at his weapon warily before beginning to examine him, slowly, carefully. Almost the entire time she was talking to him in a language he couldn't comprehend.

Clint had no idea what she was saying. He could only hope that she'd be able to understand him. "Steve… Wanda… Help 'em…" He was far from coherent but not delusional. His chances of survival… Well, he preferred not imagining, especially since it made his head hurt. But his friends… "… please …"

"Your friends?" She had the thickest accent he'd ever heard. When he nodded, feeble as it was, she returned the gesture. "I will help. You are safe now."

Those words were all the promise he needed, and his mind faded to black once more as his body gave in.

* * *

/ _Clint and Wanda drifted for what felt like ages. Swept away, lost. There was a time, several moments really, when Clint wondered if they were doomed. The water was greedy, eager to pull them under, and keeping them afloat took all the strength he had. He didn't know if Wanda was even breathing anymore. He just knew that he couldn't let go, couldn't give up. Even though it felt like all lights were impossibly far away, and there was no land in sight. Just the stars, and the waves. And cold._

 _Clint's eyelids were getting heavy, and his arms felt numb, like dead weight wrapped around Wanda. He was dangerously close to slipping under when something came through the dark. Shining red and good in the light of moon. Like a lighthouse._

 _He closed his eyes, relief making him feel heavy and calm, and smiled._ /

* * *

Virvá ran faster than she remembered ever running in her life. Until she finally reached the tiny, isolated cabin she called home, the dogs right beside her. " _Siru!_ "

Almost instantly a woman of her age emerged from the bedroom. And froze at the sight of the blood staining her clothes. " _Did you hurt yourself?_ "

Virvá shook her head, finally managing to catch her breath properly. " _We need to take the sleigh and go. Right now._ "

* * *

/ _Clint woke up to light and such white that blinded him, made his head hurt even worse than it did before. He groaned and shielded his eyes, desperate to make sense of what was going on. His chest felt tight and achy._

 _"Welcome to the land of the living."_

 _Clint tensed up, even though he recognized the voice. Trying to will his vision to clear faster, he turned his gaze. Someone stood by the room's window. It was so bright outside that it took ages before he distinguished Tony. He swallowed thickly, not liking the taste in his mouth. "Wanda…?"_

 _"She's got a pretty bad case of pneumonia. But the staff of this place seems to think that she'll be okay." Tony nodded towards the bed next to his, seeming awkward all of a sudden._

 _Clint moved his head with effort. Wanda was fast asleep, pale and with dark circles around her eyes. He didn't like the sight of those, or the oxygen whiskers. But he liked the sight of her alive, immensely._

 _Clint didn't know how close to dozing off again he was until Tony's voice snatched him back to the present. "They…" The billionaire cleared his throat and shuffled, seeming to be in pain although there was no obvious cause. "They say that her immune system was weak… for something." The man met his eyes although it seemed to take a lot of courage. "What… What did Ross' people do to you guys?"_

 _Clint tensed up and looked away. He didn't want to remember. And he definitely didn't want to talk about it._

 _The heavy silence was cut by an unidentifiable sound. "They were supposed to be the good guys." Tony sounded so wounded and lost, like a heartbroken child, that it was painful to listen._

 _Clint took a deep breath. It hurt. Recent events flooded through his mind like a tsunami. "Who are the good guys anymore?" He definitely didn't feel like one. He didn't think any of them did._

 _Tony shifted. Opened his mouth, eyes haunted, agonized and exhausted. Then nearly all visible emotions disappeared, like a switch had been flicked. "I've gotta go. Before the wrong people start asking questions." It didn't seem to be what the billionaire wanted to say. "No one around here knows about Captain America or… any of that crap. So… You're safe here."_

 _Clint nodded slowly, his foggy brain trying to process everything. "Thanks." He swallowed, still unable to get rid of the bitter taste. "How did you know to come?" How could Tony be there to rescue them from the waves?_

 _"Cap." It definitely would've needed further explanation. But now wasn't the time for that. Would that time ever come? Tony turned to leave before changing his mind. The philanthropist nodded towards Wanda although seeing her obviously hurt. "When she wakes up… Tell her that I'm sorry. I just… I tried to do the right thing." The man wrinkled his nose like someone who'd tasted something foul. "I thought that I was one of the good guys, protecting her and… everyone."_

 _Clint smiled wryly. "I think we all thought we were." And look where it got them._

 _Tony met his eyes, one last time. The man's Adam's apple bobbed. "Look, Barton…" The billionaire shook his head, changing his mind. "Just… Stay safe. And keep her safe, like I tried to."_

 _"I will", Clint swore, and meant it from the bottom of his heart._

 _Tony opened his lips. Then pressed them together. And left. The room's door closed heavily, burdened by the weight of all the unvoiced things._ /

* * *

Steve woke up to a world of pain. He hissed and groaned, then shuddered as he became aware of the hands on him. What if this was another enemy? He didn't think he'd be able to fight anyone. The thought made his heart sink.

He'd fought so hard to get Clint and Wanda to safety, and now…

"You must calm down." The heavily accented female voice was unfamiliar but not hostile, even if a little sharp. "I am attempting to close your wound. Stop moving."

Close… a wound? She was helping him? Steve wasn't sure he could or should trust that. But it wasn't like he had many choices over the matter. Dismayed, he forced himself to remain still.

At least he finally managed to open his eyes halfway. The room's light, fairly dim as it was, blinded him and pained like acid for a long moment. What he eventually found was a young woman with large, nearly black eyes and long hair so red that the color seemed like fire itself. She was intently focused on her task, but he could tell that she was keeping an eye on him as well. Fair enough.

Steve gulped laboriously. There was a bizarre taste in his mouth. Like herbs, or medicine.

The woman seemed to read his mind. "You were awake before, briefly. You are still so feverish that I am not surprised you do not remember. I medicated you, for pain and infection."

Steve nodded slowly, mainly because anything more intense would've been too much. "Thank you." His voice was hoarse and feeble from lack of use. He swallowed again, and decided that he didn't like the taste. His eyes darted around, trying to make sense of things. "Clint and Wanda… They okay?" Did he succeed? Did he manage to save them?

The woman's eyes changed. Became unreadable. "They are here as well." And that was clearly all she'd say about the matter. "Those people who injured you… Will they come after you?"

Steve's chest clenched as he nodded reluctantly, unpleasant memories surging.

"Will they find us?"

He shook his head. "We…" He licked his lips, the room swaying nauseatingly around him. "We ran… for days, I think…" Ross' people most likely imagined that they were dead. They shouldn't have been able to survive, anyway, in those weather conditions and with their injuries.

"I believe you", the woman assured him. Their eyes met, hers hard as steel. "I will help you, and your friends. It is my duty as a doctor. But if they do come… I must protect us, first." It was a bitter truth, but at least she was honest. Steve wondered just who she meant by 'us'.

"Sleep", she commanded. "You will need your strength. This will be a long healing."

Steve didn't want to sleep. He wanted to ask about Clint and Wanda, wanted to see his friends. But his eyelids refused to listen to his commands and slipped closed. His dreams were haunted by the faces of friends he'd let down.

This mess was his fault. And if Clint or Wanda wouldn't make it through… He had no idea how he'd be able to live with himself.

* * *

/ _For a long while it looked like none of the rogue Avengers would be caught. They disappeared so efficiently that it was almost like they never existed. Until breadcrumbs appeared in the about last expected corner of the world._

 _Tony Stark had been captured by terrorists. And, according to the one enemy that was brought to custody alive, Hawkeye was there. Finding a seasoned field-agent and former assassin was a challenge. Tracking down a still recovering girl, who was barely in control over her powers, proved to be easier._

 _And exactly fifteen hours later Clint already lurked nearby the building where he knew Wanda was held. Watched. Debated. Fought a war within._

 _Those people inside… They weren't criminals, terrorists or even actual enemies. Under different circumstances they might've been fighting on the same side._

 _He was a traitor once. Back then he could defend his actions with the fact that he was under mind control. If he went through with this… What would become of him?_

 _He was exhausted from having been on the run for too long and recent injuries that still hadn't healed properly. Which was why he sensed that he was being watched until moments before he heard Thaddeus Ross' voice. "I knew that you'd turn up eventually."_

 _Clint's jawline tightened. His eyes blazed. "If you've hurt her again…"_

 _"She's a criminal. Whatever discomfort she suffers… She's brought it upon herself." The man sat beside him, like a companion. "Clint, what happens to Wanda next is entirely in your hands."_

 _Clint tensed up, not liking where this was going._

 _"You can kill me, right here and now. Show the whole world your true nature. If you do that… Then Wanda will disappear from the world entirely. Fade out of all existence."_

 _Ice traveled through Clint's veins. He gritted his teeth. "They'd kill her."_

 _"I never said that, did I?" Ross went on like someone discussing the weather. "You can always try to knock me out and get her out of there. But do you really want to risk what might happen to her in the chaos?"_

 _Clint jawline was so tight that it hurt. His chest tightened. "What are you proposing I should do, then?" A red spot appeared to dance on his chest._

 _"I learned something from the Avengers and decided that I should have a marksman of my own." Ross looked directly towards him. "You can die a stupid, useless death here as a criminal we finally captured. Or you can try to be useful, to yourself and Wanda alike, and come inside. Which option do you choose?"_ /

* * *

Virvá and Siru were both incredibly tired as they watched their youngest patient – Wanda, apparently – sleeping. " _They're criminals_ ", Siru pointed out, her voice tight and sharp. " _I understand that you want to save them. But it may cost us._ "

" _They're also human beings. And right now they need our help. This is the right thing to do._ " Virvá's voice was soft, yet so firm and stubborn that no one would've dared to question her. The woman took her hand and squeezed. " _I understand why you worry. But we must help them. And I know that you want to do it as much as I do._ "

Siru sighed heavily, recognizing a lost battle. She didn't have any idea if she'd be able to do enough, if all hope was already lost. But she didn't have the heart to admit as much out loud. Instead she squeezed back, then let go gently. " _I'll make us some coffee._ "

* * *

/ _Clint couldn't tell how long passed by. He altered between consciousness and dreams that turned into nightmares far too often. Whenever he was awake he was bombarded with questions he had no intention of answering. His silence was rewarded by methods of torment he knew all too well. He was taught every single one of them, once, in what felt like a different life._

 _It was Ross himself who came to see him after a session with the interrogators that evening – or was it morning already? The man offered a glass towards him. "Water? You look like you could use some."_

 _Clint growled barely audibly, narrowed his eyes and shook his head the best as he could. Hell no. He'd been drugged enough times to not accept anything that man offered him._

 _Ross shrugged. "So be it." The glass was put away, out of reach, and he couldn't help glancing longingly towards it. Clearly the other man noticed. The heavy sigh was almost sincere. "Clint, I don't want to keep treating you this way. I'm not a bad man. Why do you make this so hard on yourself?"_

 _Clint snorted, his eyes growing harder than steel. "I have no clue where Rogers is. Or the others."_ And even if I did, you'd be the last person to know. _"I've learned something while I've been here, though. I've had a lot of time to think."_

 _Ross' eyebrow bounced up. "Oh? And what might that be?"_

 _He met the man's eyes. "Neither of us is the good guy, here. So you can drop the act around me."_

 _Something changed in Ross' gaze. Transformed into such that chilled him. "She has nightmares all the time, you know? The drugs we give her are strong." The man's tone was almost conversational. "She calls out to her brother quite often. She calls out to you, too. She did just last night. Such a stubborn girl, even after I told her that you won't come. That you've abandoned her."_

 _That hurt. More than Clint would've ever cared to admit. His eyes flashed and he balled his fists almost hard enough to cause damage. "She may be pissed off at me. But she knows that I'd never abandon her. You know why?"_

 _"Seems that you're happy to enlighten me."_

 _Clint smirked, no matter how much pain he was in. "Because there's something you don't know about the Avengers." He leaned closer the best as he could. "We're no superheroes. Just a bunch of train wrecks of human beings trying to do the right thing. But when one of us needs the others… We'll be there."_

 _Ross was about to laugh. Until, as though to enforce Clint's testimony, there was a distant rumble. Almost like an explosion. The man frowned and reached out towards his ear comm. "What's going on there?" Clearly no response came. "Jenkins? Avery?"_

 _A gunshot, far closer, announced that they were no longer alone. They heard sounds of a fight. And a thud._

 _"You've been looking for me." That voice… It was unbelievably familiar and completely unrecognizable all at once. Carried an edge that shouldn't have been there. Steve came into view from behind a corner. No shield, no Halloween costume, no Captain America. Just Steve Rogers, a man who used to be the picture of good manners and calm, now furious enough to make it seem like he might explode any given moment. "And I'm tired of running. So here I am."_ /

* * *

Clint woke up to a world of agony. He gasped, several times over, even though it unleashed a wildfire of agony inside him. Then gasped some more, coughed, and choked. Until a firm hand pushed him to lay painfully and uncomfortably on his side. A bucket was barely there before he was already throwing up. Fighting to catch his breath in the aftermath he looked down, and shivered upon facing the puddle of nearly black and red he'd produced.

Not good.

When he attempted to roll to his back the hand was still there, holding him in place stubbornly. "Not yet." The woman gave him a few moments before continuing. "We must take you to a hospital."

Clint shook his head immediately, firmly. And regretted it when his whole skull pulsed and a new thunderstorm of nausea made his stomach lurch. "No hospitals." Ross found definitely find them, no matter how clever fake-aliases they'd use. He went on before the woman could protest. "Steve? Wanda?" He hoped dearly that they were doing better than he was.

"Steve is resting. He has a lot of recovering to do. But he is strong. Wanda has been sleeping since you arrived."

Clint nodded faintly, his eyelids fluttering heavily. Almost out cold already. Until, without any warning, he broke into another bout of vomiting. The pain it came with… He was almost sure that it'd kill him. But somehow he was still alive afterwards, struggling for breath and shuddering violently.

The woman swore loudly. He couldn't understand the language but there was no mistaking the meaning. It reminded him comfortingly of Natasha. He wondered, already drifting away, where his best friend was, if she was okay.

"Clint. I will not be able to help you enough here. Do you understand?" Satisfied that he wouldn't choke, the woman let him lay on his back, allowing him to see her torn, stormy eyes. "Your injuries… You need hospital care. I will not be able to do enough."

Clint shook his head, stubborn to the last although his eyelids were drooping. "No hospitals." He wasn't going to endanger his friends. And he wasn't going to let Ross find him, not ever, not after everything he'd been through over the past… he didn't know how long. Death was a better alternative, if it ever came to that. Which it wouldn't.

He'd just have to hold on.

Hold on.

Hold…

His eyes finally closed, and the part of his mind still capable of rational thinking wondered if he'd ever wake up again.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Uh huh… Poor dears! Especially Clint! We'll see just how he makes it through this. (winces)

SOOOO… Any thoughts, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you ALWAYS makes my day.

Awkay, I REALLY need to go and get some sleep. Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you there.

There's a lot nasty stuff happening all over the world right now, including my own country. Together we must make sure that fear, hatred and terror won't win. So take care, of yourselves and others, and stay safe!

' ** _And now these three remain: faith, hope and love._** ** _But the greatest of these is love_**.'

* * *

Guest: OOOH! I think I ran into that story, once. Sounds like a REALLY juicy idea, for this collection or for a story of its own! Will TOTALLY see daylight one day. (BEAMS)

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

JolyJolt: DAAAANG, that's a baffling compliment! After so many chapters, it means A LOT that you think the stories are still fresh. (BEAMS, and hugs) I REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy the tales to come as much!

Gigantic thank yous for the review!

* * *

Carry692: SO GLAD that you liked it! (smiles) I feel that there's more to Hulk than all that rage. And I couldn't resist the thought that he's got a HUGE soft spot for your dear Hawk. (grins)

I really hope that you'll keep enjoying the ride (flight?)!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Angeniko: Quite adorable, wasn't it? (grins) I REALLY HOPE that you'll be as pleased with what's to come.

Massive thank yous for the review!


	113. The Heart of a Hawk, part 2 (post CW)

A/N: PHEEEEEW! Finishing up this chapter took AGES. (chuckles) BUT, here we are. Soooo… Yay?

BUT, before getting to the main-point… THANK YOU, so very much, for your amazing reviews, love and support! You guys are THE BEST, ya know? (HUUUGS)

Awkay, because I left you on a MEAN cliffie… LET'S GO! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Heart of a Hawk, part 2 of 3 (post 'Civil War')

* * *

/ _Ross had seen plenty of footage, pictures and files of what the Avengers were capable of. But nothing, absolutely nothing in the world, could've braced him for what it actually felt like to face them. One moment Steve Rogers stood in front of him. The next Ross found himself lay on the floor, blinking slowly as the ceiling spun and swayed above him._

 _He almost imagined that he'd been shot. Would've, if he hadn't felt exactly where the super-soldier's fist had collided with his face. Even without his legendary shield the Captain was incredibly dangerous._

 _Getting up took far longer than it should've, with how the whole world spun. His ears were ringing too badly for him to hear anything, but a couple of members of his security team were inspecting him. He waved them off aggressively. "Find them! Stop them!" he hollered._

 _Ross wasn't sure if he was losing consciousness. Or hallucinating. But all of a sudden he saw Steve and Clint rushing away, the archer carrying Wanda in his arms. They were almost at the end of a long hallway. If they'd make it to the door, to the outside world…_

 _Ross snarled at them to stop. He was sure he did, even if he couldn't hear a thing. They didn't obey, most likely didn't expect him to…_

 _Well, clearly they didn't know him very well. Those three were a hazard to the society. And they needed to be stopped. Whatever it took._

 _Ross pointed his gun and pulled the trigger at the exact same moment the door to freedom was shattered open. And seconds – or hours – later a cloud of red revealed that he hit a target. He smirked with satisfaction even though the three disappeared. They wouldn't get far._ /

* * *

Ross was fairly certain that the brutal weather had finished the job his and his men's encounter with the wayward Avengers started. He'd seen the injuries Clint sustained and surely even the mighty Captain America had his limits. And where were they supposed to go for help, anyway? The only choice they would've had was to turn back.

Ross didn't like taking risks, though. And he was a better strategist than most people gave him credit for. Which was why he had one team looking for the escaped prisoners' bodies, and two more stationed entirely elsewhere. There was only one hospital equipped for patients with such brutal traumas close enough for them to have any hope of reaching it. If they somehow survived the weather, the nature and their injuries, it was their only sanctuary.

They were dead. Of course they were. But just in case…

Finishing the phone-call that ensured his trap was set, Ross turned his gaze towards the item still in his hold. During his… rather spirited departure Clint never got the chance to retrieve his favorite weapon. Ross inspected one of the man's arrows carefully with a sneer. Then, in a blink, squeezed it so hard that it snapped in half.

If they were still somehow trying to stay alive, he'd make sure that it'd lead them right back into his hands. Because there was no mercy or sanctuaries for fugitives, or those who helped them. Not in a world where he was in charge.

* * *

/ _Wanda didn't know how long she'd been in Ross' hands. They kept her awake, drugged her, ensured that she had no reliable way of keeping track on time. And they kept asking questions. Always the same ones._

 _When Ross was particularly cruel he asked about Pietro. He showed her clips and footage of all the destruction she was involved in. Called her things that'd haunt her guilt-ridden nightmares for the rest of her life, no matter how long or short it might be. He pushed, and pushed, and tormented, until Wanda wanted to unleash all her powers on him. If she hadn't been drugged so badly she had no idea how many times Ross would've died. And it terrified her in her rare lucid moments._

 _He was turning her into the monster he accused her on being._

 _Eventually she did try to attack him. With her bare hands, because she had nothing else. For a few fleeting seconds there was genuine fear in his eyes when her fingers closed around his throat. Then, as several pairs of hands were pulling her away, he smirked in a chilling manner. "See? You're nothing but a monster. A wild animal. And there's only one thing that can be done to wild beasts when they're out of control."_

 _She was punched, so hard that she nearly lost consciousness. Then a metallic collar, so heavy that it hurt, was closed around her neck, a chain of even more metal trapping her effectively to a wall. She didn't scream when the door was slammed closed and they left her all alone into the dark. She howled, from the bottom of her heart and soul._

 _Eternity passed by with people only coming to give her food and liquids she didn't want or trust. Until the door opened and a familiar guard was tossed in, limp as a ragdoll. And in the harsh, artificial light illuminated from the hallway stood Clint. Beaten horribly and covered in red. Like her own gruesome guardian angel._

 _Finally, after all the torment and terror, she burst into tears._ /

* * *

Wanda's first awakening wasn't a pleasant experience. She felt vicious pulsating all over her body, like electricity. The more she tried to wiggle away from it the harder it grabbed her. She attempted to groan but it came out as a pathetic whimper.

"I know that you are feeling uncomfortable. You had a very high fever, but it's breaking now, quickly." The blonde-haired woman beside her bed was a stranger, and there was no way of knowing if she worked for Ross. But something in her eyes set Wanda's mind at ease. Or maybe she was too exhausted to worry.

The trickling and pulsating was driving her mad. _Like quicksilver running through my veins._ The bizarre thought made a tear travel down Wanda's cheek.

Wanda would fall asleep very soon, whether she wanted to or not. But first she needed to know… "Clint and Steve…?" What had happened to her voice?

"They are here", the woman confirmed. In a more coherent state of mind Wanda might've noticed that she was hiding something. "You are all safe, now. So rest."

Rest Wanda did. She dreamt of unpleasant things. And her brother.

* * *

/ _Taking down Ross was easy. Facing Clint wasn't. The man's face was barely recognizable from the beating that'd been inflected on the man. Still the archer fought to smirk. "Knew you'd… come… eventually."_

 _Steve felt his heart clench. "I always will", he swore. He just wished it hadn't taken this long._

 _Doing his best to not assess his friend's condition, the soldier freed the smaller man. Neither felt like talking so they didn't. Until Steve had to ask the inevitable. "Wanda?" He hadn't been that late, had he?_ Please…!

 _"I know where she is." Clint's speech didn't sound right from all the damage that'd been done to his mouth. The Hawk winced and flinched when struggling to his feet, but firmly refused the support he offered. "May need… your help with the… guards, though."_

 _Steve nodded. "Okay. Let's go." The faster they got to her the faster this would all be over. Or so he lied to himself, because only that thought kept him sane._

 _Despite the who knows what damage done to his body Clint was incredibly fast and efficient. Steve was almost dreaming of the nightmare being over faster than he'd hoped when he felt a sharp twinge. Looking down with confusion from the unconscious guard he dropped down, he discovered a gunshot wound. There was a strange hole in his side, oozing red. He blinked twice, slowly, then hissed when pain finally registered._

 _Clint frowned, looking away from an enemy. "Steve?" The man shuddered at the sight of his wound._

 _"Go", Steve growled. The flames of agony were really starting to get to him. "Get Wanda. And then we'll leave."_

 _Clint nodded tensely, knowing that he had no other choice. Then disappeared at an almost superhuman speed. Steve wasn't sure how many enemies he took down while waiting, only the motions keeping him from succumbing to the haze clouding his head. Clint's steps echoed painfully in his skull when the Hawk finally returned, carrying something. Or someone, apparently._

 _Forget about gunshot wounds. Seeing the injuries on both his friends… And especially the look of betrayal, disappointment and confusion in Wanda's eyes when she saw him… Those hurt more. Steve was almost glad when she lost consciousness, and hated himself for it._

 _They were nearly out of the chilling place when Steve heard a gunshot and tensed up._ No, NO…! _"Clint?"_

 _"I'm fine." It was impossible to tell if Clint was lying or not. "Let's just get the hell out of here."_

 _This time Steve didn't call his friend out on such use of language. It wasn't his place anymore, was it, after everything he'd done. So they charged into the snowstorm outside in a silence, wondering if they were headed for better or worse._ /

* * *

Siru had already discovered that her unexpected patients weren't the easiest ones. So really, when she entered the room where Steve had been resting to find the bed empty, she wasn't surprised. Which didn't make it any less irritating. And there was no denying the sharp twinge of concern.

Fortunately her patient hadn't ran off far. There were only so many rooms in the cabin, which meant that Steve and Clint had been forced to share one. And there Steve was, sitting beside his friend's bed, almost completely disguised by shadows.

"He, ah… woke up, for a while." There was a troubled, almost heartbreaking look on Steve's face. "He had no idea who I was. Kept calling me Barney."

Considering that the previous time Clint woke up he called her Tasha, Siru wasn't surprised. "He has a very high fever. He may be developing an infection." She definitely didn't like how a couple of the man's wounds looked.

Steve looked down. As though suddenly afraid of facing his unconscious friend. "But that's not what you're worried about."

"No." Was there any point in sugarcoating it? She sighed heavily. It'd been such long… How many hours? Or was it days? "He needs surgery. And you booth need medicine, the kind I do not have."

Steve's face lost a little more color there hadn't been to begin with. The man's jawline tightened like a bow's string. "He needs to get to a hospital."

"But it is not as simple as that, is it? If you could be in a hospital, that is where you would be." That wasn't a question. "I will not ask why you are running, because I do not want to know. It is not my fight, or Virvá's fight. But I do not want you to mistake me for an idiot."

Steve breathed hard, and visibly fought back a wince at how much it hurt. "This…" The man swallowed, and cringed. "It's my fault that they're in this mess. And if he…" Incredibly old eyes looked at her, full of naked despair. "Whatever it takes to help him… Do it."

Well. That should sit well with Clint when the man woke up. Siru was just about to break into a string of vicious curses when she noticed how badly Steve was swaying. "Come", she coaxed. "You need rest, too. I will look after him. And if something happens, I will wake you up."

She could see how much it cost Steve to trust the wellbeing of his friend into a stranger's hands. But the man could do little else. He was out cold almost faster than his head hit a pillow.

"Clint… Let me talk to him." The unfamiliar female voice startled her. Looking over her shoulder, she discovered Wanda. "I'll make him listen." The girl seemed barely steady on her feet. But only a fool would've doubted the weight of her words.

Siru left the room with a little more hope than she had upon entering it. The tiny smile on her lips faded when she found Virvá.

" _The weather's worsening faster than we expected._ " Virvá's shoulders dropped. " _There was barely any hope of any roads being open when they arrived. And now…_ " She trailed off, but the meaning of her words was far too clear. A car, an ambulance, a helicopter… No method of transport would be able to get to them.

And clearly fate decided that the situation wasn't quite bleak enough. The cabin's few lamps went out along with electricity. Leaving only a fireplace to offer warmth and light.

Siru's heart sank like a stone.

* * *

/ _They ran, and ran, and ran. Until they couldn't anymore. Eventually they were practically stumbling forward, each new step a thousand times heavier than the last. The entire time Clint could feel blood running from the gunshot wound in his back. Carrying Wanda definitely wasn't doing that or his other injuries any favors._

 _One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. They'd make it through this. He had no idea how, but they would._

 _But he was only a human being. He had his limits. And eventually the weight of everything brought him to his knees, right into the embrace of the freezing snow._

 _A few stilled moments later Steve fell down beside him. A hand was laid on his shoulder but it slipped off quickly, lacking the strength to stay up. Neither of them would make it back to their feet. "Barton?"_

 _There was nothing but snow and trees anywhere within sight. The temperature was discouraging, and would definitely keep dropping. None of them was in the condition to survive outside for long. Wanda felt discouragingly cold in his arms, and Steve sounded like he was barely awake. It was so grim and bitterly amusing, all of it, that Clint could only chuckle._

 _They'd fought so hard, all of them. And it would all end like this? "Still… Better here than in Ross' dungeon." Was any of that audible?_

 _"Clint?"_

 _The white intensified, like the snow was in his eyes all of a sudden._

 _"CLINT!"_

 _Then there was nothing, and it felt like death._ /

* * *

Wanda shivered when the lights went out but didn't let it bother her long. There were still candles in the room. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there with her friends, exhaustion weighing on every single one of her bones, when Clint began to shift restlessly. She straightened, blatantly ignoring the discomfort it caused on her far from recovered body. "Hey", she whispered softly although she wanted to yell at him. "Can you hear me?"

It obviously took a great deal of effort. But slowly, slowly Clint eyes opened halfway. In an instant they moved to observe Steve, who was pale and trembling but very much alive. The archer made a move to get up, which Wanda was barely fast and strong enough to prevent. "No, no, just lay down. We're okay, both Steve and I. So take it easy."

Clint's eyes focused on her with effort. The grief in them was palpable. "Sorry I was so slow." It was so badly slurred that she could only guess if what she thought she heard was what he meant to say.

Wanda frowned before understanding. "I'm not letting you apologize for saving me." If she hadn't been stupid and careless enough to get caught her friends wouldn't be in this mess. The weight of that fact was on her shoulders. "But when you're feeling better I'm going to make you apologize for imagining that our safety is more important than your life. You… You need help. And we're going to get you help."

Clint attempted to speak, she could see how hard. But not a single word came out. Still the answer was clear in his pained and panicked yet furiously determined eyes. _No._

Wanda's eyes stung horribly and it took a lot to keep them from overflowing. She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt. "No." It came out far more sharply than she'd intended, and she regretted her tone instantly. Her grip on his hand tightened to make up for the fact that he was barely squeezing back. "You can't…! You don't get to do this. Not to us. This isn't just your call." She was angry, terrified and desperate. Willing to say anything to make him understand, even if what came out was a low blow. "Do you…?" She cleared her throat when a lump rose, wondering if she was crossing a line. "Do you remember how it felt, when Pietro died?" That memory…! It stung and slashed more mercilessly than any amount of broken glass or knives. "You… You don't get to do that to us. You don't get to make Steve and me feel responsible for…" She couldn't spit it out, no matter how much she tried.

Clint shuddered. And for a second, just one, that admirable, infuriating stubbornness faltered. But then it was back, harder than any steel. The archer shook his head, or perhaps his head just happened to loll from side to side.

Wanda's eyes flashed. Fine. She could be stubborn, too – she was Pietro's twin, after all, and Clint helped her train. "No more playing the idiotic hero." Her eyes and tone softened considerably. "You made an Avenger out of me. You came to get me from the Tower. You dove into the waves to save me. You tried to come for me when I was Ross' prisoner. And that… That's enough, for a few lifetimes. So… You can stop now, you idiot. You did the heroic thing. Now it's time to save you for a change."

Clint tried to grin but it didn't come out right. "'too much time 'th Tasha." His expression then faltered entirely and he shuddered. It was from pain, and at first she misunderstood the cause. He could barely look at her. "'took away your 'other."

Wanda shivered, because the ache was still raw. She shook her head. "Ultron took away my brother. My brother took away my brother. And I'm not going to let you do something so stupid."

Clint snorted. Or whimpered. It was hard to identify the wheezing sound. "… think we're… past stupid, kid." Without any warning he paled even further – which, apparently, was possible – and shuddered. She barely managed to help him lay on his side before he was vomiting blood.

The sight and stench, and what they represented, made her stomach turn. Set her blood ablaze. "I'm not letting you die." She was done having the people she cared about dying on her. "Whatever it takes."

Clint swallowed. The man was clearly struggling to not throw up again. "If Ross…"

"If he comes…" Her eyes flashed. Ross thought that she was a monster, a freak of nature, a criminal, an enemy. If he wanted a monster, and would make the mistake of coming after her and the family she'd found… Then she'd give him a monster. "… then let him." She was done running around scared. Done being a lab-rat and a prisoner. It was time to fight back for those who'd fought so hard for her.

"Stop." Clint's voice was so feeble that at first she thought she imagined it. His eyes were barely open.

She frowned. "Stop what?"

There was more than a hint of sadness on Clint's deathly pale face. The words he uttered clearly drained what little strength he had. "… lo'ing like your brothe'."

Wanda smiled back. Even if her eyes stung again. "Never."

Clint's eyes slipped closed. He more breathed out than actually spoke a one more word. "Good." He fell asleep or lost consciousness seconds later. She tried to tell herself that she'd get to see him awake again.

Wanda was beginning to feel exhausted. But there was no way she was slowing down or stopping now. Fueled by new determination, she started looking for their hosts. She found them from the cabin's porch, morose expressions on their faces. It didn't take long to see the reason for their dismay.

It was snowing even more heavily than before. With just a glance it was evident that all roads were blocked. The chances of any help getting to their location were nonexistent. Especially considering that according to Virvá phone-lines died hours earlier.

There'd be no miraculous, last-minute trip to a hospital. There was no help in sight. The sheer defeat nearly sent Wanda to her knees.

"I could try to perform emergency surgery on Clint here. But I would need more hands. And a lot of equipment. Supplies, medication…" Siru's jawline tightened. "And Steve, he needs antibiotics. They both do."

Wanda wiped her eyes, fear and frustration making her hands tremble.

All of a sudden Virvá's eyes widened. The woman began to babble in her native tongue at their second host, gesturing animatedly with both hands. Siru frowned and growled back something, clearly not liking what the other had in mind. The heated exchange seemed to last a lifetime, during which Wanda's chest tightened to a point where she could barely breathe.

Eventually Virvá looked towards her. The woman's eyes shone with determination that seemed to be infectious. "There is a clinic. Months and months ago. Dr. Bear was the last one left working there. He said that he would leave, before the winter, but… Perhaps he left something we can use."

It was pale hope, perhaps fool's hope. But it was more than they had not more than minutes ago. So Wanda nodded fiercely. "Let's go."

Both women frowned. Siru was the one who spoke. "Are you sure…?"

"They're my friends." Wanda's tone left no room for objections. "Yes, I'm sure." She could only hope that her body was as ready as she was.

Siru obviously wanted to be the one to go. But they all knew that Clint and Steve needed her. So Wanda and Virvá dressed as warmly as possible, took the dogs and headed into the treacherous beauty of the snowstorm.

Wanda tried to convince herself, with all her might, that they'd be back before it was too late.

They didn't speak much. Wanda didn't want to waste her strength, they would've heard hardly a thing from the wind and both were deep in thought. The only sounds in the never-ending dusk were from the wind and snow, and the dogs keeping them company.

Until they heard the chillingly beautiful, haunting singing of the wolves.

Virvá shivered visibly. "We must run. Now."

Wanda didn't question her. So run they did, like the devil itself was chasing them. The song of the wolves seemed to come closer and closer, no matter how fast they were, and a couple of times Wanda could've sworn that she felt a set of teeth sinking into her flesh. She imagined that it was Ross on her tails. It helped her go faster when her legs threatened to give out.

Then, so unexpectedly that Wanda wondered if she was imagining things, there was a building. Small and clinical, with heavy metallic doors. Virvá led them to what seemed to be the main entrance, every step hurried although it sounded like the wolves were further. The dogs accompanying them loyally continued to growl threateningly, just in case. Or perhaps sensing some unknown threat. That thought made Wanda's skin crawl. She didn't even notice that her hands were starting to glow.

Wanda was happier not wondering how Virvá got the door open. The building smelled more of death and mold than any sort of a medical facility. Only the equipment they encountered spoke the truth. The further they advanced the louder the dogs growled, until they agreed to go no further. Both women tensed up upon seeing a hint of light coming from one of the rooms. Not even realizing that she was doing so Wanda took the lead, shielding Virvá, as they peered in to see who their mystery companion was.

What they found was a man in heavy winter clothes, fiddling through a desk's drawers at a nearly frantic speed. His dark hair had some gray, and he was sporting a rather thick beard. But something about him struck Wanda as familiar.

Virvá frowned. "Dr. Bear? I thought you had left."

The man's eyes glowed green. Just for a couple of seconds, before they encountered the redhead and widened, returning to their brown color. "Wanda?"

It took Wanda longer than it should've before recognition dawned. Once it did her eyes widened as well. "Bruce?"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Is Bruce what it takes to sort out this mess? Is there any hope left for Clint? (GULPS)

AND, most importantly of all… What are your thoughts, was that any good at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you is my favorite thing.

THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE HEAVILY FROM STEVE'S POV.

Awkay, I REEEALLY need to go now. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

Carry692: I'm SUPER HAPPY that you saw so much promise in the first chapter! (BEAMS) And that you liked the little metaphor. We'll see what the next chapter brings…!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	114. The Heart of a Hawk, part 3 (post CW)

A/N: Okay, it's WAAAAAAY too late. But I couldn't go to bed without updating. (chuckles) First, though…!

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all the reviews and love! They mean more than you could ever imagine. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I need SLEEP… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Heart of a Hawk, part 3 of 3 (post 'Civil War')

* * *

After Sokovia Bruce flew. For ages and ages. Until he, with whatever little awareness he had, was certain that he'd ended up to some other world.

When he crash-landed, he was certain that it'd be the last thing he'd ever do. Until he woke up. Completely naked in the snow. His ears rang painfully, until they didn't. The first thing he heard was something like a growl. Opening his eyes, he shivered.

A large, brown-furred bear stood further, sniffing the air. Until the wind turned, and the animal smelled him. He lost consciousness watching it walk away, feeling drained in a manner he'd never experienced before. And drifted, dreamt of the team he left behind, of _everything_ he had to leave behind. When his eyes fluttered open once more his heart did bizarre things at the sight of a woman's face. / _"'Tasha?"_ /

Bruce had no idea how long he spent at the clinic as Dr. Bear. The work was hard and at times heartbreaking but it helped him focus, made him forget for a while that he was a monster. No one there knew of Hulk, or the Avengers. It was liberating and intoxicating, enough so to make him _forget_. Until the clinic was closed, and he lost his only safe-harbor in the whole world. When everyone left he stayed behind in the cold building, lingered like a ghost. Because he didn't have anywhere else to go anymore. He'd burned all bridges.

And then Wanda stood in front of him, a ghost forcing him to remember that he wasn't one.

"Please." Her tone sounded incredibly different from the one he heard what felt like decades ago. She'd grown up so much…! "Help us. Clint, and Steve… We'll lose them without you."

Bruce frowned, his heart thumping and something very unnerving stirring within. "What about the rest of the team?" Where was Tony, and his medical personnel?

Wanda's jawline tightened, and her eyes flashed. "The Avengers are over. You're our only hope. Are you coming or not?"

* * *

Steve slept, no matter how hard he'd sworn to himself that he'd stay awake for his friends. Surely it'd be okay to sleep, just for five minutes… Just a little while…

Almost inevitably he dreamt of cold. Of crashing into ice, of literally feeling the sheer cold killing him, baiting his breath and stilling his blood. It hurt almost as much as the merciless flashbacks of Bucky's fall. In those moments of unrelenting ice, freefalling into the inevitable, two brutal realizations crossed his chaotic mind.

He'd never get to dance with Peggy, but at least he'd get to see Bucky soon.

He died. Until he was alive once more, in a world he couldn't recognize. And then, yet again, there was snow and ice. Along with the greedy, frosty breath of death.

' _Look what you did_ ', a voice in is head sneered. ' _Bucky… Clint… Wanda… You got them all killed._ ' Painfully cold fingers squeezed around his throat, sharp nails nearly digging through delicate skin. ' _And now it's your turn._ ' The nails punctured skin. But instead of cold the Captain felt warmth. Searing, unbelievably painful heat.

Steve woke up, halfway at least, to his own scream.

His eyes darted around wildly, blurred by unshed tears and something else. Where was he? Why did he feel like there was fire under his skin? He was drenched in sweat and trembled pitiably. Something… Something wasn't right…

He tried to get up, only to feel two hands pushing him down. It spoke loudly of his physical condition that he didn't have the strength to fight back. "Lay down", a woman's voice he recognized with a delay as Siru's commanded. "Your fever is breaking, but it is still high." She frowned, shaking her head. "I do not understand how you survived such a temperature."

Steve's eyelids were already drooping heavily but sleeping was the last thing he wanted to do. "… body's… different." He didn't have the energy or desire to explain just how different he was, and why.

"Well, good." Siru's tone was softer than usual. "Because I do not want you to die. You are a good man."

Steve shuddered like he'd been shot again and shook his head. "'am not." Maybe he was a good man, once upon a time, in a different life. But not anymore. Not after doing _this_ to his team when he was only trying to help Bucky. This was all his fault, and he had no idea how he'd ever manage to forgive himself.

Siru shook her head with a sigh. "You should not think so badly of yourself. Since waking up, you have only worried about your friends. You have made mistakes, I see that. We all have. But we are not bad people. Just…" She shrugged, obviously looking for the proper word. "… people."

Steve couldn't help smiling, just a little bit. "Just people", he mumbled, most likely incomprehensibly. The thought was oddly comforting.

He flinched when something was pressed against his lips. A… straw? "Drink. You are feverish, you need the water."

Steve obeyed gladly, as thirsty as he was exhausted. The water… It had to be the best thing he'd tasted in a very long time.

Much to his dismay, he didn't have the energy to drink much. He emitted an undignified, tiny whine when the liquid was taken away. "Sleep, now", she urged him. She went on, but he never got the chance to find out what she said.

Sleep claimed him like a thief, and he dreamt of freezing to death, right beside his friends.

* * *

Siru sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping as she glanced towards the thermometer. Steve's temperature was rising again. And Clint… The poor man was practically boiling inside his own skin. She hadn't been able to rouse him since the departure of Virvá and Wanda. And the smell coming from his wounds… It wasn't promising. Nor was the constantly growing bruising, which told nasty tales of his internal bleeding.

She was losing him.

With a deep breath she made her way towards the heavily unconscious man. Hard as she tried to act otherwise she'd always been a little too sentimental for her profession, which was why her career crashed and burned, along with her sanity. Unable to fight the urge she took his hand and squeezed, desperate to provide at least a little comfort. His skin was cold and clammy.

Shock, which wasn't a surprise with the pain and blood loss, and which certainly didn't do him any good.

"You must wait", she whispered, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. His fingers remained limp in her grasp. "Your friends… They need you. So you must wait."

As though to defy her on purpose, his heart began to falter.

* * *

The journey back was far longer than Wanda had remembered. Her whole body ached, most definitely not ready for such a strain, and she could barely move her feet enough to make it forward in the snow. Even the occasional howls of the wolves did little to inspire her adrenaline, since she'd apparently used up all of it.

She was exhausted, in pain, cold and terrified, and it didn't help that the dogs refused to come anywhere near them as long as Bruce was there.

At least she had Bruce. A solid comfort, a ray of hope that maybe this whole nightmare wouldn't end in a disaster. It was almost amusing how comfortable she felt around the man a lot of people considered the most dangerous being on the planet.

She'd seen far worse monsters in her life.

Wanda nearly cried out from joy when the cabin was finally within sight. Her feet had gone from freezing cold to numb but she trekked on with new determination. Clint and Steve were in there, and they needed them.

The door opened unnaturally loudly. Wanda could almost imagine Clint chuckling at the drama. "Siru!" Virvá called out, hope bringing up her tone an octave. "We found…!"

Just then Siru emerged from the bedroom containing Clint and Steve. And the on her face told everything necessary. "We must hurry. Now."

Wanda had fought with all her might. Pushed herself forward with the steadfast belief that there was still hope. The new panic… It slapped her across the face mercilessly, made her already wobbly legs give out. Her powers, slowly awakening from their slumber, made the cabin shake.

* * *

Waking up again, Steve was as drenched in sweat as he was the previous time. But his head… It felt clearer. More curious than alarmed, he moved his head with effort to see a I.V. line. Fluids and antibiotics. His eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

Where…?

The voices slowly starting to register seemed to come from a million miles away. "… internal damage seems bad. He's…"

Steve blinked slowly, and barely managed to open his eyes again. Bruce? How could Bruce possibly be there?

"… don't have the kind of medicine we need to operate safely", Siru sighed, her voice tight from tension. "He is barely alive now. We could lose him, to pain or blood loss. But… We must do something, and this…" She gritted her teeth loudly. "This is the only thing."

Bruce groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. "I know", the scientist admitted at last. Sounding dangerously on the edge. "But I'm not a trauma surgeon."

"I am", Siru announced. "Or I was, a long time ago." She braced herself visibly. "I have this equipment, and you. It will have to be enough."

Bruce nodded tersely, clearly sharing the same panic Steve found coursing through his own veins. They couldn't lose Clint. Not like this.

Shutting out the rest of the world with effort Steve could see, the two began to work on Clint. Moments later Virvá appeared with a sad smile. "Come", she whispered. "You must not see this."

Steve wanted to be there. Felt like he needed to be. This… This was his friend, someone he considered family… But he didn't have it in him to argue. So, with almost more effort than he could stand, he hobbled and stumbled out of the room with Virvá's help.

It reminded him bitterly of the airport, of flying away with Bucky and leaving his team – both sides of it – falling apart in the chaos he caused.

* * *

Clint dreamt of his family. Like often did, especially when he was feeling unwell and overwhelmed. He dreamt of walking back to the Farm and having them all in his arms once more.

Until there was pain, such that chased away everything else. Burning hot, spreading from his back to all over his tormented body. Like fire consuming him. And the things he saw became something far more unpleasant.

His father's fist. Barney's accusations. Ross' smirks and taunts.

He was being torn apart, and Ross was laughing.

He was dying, wasn't he? On his way to hell. And no matter how hard he tried… No matter how hard he'd fought… This was where he finally gave in.

He screamed, from the bottom of his heart and soul.

* * *

In another room Wanda fought back tears when she heard Clint's scream. Still some moisture found its way into her eyes. And her chest… It was like one of his arrows had pierced it.

 _Damnit, Barton…!_

She shivered when the bed dipped, announcing that she had company. Steve was pale, and the short walk to the room had clearly been almost more than he could handle. But there he was, right beside her. And they both drew whatever little comfort they could from one another.

They were fugitives. And quite possibly losing one of the very, very few friends they had left. But at least together, they felt a little less alone in the world.

They braced themselves for one of the longest nights in their entire lives.

They waited. And waited. Eventually both tensed up, no matter how much discomfort it brought, when Bruce entered the room. The scientist appeared more tired than they'd ever seen anyone look. The man's clothes were covered in blood. "We, ah… We did everything we could. Siru's still working on him." He shrugged helplessly, and they could've sworn they saw a hint of green in his eyes. "We just have to wait."

Steve and Wanda definitely weren't happy with the verdict. But what else could they do than accept it? Somehow the night seemed darker than before.

Bruce sat down and buried his face into the hands. They muffled him so that it took them a while to distinguish his words. "So… What happened to the team?" He looked towards them with confusion and something close to heartbreak. "What's going on?"

They told him everything. Because little as they liked it, the bitter story kept their minds occupied. Bucky. The battle at the airport. Everything that followed afterwards. The whole gigantic fiasco.

"We just…" Steve shook his head, glaring at his feet to avoid facing anyone. Shame and guilt were loudly present on his face. "We all thought that we were trying to do the right thing. And it led to this."

Bruce wanted to point out that it wasn't all Steve's fault. Wanted to take away at least a tiny portion of the weight that was eating the Captain alive. But before he could gather his breath or wits for words they heard Virvá's dogs growling outside.

Virvá got up from her own seat, her eyes flashing. "We are about to have company." Seeing all three of them moving to act, she shook her head firmly. "I will handle this."

True to her word, Virvá left the room and closed the door firmly. Then spun around, only to discover the she wasn't alone. She frowned with a shudder. "Who are you?"

A dark-skinned, one-eyed man stood only steps away from the front door. Beside him was a woman with shortcut greyish-blonde hair and sad brown eyes. It was the man who spoke. "There are much worse people on their way here, and we're the only ones who can help you."

* * *

Ross didn't manage to find any rest. Which was why he picked up very quickly when his phone began to ring. "Yes?"

" _The snowstorm wiped away steps and everything else, but… The dogs sniffed something half an hour ago. They led us to a cabin. Do we have your permission to proceed?_ "

Ross fought the urge to sputter something far from pleasant. "Yes! Just get on with it. We need to capture them as quickly as possible." _Before they cause us any further trouble._ As it turned out his new secret prison wasn't such a well-kept secret, after all. Some people with uncomfortably high positions were already grilling him after hearing rumors of what he did to his… guests. If the wrong people would find the trio in their current condition, or dead… It'd be a PR disaster he'd have no way to get out of unscratched.

It was quiet. Terrifyingly so. Until there was a hard gulp. " _Sir? There… We can't see a trace of Rogers or Maximoff. But… Barton's here. He's dead._ "

Ross grinned. "Good. Bring him here."

" _They won't._ " Nick Fury's voice brought cold shivers all over him, and bile into his throat. " _Agent Barton is going home._ "

Ross growled. His eyes narrowed while he squeezed the phone almost hard enough to break it. "And why do you imagine you have any authority…?"

" _Hello, Thaddeus._ " The all too familiar female voice made him feel cold all over. " _In the light of recent… revelations, I think we have much to talk about._ "

* * *

Tony picked up at a record speed when he noticed who the caller was. His heart hammering close to his throat, he took a deep breath and exhaled the dreaded question. "Well?"

The silence on the other end was almost worse than the inevitable words which followed. " _We were too late._ " Fury's voice was tight and clipped. And… apologetic, could it possibly be? Was the man able to feel such a thing? " _We lost Barton._ "

When Pepper walked into the room twenty minutes later, alarmed by a computer voice, she found several items in shambles and the whole space in a state of chaos. In the middle of it all stood Tony. Tears drying quickly in his eyes, trembling so badly that she had no idea how he was able to stand up. "Tony?"

Their eyes met. And the whimper he emitted was all it took. The second her arms wrapped around him he melted to her embrace, holding back so tightly that it took her breath away.

Tony wasn't able to utter a word until the morning dawned, with the two of them still holding each other although their muscles ached. When he finally spoke, it was barely audible. "This… This is all just some sick bad dream, right?" The child-like despair in his tone broke her heart.

Pepper closed her eyes. She wished it was, oh how she wished it was all a dream. "I'm sorry."

Tony couldn't hear her. All that fit into his head was the last time he saw Clint alive. His own voice asking the archer to keep Wanda safe.

Clint managed to do something Tony wasn't able to achieve even by locking her up into his Tower. And it cost the Hawk his life. The billionaire had no idea how he'd be able to forgive himself for that one.

* * *

Clint seemed peaceful. In the kind of a way Wanda had never seen him appear while he was still alive. When she squeezed his hand it was cool and lifeless. She fought the urge to check his pulse-point. Even the idea of not finding anything…

If only her powers…

She felt the woman Fury brought along at the doorway and felt a useless urge to shield Clint from her. Wasn't it too late to protect him from anyone or anything? "Just…" She cleared her throat when her voice broke. "Just five more minutes." She'd have to leave, before even more unpleasant company would appear and make Clint's sacrifice futile. But not just yet.

Wanda swallowed thickly, forcing herself to look at him. " _My life… It isn't worth this. I'm not worth this._ " She wiped her eyes. " _But… I'll fight, for the rest of my life, to try and become worth this. I promise._ "

Clint remained quiet, and somehow that was worse than anything else.

* * *

Natasha, once again blonde-haired, was in Stockholm when she received the text from Tony. It was a secure, untraceable phone-line reserved for emergencies only, and in an instant she braced herself for the worst. She was glad that she was sitting down, because the weight that fell on her when she read the words…

' _Barton died last night._ '

In a rush she remembered the stupid, brash young man – still a boy, really – who spared her life. Who introduced her to a life worth living. Who was the most alive person she'd ever met.

/ _"We're still friends, right?"_

 _"Depends on how hard you hit me."_ /

Natasha had never felt so alone in the world in her life.

* * *

Clint Barton was buried rather unceremoniously in pouring rain. There were no masses of people. There were no fanfares. Just a quiet loss, the kind most of the world didn't even notice but still left permanent holes to many hearts. Five days later it was still raining when six solemn faced people gathered around the tombstone which arrived earlier that afternoon. Silence lingered, because for some situations there were no words.

Wanda and Vision looked at each other with bottomless sadness, her eyes haunted by the grief of someone who'd lost far too many people. Out of everyone else's sight he took her hand slowly and cautiously, unsure if he still had the right. She squeezed back with the force of sheer despair, rain and something warmer running down her cheeks. Things would never be the same between them again. But they knew that they couldn't afford to lose each other as well.

Natasha and Bruce also looked at each other from the opposite ends of the small crowd. Although it was a lifetime from when he knew her, he saw the hint of redness in her eyes, which was the only visible trace of how torn apart she was. He wanted to embrace her, wanted to swear to her that while things would never be the same again they'd make it through this. But he could also see that his touch was the last thing she wanted and remained still, his trembling fists balled as he struggled to restrain the monster inside.

He was there when Clint died and she wasn't. He should've been able to save him but he wasn't. And he wondered which one of them would find that harder to forgive.

Steve and Tony couldn't even look at each other. So instead they stared at the stone, although it was a million times harder. Forced themselves to accept the harsh reality and the blame. "We both put his name there", the Captain who didn't feel he deserved the title murmured. The weight of the world crashing on his shoulders.

"Yeah, we did." Tony's breath smelled of alcohol and his eyes were bloodshot. Just this once no one felt like commenting. The billionaire trembled from more than cold and hangover. "We… We can't exactly change that. But… We've gotta make sure that he didn't die for nothing."

"He didn't die for nothing." Wanda's voice would've sounded vicious if it wasn't so pained. She wiped her eyes with an unsteady hand. "He… He died, because… because he wanted to protect us. Because he put the team before himself."

Steve sighed heavily. His breath fogged up the air. "We'll keep that team alive. The world never knew him, but… We'll prove to ourselves that this team's something worth dying for."

They had no idea how to do just that. And it definitely wouldn't happen in overnight. But for Clint's sake, and their own, they'd have to try.

They'd keep his great, big heart alive somehow, even though it was no longer beating.

* * *

The remaining team didn't know that they had audience. Just far away enough to be still able to see them Fury and the woman who appeared to the cabin with him stood watching, Maria Hill beside them. All of them wore grim expression.

"Ross' hearing was finished ten minutes ago. His career won't survive this after the whole 'secret prison of torture' was all over tabloids. The public absorbs such dirty secrets, especially when someone died." Maria's eyes flashed. "There was an anonymous tip where the hearing takes place. Apparently there was a candle-protest outside it to ensure that justice would be served and there'd be no more inhuman treatment of prisoners." She watched the grieving team. "Are you sure…?" Maria started, but was cut off quickly.

"No." Such an admission from Fury was almost scary. His eye darkened still from its usual color as it observed the team. "A death brought the Avengers together once. Maybe it can do so again."

* * *

Clint drifted somewhere so far and deep he was sure there was no coming back from. Until he opened his eyes, slowly and with much effort. He blinked. Once, twice.

He was… How could he possibly be in his own bedroom…? And how was Siru there…? "Calm down", she advised him. "I… do not know how you are here. But remain calm. You are still very unwell."

Ignoring her words of wisdom, Clint began to panic. How could they bring him home? Didn't they realize how dangerous it was? What kind of a threat it placed on his family? "… not safe …", he struggled to utter.

"I don't care about safe." That voice… "You're finally home. There's no way in hell I'm letting you go again."

Dazed and in utter disbelief, he turned his head. And there she was, sitting beside him on the bed. Looking exactly the same as the last time he saw her. Or no, there were two new lines on her forehead… Tears filled his eyes, and four of them slid down. "Laura…"

Clearly that was what it took to break her self-restraint. Faster than he could blink Laura's lips claimed his. Sealed him into a deep kiss that was full of emotions. Full of promises. Entirely too quickly he ran out of air, but wasn't willing to let her go. With the kind of strength he didn't really have he pulled her close and inhaled her familiar scent of home.

If this wasn't real… If this was all a dream… Then he never wanted to wake up.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: TO ANYONE WONDERING… YES, of course Clint's still alive. I wonder how the team will react when they find out…?!

I left a few things vague on purpose, because I didn't want to type a ten pages long chapter. (chuckles) BUT, I really hope that you enjoyed this bit, anyway!

SOOOO… Any thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you ALWAYS makes my day.

Okay, I REEEEEALLY need to get a little sleep. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll be there.

Take care!

* * *

Carry692: (giggles) I'm REALLY glad that Bruce's appearance pleased you! (BEAMS) AND, that you like the different perspectives! I couldn't resist.

Yuuuuup, I sure do. I always use every excuse. (smirks)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: WELCOME BACK! OH, you were missed. (HUGS)

Thank gosh Bruce is there, they need him! I LOOOOOVE those three, too. They're just something SO SPECIAL together. (BEAMS)

We'll see just how this insanity ends…! (gulps)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

JolyJolt: Awww, I'm thrilled that you enjoyed it! (BEAMS) We'll see just how the tale ends…

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time?


	115. Web and Flames (FEAT Spider-Man)

A/N: I was supposed to post something different, but then I realized that I wanted to type something with Spider-Man. (chuckles) So, here we are.

THANK YOU, A MILLION TIMES, for your amazing reviews, love and support! Even after all this time so many of you are still joining in every week. That means more than I can ever say. So THANK YOU! (HUGS)

Awkay, before I chicken out… Let's go! Trying to get into the head of a teenage boy was definitely a bizarre experience. (giggles) I REALLY, REALLY HOPE that I did Peter Parker justice, and that you'll enjoy the ride!

 **This chapter is loosely connected to the previous three-parter, taking place after 'Homecoming'.**

* * *

Web and Flames (FEAT Spider-Man)

* * *

Peter Parker remembered, at least to an extend, a time when his life was still simple. When what sort of grades he'd get and bullies were his biggest problems. Then he got his powers. And homework got upgraded to chasing criminals and bullies turned to… creepy, flying super villains. (Okay, ONE creepy super villain and a whole bunch of petty criminals.) It was all very cool – he even had his own guy in the chair, a mega-awesome suit (Ned's description, to which he whole-heartedly agreed), Karen and everything. And to top it all up he kind of, sort of worked for Tony Stark, and how many people got to work for their number one idol? And how many people got the chance to steal Captain America's shield? (Sure, he got beaten up for it, but that was sort of cool, too. Kind of.) So yeah, his life was pretty sweet. Except for when it wasn't, with all the bruising and… stressing. Because of course he wasn't afraid, superheroes didn't do getting scared. But it was all really, really stressful. It just wasn't right that he was starting to feel like a middle-aged person before he'd even turned eighteen. And aunt May finding out about his web-slinging? Now that opened up a whole new world of trouble. She could be a lot scarier than ten Vultures when she was pissed off. To this day he had no idea what Tony said to her during their _talk_ to convince her to let him continue being Spider-Man. Considering the fact that the billionaire came out of that conversation deathly pale and trembling, Peter assumed he was happier not knowing.

So yeah, he got to keep… swinging. But it was under strict rules and regulations. One of the million rules was a uncompromising curfew. And today he was already fifteen minutes late.

He was almost home, just a few blocks away. On a good day the distance would've taken him less than three minutes to cover. But apparently today just wasn't Peter Parker's day.

A huge apartment-complex was ablaze, and people were screaming inside.

Peter stared. And groaned, loudly. "Aunt May's gonna kill me…!"

* * *

Clint Barton spent far too long on the run after he was declared a fugitive. And then, after what was nothing short of a miracle, he was declared dead. He could've stayed home. Should've stayed home, really, when everything trying to do the right thing led him to was problems. But the burning in his blood refused to let him live in peace and quiet for long.

And he missed his friends. Missed what the Avengers used to be, more than he would've cared to admit. So no matter how much Fury insisted him not to – or maybe because the man insisted so fiercely – he decided to see the city where it all began. And ended. Just a quick little peek.

Of course he found trouble instead.

When he saw a building that had hungry flames licking it and heard screams… What was he supposed to do? Look the other way? He'd never been able to do that, even when it would've made his life a million times easier.

"Daddy!" a little girl who sounded and looked painfully lot like Lila screamed in his arms. Tears of pain and fear filled her eyes. He fought a mighty battle to not look towards her horribly burned leg.

"Shh, kid, shh." His own leg stung like hell, too. He didn't feel like checking why. "We'll get you out of here, okay? And then we'll find him. Just close your eyes and be really, really brave."

The child buried her face to his shoulder and nodded. After that she was terrifyingly still and quiet. Only the soft shudders of her soundless sobs revealed that she was still conscious.

After a couple of unpleasantly long minutes he made it to the welcomed fresh air of the outside world. Almost immediately his sharp eyes spotted a young man calming down two hysterically crying children. The sight made the girl react instantly. "DADDY!"

The man spun around and stared with wide eyes. "Oh dear god, Izzy…!" It was a kindness, perhaps, that at least for a moment the man was too much in a shock to notice his daughter's injuries. The two embraced fiercely as soon as Clint handed her over. That father gasped, and the archer felt his chest constrict as he imagined the pain the man must've gone through. "I… I thought…!" Moist, shimmering eyes rose to meet the Hawk's. "Than…"

Clint shook his head. "No need." He was no hero, just someone who did what any decent human being would've. He left swiftly, before the other would've had the chance to memorize his face.

Now, a sane person would've probably walked away. Clearly Clint wasn't one. He dashed right back to the building, hyper-aware of the still continued screams of agony and terror. There was no way he'd get to all those in need of aid. He'd just have to try and accept that what he could do was somehow enough.

Then he saw a heavily pregnant woman unconscious on the floor, and suddenly it was incredibly easy to focus.

He barely had enough time to pick her up when things headed from 'this may sting a little' territory to full-blown 'this is definitely going to hurt a lot'. Flames had been licking the building for a while by then. The structure was only going to hold for so long. And right in front of his eyes a part of the ceiling came crashing down.

Clint skidded to a halt, because he had no other choice. The action's force nearly made him drop his precious cargo. He coughed, the smoke worming its way into his lungs. "Well…" His breath wheezed. "Crap."

There was ominous, chilling creaking. He dropped himself to his knees and curled his body so that it was shielding the woman just as the noise intensified. And then, with a shriek, debris was falling down on them. Faster and from more directions than he would've had any hope to get away from.

Until something white appeared, enough of it to stop or at least halt the impending doom. Was that… web? _You've gotta be kidding me…!_

"I can't believe it worked!" Spider-Man knelt beside him, glancing from him to the woman and back again. "Are you okay? Is she okay?"

Clint coughed hard. The smoke was making his eyes water and his head spin. He also really didn't like how warm it was getting. "She's inhaled smoke. Can you…" He coughed again. "… get her out of here?"

Spider-Man nodded immediately. "Yeah, yeah. Just… Give me sec." Very cautiously now, some more white appeared. Enough to carry the woman's weight. They both watched as she was lowered from a nearby window and didn't dare to relax until she was safely on the ground.

Which still left them to a royal amount of crap.

Clint wheezed. "Okay, so…" Breathing didn't feel so good. "We've gotta… get out of 're. Right now."

Spider-Man nodded eagerly. "I'll…" The 'man' who sounded far too much like a kid never got the chance to finish.

It was like hell had come down on Earth. The world, or at least the building, shuddered. The very floor disappeared from under his feet. And he was falling fast, down, down, down…

Spider-Man shouted something he couldn't catch. Moments later, quite possibly too late, something grabbed a hold of him. _The web…!_

But his speed was too great. And he'd fallen too far. His head snapped back violently from the whiplash, and before he could even try to breathe it felt like the back of his skull had been struck by a sledgehammer.

The last thing he heard was a sickening crack, and the last thought crossing his head was that if he somehow survived this, Laura would kill him.

* * *

Hanging from a web while holding on to another one… It wasn't exactly easy. But Peter nailed it. He really, actually nailed it!

Peter grinned behind his mask, daring to breathe a sigh of relief. He was really glad the fabric covering his face was thick enough to block out most of the smoke. "We did it! We made it!" The building was in shambles, and they seemed to be trapped. ( _Oh man, not again…!_ ) He really, really didn't want to know how many people had lost their lives. But at least the two of them were alive.

Weren't they?

His heart racing, Peter took a new, greedy gulp of air. "Hey! You okay down there?"

The man remained horrifyingly unresponsive. And limp. Ice and dread flowed through Peter's veins.

 _No, no, no, no…!_

His hands trembling, Peter lowered them both down as slowly as his nerves could stand. "Can you hear me? It'd be nice, if you, uh… said something. Right about now." For the sake of his sanity he needed to know that he hadn't gotten a guy who just tried to help killed.

He was inspecting the damage the moment he was on the floor. The man had some pretty nasty looking burns. But the worst damage came from where he hit his head. Blood stained the floor as well as the dusty hair. Not good. Not good at all. According to Karen the man's vitals didn't seem very promising.

Peter was just a kid. He had no idea what to do, considering that there was a crap-ton of debris and a blazing fire cutting their escape route. He only knew that the man needed help, quickly.

Peter swallowed, his eyes stinging uncomfortably. It was infuriating to not be able to do anything. He stared at his companion's unconscious face, hoping to see even the slightest flicker of… something. Anything.

"He… He's gonna be okay, right?" Peter seriously needed to hear it. Because… He was supposed to help people, for crying out loud! And… This was kind of, sort of, his fault. The guilt made his stomach twist and turn. "Karen?"

" _I'm afraid that I don't have an answer to that. He needs medical attention. I can't assess reliably how much damage the smoke and fall have done. I have contacted Mr. Stark, however. He should be here shortly._ "

Peter grinned from relief. A small portion of the weight on his shoulders falling away. "Really? He's actually coming?" He nudged at his companion's shoulder. "Hear that? You'll be alright. We'll get out of here soon." He frowned all of a sudden, only then noticing something. "He… looks kind of familiar."

" _He is. I'm confused. Because according to all official data he died months ago. He's…_ "

" _Spidey! Kid!_ " Tony's voice was almost enough to make Peter burst into tears of relief. (Not that he would've admitted as much loud.) " _Are you okay?_ "

Peter opened his mouth, only to break into a storm of coughs. "Here!" It wasn't much more than a pathetic wheeze. "I'm fine!" _Yeah, right…_ "But there's a man with me…! He needs help!" He was babbling. And it was really, really embarrassing, especially when it happened in front of his… what, boss, mentor? But at the moment he chose to not care.

" _Okay, calm down. I'm almost there._ " Granted, Tony himself didn't sound very calm. " _Stay away from the walls. And… This may get a little loud._ "

Forcing himself to forget about guilt and panic for a while, Peter watched with scientific curiosity as a beam of bright, blue light penetrated the debris. It went through the thick material like a heated knife cutting butter. Which was really creepy, and really, really cool. And, yeah, it was loud. In a few moments the teen winced and covered his ears. "Are you sure that's safe?" he bellowed. Which was a far less humiliating descriptive word than whimpering. "Because, eh… I'd like not having a wall coming down on me or something…!"

As though mocking his quite understandable question, the noise intensified. Until the blue light finished its path, and it got eerily quiet. Then there was a screech, and a chunk of building-material tumbled down to reveal Iron Man. "Kid, if we're gonna work together, we need to work on the whole trust department." The man shook his head while the facial part of his suit moved out of the way. "What is it with you and ruins?"

Peter shrugged helplessly. "I don't know! It just… sort of happens." He gestured towards the still unconscious man beside him. "We've gotta help him! He was trying to save a woman when the building started going down and he fell and I tried to catch him and…" He was cut off sharply when he noticed the way Tony was staring at the guy. Like someone who'd just seen a ghost. "Mr. Stark?"

/ _"… according to all official data he died months ago …"_ /

"Mr. Stark?" Did the man even hear him? "Who is he?"

Tony swallowed, hard. The man's eyes appeared suspiciously moist in what little light there was. "Let's get him out of here. Both of you." With a level of gentleness Peter had never seen before the billionaire picked up the injured mystery-man.

They marched, or in Peter's case more like limped, on in a tense silence. Which was bound to become cut short. "I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?" The teen could almost hear his aunt's scolding already.

"Unofficially? Going into a burning building to help out was ridiculously brave. And…" Tony nodded towards the man in his arms. "Maybe you saved this idiot's life."

The 'maybe' wasn't much of a comfort when they were talking about someone's life. Peter pouted, looking like a proper teenager behind his mask. "But officially I'm in a world of trouble."

"Smart kid." Tony took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes going from him to the man and back again. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just… Need a little breather, I guess." They were outside by then, and Peter hadn't realized how tensed up the closed space had made him until his cramping muscles began to relax. He really, really, really wasn't a fan of closed spaces. To avoid looking at the destruction surrounding them, he nodded towards the man Tony was holding. Still unmoving, far too lifeless to his liking. He didn't feel like asking Karen if… "I've gotta go home." He wasn't looking forward to facing aunt May. "But… You'll let me know how he's doing, right?"

Tony nodded. "Sure. Stay safe." The billionaire being that few-worded was definitely a little creepy.

Deciding that there was no point in stalling the inevitable, Peter started off towards his home. Determinedly not looking around. His aunt seemed to have caught on to his trick of sneaking in through his room's window, because she was sitting on his bed.

Peter's shoulders slumped, and once he took off his mask he bit his lower lip to keep it from wobbling. "I'm… sorry I'm late?" _That was so lame, Parker…!_

Without any warning May was up, and had folded him into a tight, nearly desperate hug before he could do a thing. "Not a word. You just…" She sounded nothing like herself. "You just stay there, and let me hold you for a moment."

Peter obeyed meekly, no matter how much he wanted to moan that he wasn't a kid anymore. Because… If he was honest with himself… Maybe he kind of, sort of, needed a hug. He was _not_ going to admit it out loud, though.

"So…" May took a deep breath, still not letting go. "I hope you realize that you're grounded. Four weeks. No… web-slinging, no coming home all bruised thinking I wouldn't notice. Try to sneak out and I'll take a pair of scissors and tear apart every attempt of a suit you might come up with. And I'd do it happily, so don't even think about giving me an excuse." Sensing his perhaps-a-little-petulant objections before he even opened his mouth, she went on. "Another word and it's six weeks." It sounded like she would've been happier with six years.

Peter nodded dutifully, knowing all too well how serious she was.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." At least her voice wasn't trembling anymore. It made the gigantic ball of guilt in the pit of his stomach shrink slightly. She sighed heavily. "Now take a shower. You smell smoked."

"Aunt May?" He started cautiously, wondering if he was allowed to talk. "You, uh… need to let go, first." If she noticed how tightly he was clutching at her shirt in return, she didn't mention it.

* * *

Sitting on one of those notorious, hideous and criminally uncomfortable chairs of a hospital's waiting room, Tony had his face buried into both unsteady hands.

He handed Clint over to paramedics. When they asked for a name he sputtered 'William Brandt'. Once, when they'd both had a couple of beers too many, the archer confided that it was his favorite fake-ID from his spy-days. So secret that there was no trace of it even in any S.H.I.E.L.D files. So secret, in fact, that even Fury didn't know about it.

* * *

/ _Tony snorted and rolled his eyes. Then took a sip of alcohol although his head tried to tell him that it was a bad idea. "You spies are such drama-queens."_

 _Clint snorted and punched his shoulder good-naturedly. "You're one to talk." The archer frowned while looking at him, eyes somehow still sharp despite his drunken state. "Are you wearing lipstick?"_

 _Tony shrugged. Too dazed to feel any shame. "Lost a bet."_

 _Clint sighed, giving him a pat on the back. "A friendly tip? Stay away from Tasha when you drink."_

 _Tony giggled, sounding far too much like a girl. His eyelids were getting heavy. Soon he passed out and started drooling all over Clint's shoulder. It wasn't until much later he realized to be surprised that the archer let him._ /

* * *

The paramedics whisked the Hawk away, and… Tony only remembered flashes from afterwards. Like clips from some really weird movie.

A doctor explaining to him that there was bleeding inside Clint's brain. That they already lost the archer once during the ambulance ride. That there was a very high chance that the man wouldn't make it, or if he did he might have severe brain damage. Only time would tell, and the next day or two would be critical. If Clint actually lived through them.

For months Tony imagined that one of his best friends was dead, that he was partially responsible for things going there, and now he might lose the man again after just getting him back?

The whole ridiculously long night was crashing down on him. Finding out that Peter got himself into a trouble again… Seeing Clint… It was all going way over Tony's head. Dealing with strong emotional reactions had never been his area of expertise.

"Tony?" Pepper's voice, no matter how soft, made him jump. A million emotions that mirrored his own danced in her eyes as they sought his. "You… sent me a text, remember?" No, he didn't. She gulped. "What did you mean, Clint's still alive?"

The cautious hope on her face and in her voice was what finally did it. Losing the control he'd been struggling to obtain for hours Tony burst into sobs and pulled her into a hug that probably hurt. And wondered if this was all just one big, bad joke.

"Do you want me to call the others?" Pepper murmured eventually, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly.

Tony shook his head immediately. No, he didn't. If they'd lose Clint again, for real… He didn't want the others to experience what he was going through right now. Assuming that he wasn't the only one who didn't know.

"Do you want to talk?"

Another firm shake of a head.

"Then what do you want?"

Tony pulled her a little closer, hoping that he was able to convey what he wanted to say without actually having to voice it. _Just you._ "Coffee?"

Pepper kissed the top of his head. And wiped away her own tears so swiftly that he nearly missed it. "Sounds like a good plan."

* * *

Peter had always been too curious for his own good. Ask anyone who knew him. And less than a day after the burning building he was going through the footage he filmed at the airport. He'd watched it a million and one times, but maybe he'd missed something. Because that man he just met…

A familiar face made him hit 'pause' so hard that his finger hurt. He stared, his eyes widening a little more with each ticking by second. "No way…!"

The man he at least tried to save… was one of the original Avengers?

"Holy sh…!"

* * *

Clint drifted. And dreamt. Of his family. Of his friends. Of the past, of how different things would be if… If, if, if, if…

His eyes were bleary and moist when they finally opened and darted around with effort. Trying to take in his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was entering a burning building. Was he dead? For real this time?

"… nt?" The oddly familiar voice was muffled, like coming to him through several layers of cotton wool. His head more fell than turned to the side, leading him face to face with Tony Stark. The billionaire seemed incredibly exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. The relief that appeared to the man's eyes nonetheless was heartbreaking in its force. Even though it was tainted by lingering fear. "Do you… recognize me?" The voice still sounded odd, but at least his ears were starting to cooperate.

Clint snorted. Or thought he did, anyway. "'wasn't away that long, Tin can", he murmured, his tongue thick and heavy.

Tony snorted right back. "Well. It felt that long." The genuine hurt and fragments of fear… Why…? The billionaire's breath shuddered, and he could've sworn that he felt a pressure around his hand. "Feathers… Just… Do me favor? The next time you…" The final word was swallowed like poison but it still echoed everywhere. Tony looked away. "Don't."

Clint's eyebrows furrowed. He was barely conscious, and this was all… "Tony?" His friend refused to meet his gaze. Which was when understanding dawned, wrapped around him like ice. "You thought I… actually…" He swallowed, which hurt a lot with how dry his mouth was. There was a sickening taste in his mouth, and his head was starting to hurt more than he could stand. "Fury… He was supposed to… He said he'd told you…" The betrayal hurt worse than anything else.

It was the only reason he stayed away. Because according to Fury the team knew that he was still alive. That he was safe. That they didn't have to worry anymore. According to Fury they were all okay and understood that his return would only place them and him in danger. And no matter how much he missed them Clint's strength of will held with the help of that knowledge.

Finally Tony's eyes met his. Unnaturally bright, and full of something he didn't like. "Well, here's a newsflash. He lied. Again."

Clint could barely breathe. His heart was racing, and an infuriating beeping sound continued to escalate. His head was killing him…!

"Hey, hey, hey." Tony definitely squeezed his hand, now. He anchored himself on that contact, allowed it to soothe him although he wasn't a fan of touching. "Calm down. This… Any of this… It's not your fault, okay? So don't you dare get into that thick skull of yours that you being alive would somehow be a bad thing. Do you have any idea how boring it's been without you and your troublemaking skills?" It was easy to hear the unvoiced things.

Clint wasn't feeling much better. But at least he was marginally calmer, enough so to smile faintly. "… babbling."

"My friend just came back from the dead. I'm allowed to babble." Tony shifted with evident discomfort. "I have to go and get someone to adjust your pain meds. Don't… go anywhere in the meantime, got that?"

Clint nodded the best as he could. Seeing the poorly disguised fear in the other's eyes all too easily. "Promise."

"Good bird." Tony squeezed his hand once more, as though to make sure that it was still there, then hauled himself up. "Now sleep. You look like crap."

Clint scoffed, but was out cold before he got the chance to comment.

He slept. This time he didn't dream. It was a bliss. He only slept without dreaming when he felt safe.

* * *

As soon as Tony found a location where it was safe he took his phone and dialed numbers. He had the time to pace around the room three times before someone picked up. "Hill, hey. I'm calling you because Fury's avoiding my calls." He gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing. And paced some more. "Get that one-eyed rat on the line. He has some explaining to do…"

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Fury's in trouble…! I'd seriously hate being him, there. (winces)

SOOOOO… Was that any good, at all? Because trying something a little different is always a bit nerve-wrecking. PLEASE, DO LEAVE A NOTE to let me note!

Also… **Would you like the next chapter to be connected to as well?** I'm thinking about portraying Thor's take on all this before moving back to the usual 'less connected tales' territory.

 **ALSO, SOME NEWS!** Do you remember Sparrow, the villain from Natasha's past from 'Hawk and Sparrow'? I've FINALLY started the short-story with her along. It's called 'A Spider and a Sparrow'.

Awkay, because I MAY be able to update something more before going to bed if I'm fast enough, I've gotta tune out. Until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

JolyJolt: I'm REALLY HAPPY to hear that the chapter left you intrigued! (BEAMS) THANK GOSH Clint lived, right?

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Carry692: (whistles innocently) So… Yeah. I'm BEYOND cruel sometimes. (continues whistling) BUT, I'm insanely happy that you enjoyed the tale anyway! (smiles)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: BEYOND close, really…! (winces) BUT, thank gosh he's still around!

But oh boy… What'll happen next? With his life, and to his friends? So many open questions…! We'll see if those will be answered. (giggles and hugs)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

ps: It'd definitely take one REALLY brave soul…! (winces)


	116. The Value of Hawkeye's Death…

A/N: PHEEEEEW! This little thing took WAY longer than I originally wrapped up to take shape. Mainly because my head couldn't decide on a few important details. (chuckles) BUT, here we are, folks!

FIRST, though…! THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews and love! SO MUCH of it. I can't even say how much it means! (HUGS)

AND, since you all seem to love Spidey… He'll DEFINITELY visit again! (grins)

BUT, now, to avoid stalling… Let's go! I REALLY, REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy this strange little tale.

 **THIS TWO-PARTER STARTS ONLY HOURS AFTER THE PREVIOUS TALE/CHAPTER.**

* * *

The Value of Hawkeye's Death…

* * *

One moment Clint was sleeping. Or thought he was, anyway. In the next he woke up to a headache that was pure, utter nightmare.

It was like two or more very large, vicious hands had been squeezing his skull in. Bit by agonizing bit. Nails digging through his skin all the way.

Clint attempted to scream, only to discover that he didn't have enough breath for such. And the pain… It was just too much. If he did shout there was a chance that his head would explode on impact.

He turned his head, desperate for help although he was too proud to ever admit it. There was no one, he soon concluded, with what little clarity he had left. That was the last thing he managed to register. He was alone, and quite possibly dying.

Darkness swallowed him mercilessly.

* * *

Fury had lost track on how many near-death experiences he'd had during his life. Had to be a three-figure number already. The feeling he got in the pit of his stomach was the same every single time, even now. And today, when he walked into the hospital's waiting room, the feeling was there once again.

The whole Avengers team was there. Thor included. And none of them seemed happy.

Fury arched an eyebrow, taking his usual battle-stance. "Thor? What are you doing in New York?" Not the most pressing matter, for sure, but far safer than the elephant in the room.

The Asgardian lifted his chin, and looked at him as though wondering how the famous hammer might fit to his jaw. "I was visiting… a potential ally. Only to hear the news of friend Barton's passing. And I was on my way to bid farewell when I discovered that he's, in fact, alive." Those sharp eyes blazed thunder and ache. When Thor spoke again his voice boomed in the small room. "What is the meaning of this nonsense?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Goldilocks." The look Tony aimed at Fury's was pure venom. "Start talking, you manipulative vermin. And make it good."

Fury sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. This was going to be a long night. "It was highly uncertain that it'd even work. He was very feeble for weeks afterwards."

"That what would work?" Natasha hissed, the predatory look on her face like that of a bloodhound chasing a strong scent.

Fury breathed in, and out. This was going to be unpleasant… "Virvá."

* * *

Clint opened his eyes again, relieved beyond all belief that it didn't hurt this time. The pleasant feeling lasted until confusion settled in as he stared at his surroundings. He blinked once, and twice. How… did he get here…?

He was standing on some sort of a massive pier, with pitch-black waters spreading below. In front of him waited the biggest and most beautiful ship he'd ever seen, so white it hurt to watch. It was otherworldly, and he had to squint his eyes to be able to look at it.

No one else seemed to notice how special it was. People, at least forty of them, lined to board with dull expressions, their vacant eyes cast downwards. The second they entered they disappeared as though to a black hole. Every single one of them wore gray clothes. So did he, apparently. Odd. Those clothes he had at the hospital weren't…

"Sir?" The sudden, unfamiliar male-voice startled him. It spoke in monotone, like the sound came from a machine. This man was wearing white, but the look on his face was the same as the others'. "Your ticket, please."

Clint blinked furiously, trying to make some sense of it all. "I, ah… There's been a mistake. I… don't know how I'm here, but… I don't think I'm supposed to be here."

That seemed to have no impact on the other man. A gloved hand was held out towards him. "Your ticket, Sir."

Clint swallowed. This was getting weirder by the second… "I… don't have a ticket. I'm not supposed to be here."

"That's very unfortunate." The man didn't sound sorry to him. "If you don't have a ticket, I'm afraid I can't let you aboard." Without anything further, faster than the Hawk could react, the man pushed him forcefully.

And Clint fell, back first, down, down, down the rabbit hole, his lips wide open for a scream that never came.

* * *

"What the hell are you talking about?" That came from a couple of mouths. One of them, astonishingly, belonged to Steve Rogers.

Oh, how many things had changed…

"She's a telepath. Just like her grandmother, Emma Frost. Not a very strong one, but enough so to be able to do what I asked of her. Ross' men had to see Barton dead to leave him alone. She ensured they did. I convinced her that there was no other way. That if she helped he'd get to be with his family."

"They weren't the only ones who got fooled." Wanda growled through her teeth, glaring at the floor with her fists tightly balled. She couldn't even look towards the director. She grieved. She saw Clint… She thought…!

Fury shrugged. "I needed you to leave, to get far away from Ross. You would've never walked away if you knew the truth. And I needed your honest reactions to convince the others."

Wanda was trembling, to the core of her being. Tears of rage and betrayal burned in her eyes. Only sheer willpower kept them from spilling. She wondered if Fury realized how close to losing control over her powers she was.

"So you let us think that we got him killed?" That kind of a tone had never come out of Steve's mouth. "You… You made us lose him? Bury him?"

"Yes. Because by dying he became the most important Avenger." The man gave both the Captain and Tony a heavy look. "The team was destroyed. And worse than that, Ross was able to make the Avengers look almost like villains in the eyes of the public. So I needed to fix two problems. I had to give the team a proper excuse to come together again, and to stop half of them being hunted like fugitives."

"So Ross didn't choose his early retirement", Tony mused darkly.

* * *

/ _Everett Ross had a grim look on his face as he flipped through Clint Barton's autopsy report. In the end the man exhaled loudly. "And he sustained these injuries…"_

 _"… during his time in incarceration. Yes." Fury leaned closer, very aware of how much taller and more menacing than the other man he was. "And I've had a doctor examine Wanda Maximoff as well. They'd both been tortured."_

 _"They're criminals."_

 _"And Avengers." Fury's eye flashed. "You may like to forget. But a lot of people out there remember all the good they've done for the world. Imagine how they'd react if they found out that people working for the government treated who used to be national heroes this way." He leaned closer still, almost invading the other's personal space. "And imagine if they found out how that same government was willing to end the Battle of New York, just before the Avengers won."_

 _Everett gritted his teeth so hard that it had to hurt. Thunderous eyes finally rose from the documents to meet his. "What do you want?"_

 _Fury shrugged. "I only want you to ask yourself some questions. Do you want to start a war against Wakanda? Because their leader is also a part of this mess, in case you've forgotten. Do you really want to face the public rage that'd rise against the government if people learned the truth? Just because of Thaddeus' witch-hunt? Or would you rather bring an end to this, and let Thaddeus take the fall?"_

 _Ten minutes later Thaddeus was just on his way to meet Everett. The second the elevator's doors opened he found himself face to face with Nick Fury. Neither said a word because their eyes spoke all necessary as they passed by each other._

 _"Thaddeus?" Nick finished his sentence just as the doors closed. "You shouldn't go into wars you can't win."_ /

* * *

"So, basically…" Bruce shook his head, trying to comprehend what was being told. "You played everyone."

"Yes", Fury confirmed, seeing no point in denying what was obvious. "Because it was the only way to fix the mess you started."

"What you did to Clint…!"

"I gave him the chance to be with his family." Fury was getting a headache, and he had a nasty feeling that he'd feel even worse before this… discussion was over. "I ensured that he got to live in peace."

"You lied to him!" Tony's expression revealed that no flimsy excuses would do. "You never gave him the chance to choose!"

"Uh, I'm… sorry to interrupt." Somehow the timid female-voice succeeded in breaking through the noise and tension in the room. A wide-eyed doctor stood at the room's doorway, her face pale. "But your friend… There were complications. He was just rushed into emergency surgery."

* * *

Clint did find his voice, somewhere during the endless fall. With darkness spreading everywhere around him, he called out at the top of his voice. "Laura!" Only echo answered him. It made the panic inside him grow exponentially.

"Tasha!" Still nothing more than the dull, soulless echo. He was starting to feel ridiculously cold. And something… was happening to his body. He couldn't breathe properly… "Steve? Tony? Anyone?" He wasn't sure which one was worse. The silence, or his own voice coming back to attack him.

Clint attempted to suck in a proper breath but couldn't. Despite being unable to see he felt everything spinning, around and around, like a merry-go-round. Panic began to transform to despair. "Phil, please, help!" He didn't care how pathetic he sounded, he just needed this to stop.

When he finally landed, he wondered if it was what death felt like.

* * *

The news were like a bucket of ice-water down all their backs. The whole nightmare… It just refused to end.

Fury knew better than to even try speak. Instead he allowed his gaze to linger on the group. It was quick to take in the looks on all their faces.

That amount of care… The Avengers had been built on a lie twice. Yet somehow it led to something real. Something Civil War almost destroyed. But as soon as they were reminded of what was really important… Here they were. Together, a united front.

Too bad the current events were too grim for him to appreciate the success.

"… keeping him sedated to ensure that he's comfortable. And when he… passes… It'll be in his sleep."

They all shared a collective shiver. Bruce was the one able to speak. "How long…?" The scientist couldn't finish. Fury saw a hazardous shimmer of green.

The medical professional sighed. "Hours. Maybe until the morning. It's impossible to tell."

Fury felt sick and marched to the window, turning his back on the group, to hide his face. Something vicious and foreign bubbled inside him. Guilt. And he wasn't comfortable with it.

Stay safe and hidden. That was all Clint needed to do. He should've known…!

"He… He talked to me!" Tony sounded close to tears, which was almost more shocking than all the rest. "He knew me! He was… He was _Clint_! So how the hell can he be…?" The billionaire trailed off, the word too bitter to fit on his tongue.

"He won't. We will not let him." Thor's voice was every bit as hard as his weapon. As were his steps.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"To find someone who can help."

* * *

He felt like he'd been sitting on the cold, damp stone for ages. In a circle-shaped space that was so small he felt the other side if he stretched his leg. It was cold, and dark. Always cold and dark.

Had it been years, or decades…?

He wanted to call out, but he didn't know who to. Couldn't even remember his own name anymore. It felt like names didn't matter much, here. He was fine with no names and identities. He just… He wished he didn't feel so very alone all the time…

"Hello?" he murmured hoarsely into the endless darkness above him. Only to have his own voice return. "Is anyone out there?"

* * *

Dr. Stephen Strange was just leaving work after a long, grueling surgery. His head was buzzing from adrenaline, and that same restless energy made him tap his foot to a song he listened to while operating. Now it was stuck in his head, which was really, really irritating.

Things, he soon discovered, were about to get even more irritating.

All of a sudden he froze, feeling that he wasn't alone. What… was that sound? Sizzling, sparkling? He turned sharply to find a tall, blond-haired man dressed in a jean-coat. His eyebrows furrowed while he took an instinctive step backwards. "How did you get in? This room is for staff only."

"I came to get you."

The situation was surreal. Possibly dangerous. But Stephen burst into a laugh. "You break into the staff's dressing room… And you actually imagine that I'll just… what, come with you?"

"Yes."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Stephen was starting to have it with this creep. "You have five seconds before I call security."

"Because I have a patient only you can help."

Stephen froze. Yes. He was definitely out of his mind. Christine had said, at least once, that one day his vanity would get him killed…

The stranger didn't grin or smile. But some of the shadows in the man's eyes disappeared. "He did say that stroking your ego would work."

"Who did?"

"You."

* * *

TBC – in '… the Worth of Clint Barton's Life'

* * *

A/N: When you need brain-surgery that's been deemed impossible… Who you gonna call…? (smirks) But seriously, let's hope that Strange can help! Because the team just can't lose Clint all over again, not like this. (whimpers)

THE NEXT CHAPTER SEALS THIS STORY-LINE!

BUUUUT… How did you feel about this one? ANY good, at all? Belongs to some… dark dimension Strange could take this to? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you ALWAYS makes my day.

Awkay, it's high time I drag myself to bed. Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

Carry692: Awww, glad to hear that you liked Spidey AND the reference! (grins) AND of course the scene with Clint and Tony, because it was my personal favorite.

We'll see what the next one brings…! (gulps)

I'm happy to announce that two chapters of the Sparrow-story are already out. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy it, AND the next addition to this collection!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

JolyJolt: Awww, I'm SUPER thrilled to hear that you liked the way Spidey swung his way in! (BEAMS) And the whole chapter, of course.

OOOH! I'm not a HUGE fan of 'Supernatural', but I do watch it on occasion. Maybe I'll give that story a look one day! (smiles)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: How could I EVER say 'no' after a review like that! Good grief, you're PAMPERING me. (BEAMS, and hugs)

It means SO MUCH that you enjoyed the chapter, Spidey and EVERYTHING so much! (HUGS again) I REALLY HOPE that the next one will please you at least almost as much.

GIGANTIC thank yous for the AMAZING review!


	117. … The Worth of Clint Barton's life

A/N: PHEW! Wrapping this up took a while. But here it is! Yay…?

First things first… THANK YOU, so, so, so much, for your absolutely amazing reviews, love and support! So many of you are still aboard this mad collection. I can't even express how happy that makes me. (HUGS)

Awkay, because stalling is rude… Let's roll! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **For JRBarton, as I LOVE making the wishes of readers come true. (HUGS)**

* * *

… The Worth of Clint Barton's life

* * *

It'd been a long, bizarre day. And now it was getting interesting. Dr. Stephen Strange tilted his head, sharp and focused eyes scanning, evaluating.

"You know as well as I do that the guy's a lost cause", another doctor whose voice instantly irritated him pointed out.

Stephen smirked. "Good thing miracles are my specialty, then." He commanded the medical team like they worked for him. "Start prepping him for surgery."

* * *

The tension in the room could've been cut by a knife. An oncoming explosion could be felt in the air. And no one wanted it to happen in that very place, with Clint practically comatose and barely hanging on to life in the narrow bed.

How did it all come to this?

"What happened?" Tony was far too aware that his tone was sharper than it was supposed to be. He didn't care, not when one of his few genuine friends in the world was… _like this_. There was open accusation in his eyes he only meant halfway when he looked towards Steve. "That day when he…" 'Died' was a word he couldn't squeeze out, even now. "What the hell happened?"

Steve tensed up visibly. The flash in the Captain's eyes should've been enough of a warning. "I've already told you. Several times."

"Then try again!" Tony took a step closer. Too close. "How, exactly, did you succeed in landing him and Wanda into Ross' hands a second time?"

Steve sneered. Looking so little like the man he used to be that it was horrifying. "Didn't your new buddy Ross tell you?"

Tony's eyes flashed, as did something inside him. That hurt. That really, really hurt. "Don't you dare blame this on me, Rogers! I wasn't the one who started this shit!"

"I only tried to save a friend!"

"By almost getting other friends killed in the process!" Tony hated the bitterness on his tongue and in his whole body, but he couldn't smother it. Not after it'd festered for so long. "Some hero you are."

Tony would've known that he'd crossed a line even without the fist. It whistled past his face, so close it nearly brushed him, and crashed against the wall. Hard enough to leave a mark. Steve's eyes… "I know that I've let all my friends down", the Captain hissed, sounding painfully young. A kid forced to grow up far too quickly. "No need to spell it out for me, Stark." With that the man turned and walked away, before the second punch would've hit something far more delicate.

For a stilled minute or so those left behind stared in a shock. Tony surprised everyone, himself included, by taking a step forward. "I'll go after him." He went on at a couple of frowns. "I can't believe this is me, of all people, saying this, but… We really need to talk this out." He grinned but it didn't come out right. "Just, if I'm not back in… an hour or something, come and look for me."

Unsurprisingly, no one laughed, Civil War still too fresh of a memory.

Tony took a deep breath, his eyes on Clint. With the second breath he let go of the past, really and properly. Then moved on.

He found Steve from a nearby hallway, leaning against the wall with head buried to his hands. The knuckles of one hand were red from the recent punch. Tony winced. "Ouch. That looks painful." He took a couple of more cautious steps forward. "Next time, try not to hit a wall."

Lowering his hands, Steve sighed heavily and gave him a wry look. The Captain's far too old eyes seemed haunted. "We both know how well it turned out the last time I used my fists on something that wasn't an inanimate object."

It took Tony a couple of seconds too long to catch on. He flinched at the memory, no matter how much he tried not to. "That wasn't a good day", he joked lamely.

Steve's eyes went from pained to tortured. "I almost killed you." Clearly the soldier also had those events fresh and crystal clear in his mind.

"And I got a lot of our friends arrested." Forgiveness would take a lot of time. But Tony was done with being angry. "We both fucked up."

"Language", Steve joked even more lamely than the billionaire did earlier.

Something cluttered loudly further along the hallway. Steve shivered visibly and looked quickly towards the direction. The man's posture didn't relax even when he discovered that there was no immediate threat.

"Hey." Tony recognized those signs, that look, that pale and tight facial expression. He didn't even try to touch. "You still with me?"

Steve nodded, jawline and eyes trained away from him.

"Ready to go back?"

Steve shook his head. It took at least a full minute before the man spoke, so quietly that the billionaire had to strain his ears to hear. "I thought I got him killed."

Tony's shoulders slumped. He lowered his gaze, stared at his feet to discover that one of his feet was tapping fervently. "So did I", he confessed in an oddly choked tone. "We almost did." Admitting it out loud was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, those words a truth he'd spent countless of nights trying to drink away. Yet here he was, facing it with a man he should've hated. Who was, by some twisted joke from the universe, also the only person in the world who could even remotely understand how he felt right now, in this moment.

Steve buried his face into his hands again. Took several sharp, wheezing breaths, both fists trembling from the itch to be used. "What the hell happened?"

If Tony hadn't been so breathless and overwhelmed, he might've made a stupid, easy joke.

"You all stopped believing in the Avengers." Fury's voice caught both men off guard. They turned to meet an eye that was harder than steel. "Except for one. Who do you think had all your backs, despite everything?"

* * *

/ _Steve could only watch with wide, disbelieving eyes how Wanda slipped and fell from the aircraft that was supposed to fly them to safety from Ross' prison. His lips opened when Clint's eyes flashed and the archer jumped as well, without a beat of hesitation. His scream got lost into the wind._

 _For far too long he imagined that it'd be the last he'd ever see of both his friends._ /

* * *

/ _Tony didn't know how long he'd been held captive by a terrorist when it all ended to a very familiar-looking arrow. And despite the far from ideal circumstances, for a little while everything was slightly better in the world. They had no other choice but to part ways. The next time Tony heard from his friend – if he was still allowed to call Clint that – he encountered the news of the Hawk's passing._ /

* * *

/ _Natasha mused that she probably should've considered herself lucky that Tony warned her before Ross was after her. Running away and disappearing were things she knew better than well. She vanished from the world like a ghost._

 _Or so she imagined._

 _Once again a blonde, she was about to enter her safehouse in München when her cell-phone, the number of which no one knew, announced a new text message. At first she frowned. Until her brain, sluggish from two full days of no sleep, caught on. It was a beautiful landscape picture, along with a few simple words._

 _'_ Happy New Year from Alaska. Tell Dennis I said 'Hi'. Will _'_

 _Natasha tensed up. That was one of the coded messages she and Clint used sometimes. This one meant that her cover had been blown and her current location was compromised._

 _'_ Sorry, but you've got the wrong number _', she texted back. Wishing that she could've thanked him. Or at least asked how he was. He never answered her, and it made her feel ridiculously, infuriatingly lonely._

 _When Ross' team raided the apartment an hour later it was abandoned._ /

* * *

"He was chosen to be an Avenger to keep watch. Out of sight, with eyes on everyone." Only a very careful ear caught emotions from Fury's tone. "It's always been Barton's specialty."

Tony was in disbelief. Until realization dawned, and disgust set in. "So… You kept using him, despite knowing full well how dangerous it was?" After the prison break Fury allowed Clint to stay close to them although it put the man's life at risk? Although the safest and most reasonable course of action would've been to stay as far away as possible?

"Yes."

Tony had no idea that they had company until Wanda was moving. Fury had to have seen what was coming, but the man made no move to stop it. The sound of an impact was sharper than a whip. Seconds later the director tried his jaw gingerly with two fingers while the enhanced girl's eyes blazed. "Leave." Everything nearby shuddered in a chilling manner as her powers threatened to spiral out of control. "Right now."

To everyone's shock Fury did.

* * *

In an operating theater Stephen growled and frowned. "Suction." Yes, he enjoyed challenge. He just wished that this infuriating patient would stop trying to give up on him. From the corner of his eye he saw something that annoyed him even more. "Cover your watch", he snapped, not even bothering to try and pretend that he was polite. "If you've already decided that he's a goner, kindly leave the room."

"Strange, even you've gotta admit that…!"

A serious of sharp blips cut the man short. It would've been a relief if it wasn't followed by the whine of a flatline. Stephen felt the urge to curse out loud.

How was he supposed to save this man if the idiot was making that task impossible?

* * *

Still trapped, the man who'd forgotten his own name found himself trembling. It was getting cold. Very, very cold. And he felt ridiculously tired.

Losing the fight against the temptation, he eventually curled up and closed his eyes. That way the dark didn't bother him anymore. Soon the cold began to fade away, too. The feel and the comfort were so pleasant that he smiled.

He needed some sleep, that's all. The thought of floating away for a few moments felt beyond tempting. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn't like he had anything to lose, here.

* * *

The room's silence was still incredibly thick and heavy. But at least the explosion wasn't waiting to happen anymore. The bomb had already detonated.

There was a lot of tough talking that needed to happen. Things would never be the same again. But at least the whole team was united once more.

Their heads turned in perfect synchronization when steps approached the room. They all slumped a bit when instead of Dr. Strange they found Sharon Carter. She gave them a tired smile of sympathy. "Hey. Any news?"

Steve shook his head and a ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Not yet. He's still in surgery." His eyes softened, and a hint of color appeared to his cheeks. "It's, ah… good to see you again."

Sharon smiled again, more broadly this time. Seeming to understand what he really wanted to say. "You too." She then shook herself. This wasn't the time, or the place. "I had a feeling that you guys need something to cheer you up. So…" She revealed a newspaper, and tossed it to the table for all of them to see.

The first picture made them shiver. It was of them by Clint's grave, huddled together in a desperate need for comfort. _Together_. The second picture was of what looked like at least fifty or sixty candles, placed by the grave.

"They may not even remember his name. He's the forgotten Avenger. But… They know that it's because of him you've come together." Sharon's eyes were soft and pained at the same time. "That's his legacy. He brought the Avengers back, made the Iron Man and Captain America stand side by side again. They had no other way to thank him for that, so they brought the candles."

"The world still thinks that he's dead", Tony spat out, with a disgusting amount of bitterness.

"But he isn't." To their surprise those stubborn words of optimism came from Bruce. "He'll make it through this. We'll make sure of that. Together."

"Together", they all swore in unison.

* * *

Stephen's hands worked incredibly quickly and efficiently, with skill that was close to sorcery. Never once was there a drop of sweat on his forehead. The entire time his foot tapped to the beat of the song playing in the background.

Of which he remembered every detail, naturally.

Minutes and hours ticked on. By some sort of a miracle the patient continued to soldier along. And eventually a disgustingly satisfied smirk appeared to Stephen's mask-covered face. "Ah, there it is…!"

* * *

The nameless man didn't know how long he'd been drifting. Floating. Was there any difference? He was pulled forcefully back towards awareness by such a headache he didn't remember ever encountering before. He tried to whimper, fought to move his hand. Nothing happened.

Until everything, absolutely everything, began to shudder.

His eyes flew open to discover that blindingly, painfully bright cracks were appearing to the cave surrounding him. The whole structure around him… It was falling apart. The realization made his heart hammer furiously.

Was he going to die?

He… didn't think he wanted to die.

He opened his mouth. Attempted to tell whatever power was in charge to make it stop. Everything was spinning and collapsing. It was absolutely terrifying. Even the light that should've been a comfort increased his anxiety more than it helped him. Until the voices began.

' _… Hawkeye …_ '

' _… Feathers …_ '

' _… Barton …_ '

' _… honey …_ '

' _… daddy …_ '

' _… Clint …_ '

There were… people, waiting out there. Right? They were waiting for Clint. They were waiting for him.

He was scared out of his mind. Confused, in pain, disoriented. But nonetheless he did the most terrifying thing, the hardest thing. He got up, to shaky feet that barely carried him, and let everything fall apart.

Through it all his one comfort was the bizarre feel of a hand holding his, and he could only guess who the phantom touch belonged to.

* * *

It was far from easy for the team to spend time together. But none of them was willing to go anywhere while Clint was still unconscious, and Dr. Strange's warning that there might be 'permanent damage' continued to haunt them. So they waited, even if it might take days before anything happened.

Natasha had never been one of those people who needed a lot of sleep. So she stayed right beside him stubbornly. More often than not Bruce accompanied her. Neither tried to talk much, and he never attempted to touch her although she felt his temptation. She was glad. Whatever there was or wasn't between them before Bruce's… departure… There'd be a time and place to deal with and process it. But it wasn't now.

It was three in the morning of day two and, against her best efforts, Natasha was close to dozing off. Until she heard something that snapped her to full awareness. A groan, a sheet rustling. She turned her head just in time to see Clint fighting a war to wake up. Even before his eyes fluttered open his hand reached out clumsily, trying to tear off the wires monitoring him and helping him get better.

"Don't", she advised. Perhaps more sharply than his still unwell skull needed, but he deserved it for.. inconveniencing her. Because of course she wasn't worried. Or grieving. Those were for children. "You did a pretty spectacular job at trying to get yourself killed. But your thick skull saved you again."

Finally, finally those familiar eyes she thought she'd never see again were open. Blinking blearily as they attempted to focus on her. Slowly Clint's eyebrows furrowed.

Something about the look he was giving her made Natasha feel cold. She shuddered. "Clint?"

He licked his lips with visible effort. "Who…?" he rasped. His frown deepened still, until something changed. She couldn't identify the sound that erupted through his lips. "Tasha…"

Natasha nodded. And absolutely hated how her eyes and throat felt. "That's right, you moron." She couldn't recognize her own voice.

Clint swallowed again and blinked several times. "I… I fell."

"Yeah", she confirmed. Trying not to think about how close to a disaster it all came. "Hit your head pretty good."

Clint was gulping pretty quickly by then. His face was changing color. "The kid…"

It was Natasha's turn to frown. "What kid?" As far as she knew the archer was with Spider-Man when…

Instead of replying Clint turned, with struggle and a horrible amount of discomfort, to his side. And threw up. Several times.

Natasha sighed heavily. Hating the way the sight of him in such a state made her stomach feel. "Let's talk some more later." If her hand was rubbing his back comfortingly while he continued to retch, no one would ever know.

* * *

Clint woke up several times after that. He didn't always have enough energy to open his eyes. But he always knew and felt that he wasn't alone in the dark anymore. It wrapped around him like a cocoon, even though he was fully aware of just how messed up things still were.

For the first bout of wakefulness he was able to remember afterwards Laura was there. She looked like she hadn't slept in days but nonetheless smiled at him. "Hey", she whispered, and even something that quiet was almost too much for his head. Still her voice was music to his ringing ears. (He wondered if that noise would ever stop.) Then she sighed heavily, her hand tightening around his. "Why am I not surprised that you got yourself into a trouble again?"

Clint felt bad. Really, genuinely bad, and not only physically. He wasn't supposed to, not again, not this time… "Sorry", he managed, and winced at how he sounded.

Laura responded by giving his forehead a kiss. "I know." Her hand felt so good against his aching skull that he almost leaned against it when she stroked his head gently. "The kids are gonna go crazy when they see you bald. Makes you appear all tough and dangerous."

Clint tried to grin. It soon turned into a yawn. "'am tough and 'gerous", he mumbled.

Laura smiled, her eyes full of love he probably didn't deserve. This time she kissed his nose. "I know, you madman." Her thumb massaged the back of his hand. It felt ridiculously good. "You should sleep. But first… Look around."

Curious despite his exhaustion, Clint obeyed. All around the room his friends were sleeping. Thor in his own corner, snoring loudly. Bruce rested a respectful distance away from the others, a light frown on his face and tension all over his body, even when he slumbered. Steve sat by the door, keeping watch, arms folded across his chest. Tony was beside his bed, head bent backwards in what had to be a painful position. Natasha was also as near as possible, now closed eyes trained towards the door and legs lifted to the bed. Wanda sat at his feet, her upper body resting on the slightly numb, tingling limbs. She was smiling, and he was tempted to wonder what she was dreaming about. At the moment, however, sheer stun overcame all else.

They were all there. Despite everything. The Avengers assembled for the first time in… ages. How was that even possible?

Laura leaned to his ear and kissed it before whispering gently. "If you ever doubt whether they need you… Remember this."

Clint refused to believe that this was in any way his doing. But seeing them all together… It made him feel warm all over. He knew, even in his current fuzzy state of mind, that they'd part ways soon. They all had a ton of stuff to figure out before they could even consider being a team again. But they would be, he knew that with all his heart. And until then they'd have this moment, the memory of this unity, to give them comfort in the many moments of doubt.

He fell asleep to those thoughts, and blessedly had no dreams.

* * *

They had no idea that they had audience. From behind the window separating the room from the hallway two pairs of eyes watched. Monitored and observed.

"They'll never forgive you", Maria Hill pointed out, unconcealed resentment in her tone.

"I know", Nick Fury agreed. "But at least they'll hate me together."

"What you did to them…" Maria shook her head and wrinkled her nose, refusing to look towards him. "You shattered them."

Fury shrugged. Smothering the tiny part of him that _ached_. "Sometimes you need to break something to let it put itself back together and grow stronger."

Maria snorted. At least she didn't roll her eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Who says that I'd sleep?"

* * *

Now that she wasn't a fugitive anymore Tony invited Wanda to live at the Avengers' base. She declined as politely as she could. No, she wasn't furious anymore. But to live under the same roof with him… Like nothing ever happened…

Tony, to her shock, understood. Even helped her find a small but cozy apartment of her own. She wasn't surprised and tried not to get mad, either, when she found all her possessions waiting on the day she moved in. A piece of her found it heartwarming that he kept all those items during her absence, like he was sure that she'd come back one day.

Tony was polite enough to not be waiting as well. Vision wasn't as tactful. She found him from her kitchen, and the stench suggested that he was cooking something poisonous.

They stared at each other like two strangers despite the bond they once shared. Eventually Vision shifted with discomfort. "I'm… afraid I haven't learned much, yet."

It took a while. But eventually Wanda smiled, just a little bit. And felt like something clicked into place deep inside her. "Let me have a look, then."

"Do you… think we can salvage it?" Vision murmured, appearing hesitant and awkward.

"Maybe." Her tone was softer than she'd expected. "We'll just have to try and see."

* * *

It was pouring rain as Natasha and Bruce stood outside the hospital. Both deep in thought. Close enough to touch but neither feeling like going there.

Eventually Natasha took a deep breath that wasn't as steady as she would've wanted. "I've gotta go. Or I'll miss my flight." She didn't want to leave, not really. Not when her best friend was still far from recovered and everything else was a mess. But she knew she had to, needed to.

Bruce nodded and looked down. His eyes were full of sadness, and it was easy to see how hard he fought with himself. "Take care of yourself."

Natasha snorted. Ridiculous, that they were like this after everything…! "I always do." With that she was walking away, and he let her. She had to be the one who walked away this time.

On the last moment Bruce called out once more. "Tasha?" His small smile was tentative and tinged by grief. "See you soon", he said instead of what he clearly wanted to. Knowing that she was nowhere ready to hear all the things he was supposed to say.

Natasha smiled in a manner that didn't feel familiar or natural. She hated how vulnerable he made her feel. "See you." She disappeared like a ghost, with a feeling that they'd meet again.

* * *

Tony had just finished sending a text message to Pepper when Steve emerged from Clint's hospital room. He had no idea what the two talked about, but the Captain appeared pale and exhausted. Burdened. The billionaire felt more sympathy than he would've wanted to. "So, India, huh?" He tried to keep his tone light.

Steve shrugged. Aiming for the same forced casual air and failing as miserably. "It worked for Banner. Maybe it'll work for me, too." The soldier obviously fought not to, but ended up glancing backwards towards Clint's room with haunted eyes.

"Don't worry." Since when had Tony sounded so… mature? It was disturbing. "I'll look after them."

"I know." Steve's smile seemed wry and wrong. "Seems that you do a lot better job at it than me." So saying the Captain was walking away, shoulders slumped and steps heavier than lead.

"Steve." His use of a first name made the other's steps pause. "I hope that you find what you're looking for."

Steve stared at him. Surprised for a few seconds before melting to a tiny smile. The soldier's lips opened but nothing came out so the man nodded instead. Somehow that was enough.

Tony watched the Captain's distancing back before it'd disappeared entirely, then exhaled and inhaled before making his way to the archer's room. Seeing Clint conscious, sitting on the edge of the bed and _alive_ made him grin in a manner he hadn't… in ages. "Okay, Robin Hood. Let's get you out of here." He clapped his hands together with genuine enthusiasm. "This… is a very special occasion. You know what this calls for?"

Clint groaned. Loudly. "Not shawarma again…!"

"Hey!" Tony feigned being insulted. Badly. "My friend just came back from the dead. Shawarma is a must."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"You're smiling, Pigeon."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"It was just a twitch."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"You're smiling, too, Tin can."

"Shut up or I'll start whistling."

"Whose bright idea was it to let you play the nurse, anyway?"

The banter continued all the way to the car, and during the ride until Clint eventually fell asleep. Yes, there was a massive amount of things left to sort out. Bitter arguments to come. But for a few stolen moments all was good in the world.

* * *

Dr. Strange massaged his nose with two fingers, stifling a yawn. It'd been ridiculously exhausting few days. And he had a feeling that he didn't understand half of what was going on. He probably should've been alarmed, even scared. He wasn't.

But now, it seemed, his bizarre adventure was coming to an end. He looked towards Thor. "So, time to go back?"

The taller man nodded. "Yes." And apparently that was all the answer he'd get. The eyes meeting his were full of gratitude. "What you did for friend Barton… Thank you."

Stephen nodded, feeling awkward all of a sudden. He was proud, far beyond his own good, but he'd never fared very well with thank yous. "This has all been a… unforgettable experience. It's not every day I get to time travel. I'll never forget this."

"Actually…" Thor took a step forward, seeming apologetic all of a sudden. "That… is something we must discuss…"

Seconds later Doctor Strange, clad in blue and red, showed himself. There was a wince on his face. "Did you have to hit him so hard? I felt it!"

Thor shrugged, eyes on the doctor's crumbled form. "I understood that it was essential to ensure that he'd forget. To avoid a…" The Asgardian's brows furrowed. "… paradox."

Doctor Strange sighed heavily and struggled against the urge to roll his eyes. "Let's just get him back home. Then we have your little family reunion to take care of."

* * *

"Stephen?" Christine sounded… worried. Very, very worried. "Stephen, can you hear me?"

It wasn't pleasant. Or painless. But eventually Stephen got one eye open. And groaned. "Wah…?"

"You're in the staff's resting room." Christine seemed to relax, but only slightly, now that he was regaining consciousness. "I had hard time trying to wake you up. Are you okay?"

Stephen inhaled. And winced. "Yeah. Just… a headache." More like a hammer taking repeated blows at his skull. He rubbed his face roughly. "I had a really weird dream."

"What was it about?"

Stephen's lips opened. Then closed. And again. "I… have no idea." How embarrassing. He frowned, trying to focus. "Something about… time traveling?"

Christine huffed. "Let's go and get you some coffee. Do you think you can stand?"

* * *

Peter Parker kept asking about the man who was trapped into the burning building with him, of course. More than once he felt tempted to reveal that he knew exactly who the guy was, but he held his tongue. He finally relaxed and stopped asking when he noticed new lightness in Tony, a genuine grin on the man's face.

Whatever was going, obviously it was good. And it was also none of his business. Which didn't stop him from being far too curious for his own good. He kept bugging both Happy and Karen but neither cracked. Traitors.

Finally, almost four months after the whole ordeal, Peter was invited to a training session at the new Avengers' base. Which surprised him. Hadn't he declined Tony's offer…?

"So yeah, you're not a part of the crew", the billionaire stated immediately, as though reading his mind. (Which was really, really creepy.) "But if you want to keep web-slinging there's a lot of stuff you need to learn. And I may have found someone stubborn and patient enough to co-teach you with me."

Peter was far too excited to feel insulted. And entirely too aware that it showed. "Who?"

The man had a lot shorter hair than the previous time they met. But it was definitely Hawkeye. "So, kid…" The archer smirked in a manner that promised no good. "Are you ready to get started?"

Peter came to the conclusion that this would be really awesome. Or painful. Or infuriating. Or all of those. But he _was_ ready.

"Yeah", he announced entirely too enthusiastically.

Tony chuckled. "See, Feathers? The poor kid doesn't know you yet."

"He will."

* * *

End of tale

* * *

A/N: And so wraps up this story-line, which became a lot longer than I intended. (chuckles) I REALLY HOPE that you enjoyed this conclusion!

Good? Bad? Luke-warm? PLEASE, drop a line or two to let me know! Hearing from you is THE BEST.

NEXT TIME, we'll have a dumpster and a certain blind crime-fighter aboard, in 'The Hawk and the Devil'.

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Awww, it always makes my day to hear that you enjoyed the chapter! (BEAMS) Let's hope that Strange will be able to work his magic! Clint REALLY needs his help now… LOL, we'll see about the punch…

I REALLY, REALLY hope that the next one turns out to be a worthy conclusion! (Sorry Thor, I couldn't resist.)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

Carry692: I'm SUPER happy that you enjoyed it so! I LOVED typing those dream/coma/afterlife scenes. (grins) But oh dear, poor, poor team! Let's hope that this has a happy ending. (gulps)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	118. The Hawk and the Devil (FEAT Daredevil)

A/N: PHEW! It took me AGES to finish this. But now… I'm FINALLY confident enough to unleash this little monster. (grins)

First, thogh…! Guys, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for you AMAZING reviews, love and support! I can't believe how many of you are out there, waiting for each chapter. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I'll chicken out if I keep stalling… Let's go! I REALLY HOPE that you'll enjoy this special chapter.

 **Say 'Hello!' to Matt Murdock, alias Daredevil. To those who haven't watched the show, it's amazing, so I can definitely recommend it! But you should be able to understand at least some of this even if you haven't (yet). (smiles)**

 **TAKES PLACE almost right after 'Daredevil' season 2, and only a little before 'Civil War'.**

 **ASK YOURSELVES THIS... What if Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D knew about Matt, Jessica and the rest...?**

* * *

The Hawk and the Devil (FEAT Daredevil)

* * *

When you're a stupid brat from a bad part of New York, it's far too easy to find trouble. When you're a blind, stupid brat from a bad part of New York, trouble is sure to find you. When you're a blind, stupid adult fighting crime in the darkest corners of New York… Well, trouble is always there.

Still in his costume, Matt Murdock was on his way home, trying very hard not to limp from the… unpleasant encounter he had less than an hour earlier. Once upon a time he might've had a beer or two with Foggy. Maybe even Karen. Now he only had his empty-feeling apartment or a night of trouble waiting. He preferred the latter. Especially when no amount of washing seemed to erase the feel of Elektra's blood coating his hands.

Being all alone in the world again felt far worse when he'd had the time to get used to not being alone.

His sullen thoughts were cut abruptly when he heard something that halted his steps.

Shouts. A gunshot. A scream.

Matt gritted his teeth and braced himself. Yes, he made a mess out of Matt Murdock's life and had no idea how to fix things. If he even should fix things when all he did was get the people around him hurt, one way or another. But at least he still knew what to do as Daredevil.

Despite his beyond sharp hearing he had no idea that as he vanished like a shadow, a keen pair of eyes watched him.

Even after all these years it was never easy to switch off the voice inside his head screaming that what he did was wrong. As Matt he didn't believe that violence and bringing physical harm on others were any sort of solutions. In his day-job he defended those in a desperate need of legal help. (Or would've, if he'd had any clients…) In his night-job as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen he sought justice in a very different way. In a way that couldn't bear the light of day.

Almost at his destination he paused, then strained his remaining senses and listened, still as a statue and invisible in the shadows. There were eight people in the room he'd soon barge into. No activity could be spotted anywhere else in the building. Good. He wouldn't have to worry about possible innocent bystanders getting hurt.

He heard someone approaching, of course. As well as the unmistakable sound of a gun's safety being flicked off. "A bit early for Halloween, buddy." One step. Two. Just one more and the distance between them would be ideal. "Not sure if I would've wanted those cute ears on the mask, though." And there it was.

Matt was prepared. With three carefully practiced moves the criminal was down, and the firearm clattered harmlessly to the floor. "They're horns", he muttered under his breath.

The now unconscious man never got the chance to call backup. Letting his ears and instincts lead, Matt made his way forward, soundless as a cat. Something made his skin crawl, sent cold shivers down his spine. Well, he never did expect this to be pleasant.

He froze immediately when his foot hit a puddle. It could've been water, of course. The nauseating, coppery smell in the air quickly eliminated that theory. And when he moved his other foot, slowly and cautiously, it collided gently with what had to be a human body. He listened, tense and ready for anything. But in the end he couldn't distinguish a heartbeat, or even the frailest of breaths.

Whoever he heard these people shoot was lost the moment the bullet hit. Matt gritted his teeth, willed back the slash of ache. Of course he knew that he couldn't save everyone. But at least he could bring some justice.

He encountered four more enemies during his crusade. More likely than not high on whatever their product was, they were vicious and ridiculously aggressive. They were also clumsy and unable to think rationally. After a rather infuriating amount of struggle they were out cold. Struggling to catch his breath, he felt adrenaline tingling everywhere in his body. Far more addictive and dangerous than any drug.

So hyper-wired he was, that he nearly lashed out the second he heard hints of movement. Until a quiet, horribly scared child's voice spoke. "Are you… Are you one of them?" a little boy asked. And for a few seconds he flashed back to the kid he was once upon a time, before his father's death.

Matt swallowed thickly and shook his head. "No, I'm not. I… wanted to make sure that what they're selling won't hurt anyone again."

The boy considered. "Good", was the eventual, shaky verdict. "My sister… I don't like how she acts, when she takes it." There was a brief pause while the child, who'd seen far more than he should've that day, struggled to pull himself together. "Did you see her? She… She told me to wait. That she didn't want them to see her with a stupid brat."

All of a sudden Matt had a sickeningly clear idea of who the body he passed by was. He wasted a couple of breaths trying to come up with the right answer. "I need to make sure that all the bad men have left. Go outside, and take the stairs." That way the kid wouldn't run into what was most likely his sister's corpse, or the unconscious criminals. "Hurry."

The child hesitated only for a few seconds before obeying. Matt steeled himself, then listened. And discovered that he wasn't alone.

Three more criminals came at him, with such force, speed and aggression that almost caught him off-guard. He fought back with all he had. After what felt like ages it was finally over.

Or so he thought, until a brand-new set of steps approached him. The arrival didn't speak until he'd spun around. "Relax. I'm not one of the bad guys."

"Then what are you doing here?" Matt demanded with an understandable level of suspicion.

"I… thought I'd come and help you, but it seems I missed the party." The stranger came two strides closer. "And I thought I should warn you that you're standing in the middle of a meth-lab."

Matt tensed up. True, he'd sensed all along that something wasn't right. Still… "There was a kid…"

"I saw him run out just before I entered. He's okay", the other man assured him. "Might be a good idea to…" The stranger trailed off.

All alarm bells went off in Matt's mind. His whole body shuddered while he listened intently, bracing himself for anything. The other man's heart was racing. "What is it?"

"We need to jump. Now." Hard and uncompromising, calloused hands grabbed him. "I'm so sorry about this." And then he was flying. No, wait, falling.

Falling, occurred to Matt, was far more terrifying when he was crash-landing blindly to a pitch-black void.

* * *

Everything was spinning when Matt came to. He knew that much despite being unable to see. Nausea bubbled in the pit of his stomach, and for a long moment he was sure that he'd throw up. The worst, however, was the ringing of his ears. It was deafening, maddening. Made him want to scream. Perhaps he did.

"… you okay?" Was that voice real? The ringing made it impossible to tell. "Matt!"

He shivered. Memories clashed together harshly. He clung to those hazy bits, eager to focus on anything but his ears. "… ouwh …"

"… know." Was that a gasp? "… do that again …"

Yes. Not doing the whole… jumping thing ever again sounded like an excellent idea. How were they still alive? Matt sniffed, never knowing that he also groaned.

A dumpster. Their lives had been saved by a dumpster. It sounded… pathetically appropriate.

"… okay now?"

Matt still couldn't hear properly, which didn't terrify him as much as it should've at the moment. He nodded as well as he dared to. "You?"

The silence stretched. "… get back to you on that later." Which was clearly all the report he'd get on the other's condition. Aside the positively chilling stench of blood, which was finally starting to register.

At least Matt was finally regaining his ability to think. "… have to go." Before the cops and firefighters would get there. It was the kind of attention neither of them wanted.

"… know …" The horrific wheezing continued. "… a minute …"

Matt wasn't a medical professional. But despite his ears being not at their best, he could tell that his… what, savior's heart-rate and breathing didn't sound good. His companion didn't want to move yet but he had to keep the man awake. "… did you find me?"

"I, ah…" The stranger sounded… embarrassed, almost. "Your… unofficial second job… It's caught some… attention." The man had to keep long pauses while talking. "My boss… told me to keep an eye on you… to confirm that you're… one of the good guys."

That… was actually quite disturbing. In a different frame of mind Matt might've been chilled by the thought that someone had been able to shadow him for who knows how long without him noticing. "… you an agent or something?" Surely he had the right to know something, too.

"Classified."

Matt scoffed. "'course it is…" The other man sounded more and more groggy by each passing moment. And his ears were killing him. He had to go on. "Why you?"

"… cause I was the… only one who could… without you noticing…"

Well, didn't that sound nice…

"… any consolation… are one of the… good guys…" The man coughed. Hard. And whimpered afterwards. "… so am I …"

For some completely ridiculous reason Matt believed him. Which didn't make the 'following around for weeks' thing any more pleasant. "… then why follow?"

"Told you." The other was starting to sound annoyed, which was oddly heartwarming. "… boss told me… You chased off five other followers… He started taking it… personally…"

Ah, that's right. Matt had noticed the others trying to shadow him and wondered, for a while, if they worked for his enemies. When they didn't make a move to kill or capture him he concluded that they worked for someone else. Even so, letting them keep following him around wasn't an option.

While he lingered deep in thought his companion had gotten quiet. Far, far too quiet. The realization made Matt feel cold. "… still awake?"

"Yeah… Yeah…" The other's voice was barely audible. "… hate dumpsters …"

Matt might've laughed if he hadn't feared what it'd do to his head and ears. And side, because that was really starting to hurt, too. Instead he nodded vehemently. "Me too."

They both tensed up when steps began to approach. It was impossible to tell who the arrival was, and at the moment there was no way they'd be able to defend themselves. What if one of the drug-dealers had survived the blast and was now after them? What if…? Instead, however, Claire's familiar voice soon groaned. "You've gotta be kidding me…! There's two of you?"

Matt smirked sheepishly. Or thought he did. "Hey." He was slurring. How humiliating. "Claire, this is…" He frowned, realizing that he still didn't know that other man's name.

"Clint."

"Clint." Matt struggled to focus. "Clint, this is Claire. She's…"

"… know who she is." That's right. A person can learn a lot about another during weeks of observation.

Matt's eyebrows furrowed again. "'d you find us?"

"I was jogging when a little boy came to me and said that a man in a Devil-mask saved him. Then I followed the explosion." Claire sighed heavily and moved closer. "Do you think you can climb out of there?"

Matt nodded tentatively. His ears kept ringing and when he moved nausea warned of its ire. But… His legs worked, and he was actually able to move. He'd been a lot worse. "'s Clint?" he inquired as soon as his feet hit solid ground. Standing up… didn't feel very good. The way he sensed Claire tensing up was far worse. He stiffened as well, a cold hand squeezing around his stomach. "Claire? What's wrong?"

"This… isn't something I can handle in my living-room." Her tone was the hard, clipped on of a professional. "We've gotta get him to a hospital, now."

Getting Clint out of the dumpster was far from easy. Keeping him upright long enough for them to make it to a safe distance from the crime-scene was even trickier. "Press hard", Claire commanded as soon as they had the mystery-man lay on asphalt. The second Matt did as he'd been told he felt blood staining fabric and his fingers. The flashbacks to Elektra's death were merciless, made breathing feel even more difficult than it had been.

In a daze Matt kept pressing. With the intensifying ringing of his ears he barely caught Claire calling an ambulance, or the vehicle eventually arriving. When the paramedics snatched Clint away the lawyer just sat there, feeling cold until he didn't and trembling to the core of his being.

Then, without a warning, Matt slumped down and knew nothing more.

* * *

Matt regained consciousness very briefly. For a moment he wondered if he was dead, after all, until the sheer agony radiating to every little bit of his body registered. He tried to groan, fought desperately to shift to a more comfortable position, but had no energy for such.

His ears were still ringing agonizingly. In a manner that made it feel like his skull might split in two. In the middle of that cacophony he could've sworn that he heard Karen's voice, somewhere in the distance. Was he hallucinating? " _… to find my friend …_ "

Another voice, coming from much closer, soon drowned out what was probably a trick of imagination. "… finally stabilizing. Temperature's also coming down…"

Were they… talking about him? That… didn't sound so bad. Apparently he'd live through this, after all.

He passed out again before he had the time to decide how he felt about that realization.

* * *

The next time he woke up the ringing of his ears was still there and his head throbbed infuriatingly. But at least neither seemed to be killing him anymore. He sighed and shifted, to discover immediately that moving around wasn't a good idea.

It felt like he'd been stabbed, repeatedly, and a strangled gasp slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

"Not so fast", someone advised hint gently. There was a bleep, and something bizarre happened to the pain. "You're on strong pain medication and healing quickly, but you'll have to take it easy for a while."

Matt licked his lips, hating how fuzzy his head felt. How weird his whole body felt, really. "… friend?"

It took a few seconds before the woman beside him, a nurse no doubt, understood. "The man you were brought here with?" A comforting hand squeezed his shoulder. Due to the numbness from heavy medication he barely felt it. "He had to undergo surgery. But… If he keeps recovering the way he has so far, we'll be able to transfer your partner to your room in a day or two."

With how high on painkillers he was, Matt found the misunderstanding hilarious. He didn't bother correcting it, though, because he needed to be updated on how the man who saved his life was faring. Without Clint he would've been blown up in that stupid meth-lab. And Foggy would've most likely had 'Told you so' engraved on his tombstone.

Rather than being appalled by or starting to giggle at that macabre thought, Matt went back to sleep.

* * *

Clint woke up to the unmistakable cotton wool -feel pain-killers caused. Usually he would've hated it. Now he was too exhausted and comfortable to mind.

Feeling sluggish and more than a little confused, he turned his head with effort. In the bed next to his lay Matt. The man… looked horrible. Pale, strained and exhausted. Clint had a feeling that he looked ever worse. Well, at least they were still alive. Maybe he'd feel a little more alive soon.

Once he was able to see and think a little more clearly he discovered that the sleeping or unconscious man had a visitor. A beautiful, blonde-haired woman whispered something to Matt's ear and kissed his forehead before wiping her eyes. Karen, his head supplied at last, some of the info he learned while shadowing Matt seeping through. "… gonna wake up soon", he croaked.

Karen jumped. Her eyes were still a little moist when she looked towards him. "I just… I needed to see him." The pain in her voice was palpable.

Clint wanted to reveal that Matt missed her, too. But she wasn't ready to hear that just yet. "New York needs him", he pointed out instead, hoping that he wasn't slurring too much.

Karen sighed. The way her shoulders dropped reminded him painfully of how Laura looked whenever he headed for a mission. "I know", she admitted quietly. "I just…" She looked towards Matt, who was still fast asleep and blissfully unaware of the drama he caused. "I just wish that he'd remember that I need him, too." With those words she gave the Devil a longing look, then left the room. The only thing remaining to reveal her visit was an adorable, small teddy-bear.

Clint drifted off soon, and dreamt of Laura.

* * *

Matt woke up to a bizarre sound he couldn't identify immediately. Was that… someone's teeth chattering? The bleeps of a heart-monitor intensified, became almost frantic. He frowned, until pieces began to slide together. "Clint?"

"Hmm."

That… was very worrying. Matt's hand began to fumble, seeking. "Want me to call a nurse?" Wasn't there supposed to be a button for that?

"Nah. Just…" The wheezing sound which followed wasn't comforting. "Need to breathe."

Matt continued to fumble for the call button, because he didn't imagine, for even a second, that Clint didn't need help. Until his fingers brushed something that stilled his hands. A… teddy-bear?

"Your friend… Karen, right…? Stopped by." The words were panted through intense pain but nonetheless comprehensible. "Misses you."

Matt shuddered, unable to stop himself. The bittersweet memories… "She shouldn't."

"Tough, 'cause she does. Hearing's your thing, seeing's mine." The heart-monitor was a little calmer as Clint's mind focused stubbornly on anything but the agony. "The… Daredevil-thing… Your friends didn't understand?"

Matt clenched his jaw. The ache those words caused… He was definitely not in the mood or condition to deal with it right now. "No. They didn't." He hoped that his tone was enough of a hint that he didn't want to talk about this.

Obviously it wasn't. "They don't understand yet. But they will, one day."

Matt swallowed thickly. He could've definitely used some water. "Sounds like you're talking from experience."

"Something like that." It was silent as they both willed back storms of intense discomfort. Clint's voice was a great deal hoarser when the man went on. "This city… It's worth protecting, despite all its flaws. And… You and those like you… You're the only ones who can make it a safer place. Your friends will see that, one day."

Matt nodded faintly. What was he supposed to say to that? The funny part was that somewhere, deep inside… He really, really wanted to believe Clint.

"Just… Do me a favor?" Clint shifted, and hissed instantly. "Try to be more careful. Because… I may not be there to save you from the next explosion."

Matt was pulled back into sleep before he could answer. The silly toy in his firm hold. He felt lighter than he had in a very long time.

* * *

Less than a day after he was finally discharged from the hospital Matt stood at a cemetery, subtly out of the sight of a small funeral crowd. The sorrow-filled, desolate silence was deafening as the coffin was carried to the hole that'd become its final resting place, and eventually lowered down. A cold breeze of wind carried past the area, unleashing the mourning the people didn't have the strength to express.

Aside one, that was. His stomach knotted when the boy he once heard asking about his sister burst to loud sobs of sheer heartbreak. "I… I miss you, Tessie. I…" The child trailed off.

Unable to utter a word, the parents who could've easily lost two children that day led their surviving one away from what'd always be their biggest failure. Matt heard wedding-rings hiss upon contact when the woman denied her husband's attempt to hold her hand. He heard the almost muffled sobs that would've been too quiet for anyone else to distinguish.

Tense and incredibly sore, Matt forced himself to stand up straighter. Fought against the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. And lifted his chin defiantly, even if it was with the just about last of his strength.

He couldn't save everyone, but he wondered if he'd manage to stop trying before it'd get him killed.

* * *

Nick Fury wasn't surprised when he received a call that Clint checked out of the hospital earlier than he should've. He was even less surprised when he entered his office and found the archer sitting on a couch. Well, as far as that slouched position could be called sitting.

Fury sighed heavily and slumped to the seat behind his desk. "This is just a guess. But I think you should be at home, resting."

Clint arched an amused eyebrow. The Hawk still seemed exhausted and pained, but at least like himself. "Did you really expect me to just sit back doing nothing?"

"No", Fury admitted honestly. He nodded towards the file that'd appeared to his desk. "I see that you did paperwork early for once."

Clint shrugged his good shoulder. "Confirmed what I suspected from the beginning. He's not one of the bad guys. Sure, what he does isn't exactly legal, but… He and his friends keep some of the thugs on our watch-list busy."

Fury's eyebrow bounced up. "'Friends'?"

Clint's eyes flashed in a warning. "Assign me on another babysitting-gig when I'm supposed to be retired… and I'll tell Tasha that you made me spend the past couple of weeks spying on her ex. How happy do you think that'd make her?"

* * *

End of oneshot

* * *

A/N: It's come to my attention that in the comics, Matt and Natasha had some sort of a thing. After that the last line was unavoidable. (grins) But seriously, poor Matt and Clint! Those two just can't catch a break. (sighs)

SOOOOOO… Was that ANY good, at all? Did I do Daredevil any justice? PLEASE, do let me know! It's always unnerving to introduce new beloved characters to this collection, and Matt is SPECIAL (not as special as Clint, but still).

 **IN THE NEXT ONE:** Clint's life is in danger (AGAIN) when something that isn't supposed to be there starts growing in his stomach. NO MPREG, GUYS! This is closer to 'Alien' than 'Knocked Up'…

Awkay, I REALLY need to get some sleep. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

 **Guest** : I LOVE Pietro. (smiles) He'll DEFINITELY show up again in this collection!

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **JolyJolt** : I'm SO HAPPY that you liked the way I wrapped up the saga! (BEAMS) I definitely wanted it to be finished on a high note. Awww, it looks like they'll all be just fine, after all. (smiles)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : I'm INSANE HAPPY that you enjoyed it so! (BEEEEEEEEAMS) LOL, I just couldn't resist the opportunity to have Fury punched. And let's face it, he deserved it! Oh, how I love those characters. (smiles)

Steve will DEFINITELY be in the spotlight sometime very soon! (nods enthusiastically)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Carry692** : DEFINITELY was! THANK GOSH it ended so happily.

LOL! Actually, I come from higher up north. A Finn, here! (waves) I just couldn't imagine typing it differently. Glad you liked it! (grins)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	119. Gnawing at My Insides, part 1 of 3

A/N: Heh, this little thing is WEIRD. But I couldn't resist. (giggles) Before getting you started, though…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, love, support and affection for this story! It means SO MUCH to me that you're all still out there, reading every chapter. (HUUUUGS)

 **AND GUESS WHAT?** WE'VE HIT A MILESTONE! This story now has 300 favorites-listings. Which is ABSOLUTELY AMAZING and FANTASTIC! AND, because it's all thanks to you… **LET ME KNOW HOW YOU'D LIKE THIS ACHIEVEMENT TO BE HONORED/CELEBRATED!**

Awkay, because stalling isn't kind… LET'S GO! I really hope that you'll enjoy this freaky flight.

* * *

Gnawing at My Insides, part 1 of 3

* * *

Clint had woken up trapped or strapped so many times that it was ridiculous. Really, according to all sense there should be some sort of a limit to how many times that could happen to one person. Yet here he was, again.

Eyes still closed and other senses hyper-aware, Clint struggled to remember what happened to get him here. The team… They'd been after Hydra, right? They found… a building. The last memory-trace he had was of someone calling out to him like someone would beckon a cat closer.

His head hurt. A lot. But otherwise… he seemed to be okay. Despite the discomfort metallic binds caused on his wrists and ankles, of course. There was a rather appalling, sterile reek in the air. Bad enough to make him want to vomit, because it reminded him of a hospital. Machinery bleeped and whirred, high heels clapped somewhere in the distance. None of those things sat well with him.

He was in the middle of trying to figure out a way to escape when he felt something. A weight, advancing up his right leg. Nails, sharper than any blade, cutting to skin as they dragged whatever the thing was forward.

"Your vitals reveal that you're very much awake." The woman's heavily accented voice was perfectly calm, nearly purring. "I'd stay still, if I were you. That magnificent creature we found… I'm afraid it's quite aggressive. And I'd very much like you to live until the process is complete."

Clint knew that talking was a bad idea. He also honestly didn't want to know. But he'd always been too nosy for his own good. "Process?" His voice was hoarse, pathetic.

"It wants to lay something inside you. And we want to document what crawls out. If it's something we can harness." She made notes, if the rustling of papers was any indication. "We've had a large number of test-subjects but they've all been… disappointments. Maybe you'll be different and last until its ready."

Okay. _That_ sat _horribly_ with Clint. He felt incredibly cold and had to fight against the instinctive need to gulp. "Ready to do what?" Why was he asking these things when he had no desire to know?

"Rip its way out of you, of course." Did she yawn? "You seem to be a good, healthy incubator. I suppose it was a lucky strike your team chose to come here."

"They'll kill you all", Clint hissed. No longer caring if he pissed off the creature. What was the point in worrying if it was going to be the death of him, anyway?

"I know." She sounded eerily calm. "But Hydra is so much more than a few individual scientists. That has always been its strength, and it'll remain strong without us. Now shhh… It's almost time."

Clint opened his mouth but had the time to say nothing. He heard a chilling hiss. Before he had the chance to turn his head enough to see what was attacking him it struck. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, because it spared him from having to face the creature. A knife of fire pierced his abdominal area, scorching its way to what felt like the core of his being. He opened his mouth, fully ready and more than willing to howl out his anguish, but just then one blade transformed into ten. Filled all of his stomach and intestines.

The very last thought Clint had was the almost certain knowledge that this was going to kill him.

* * *

It was supposed to be a simple operation. Take down a Hydra-base before it becomes too big of a problem. See if it's the one containing Loki's Scepter. Go home.

That was the plan, until Clint stopped responding to his comm.

"I'll go and find that idiot", Natasha announced, her voice sharp from worry she would've never admitted out loud.

" _If Pigeon's managed to lose another comm give him a smack for me. He's trashed three this month already._ " The poorly concealed concern in Tony's voice was… heartwarming, actually. Not that Natasha would've admitted that, either. It was nice to know that it wasn't just the three of them against the world anymore. Or two, now, after Loki's little visit. She kept forgetting…

She failed Phil, but she wasn't going to do the same thing with Clint. So Natasha pulled herself to the present so sharply that it hurt and gritted her teeth. "He's going to get a smack, anyway", she promised darkly.

Following something of a hunch, Natasha advanced further in the chilling, maze-like laboratory. Quite soon she started spotting Hydra-agents with arrows sticking from them. Tracking down those obvious signs and keeping a close eye on her surroundings, she continued on. The whole time her instincts screamed that something was wrong.

And then she actually found Clint. He'd slumped to the floor. He had his face buried into his hands as he drew in sharp breaths that screamed 'I'm in pain' to anyone who knew him as well as she did.

Natasha's stomach knotted uncomfortably. She frowned, trying to spot signs of injury. Her best friend's dark outfit made it impossible. "Clint?" He barely reacted to her voice. "How bad?"

"I, ah… I'm not sure…" Clint's eyes darted around under furrowed eyebrows. "Guess I… hit my head. It hurts." Which was when she noticed how dilated his pupils were.

She approached slowly and found a needle-mark from his neck. "You got yourself drugged, idiot", she snapped, unable to control her tone. A quick inspection revealed that his pulse was much higher than his usual athlete's heartrate but stabilizing quickly. He should be far more coherent soon.

"'sorry", he mumbled, rubbing his face with one had. Before he could lower the limb, he became fascinated by his own fingers. He flexed his index finger twice and smiled dopily at it.

Natasha sighed, fighting back the urges to slap him and hug him. This whole sentiment-crap was something she didn't think she'd ever get used to. "Not your fault, I guess. Let's get you out of here. I want Bruce to check up on you."

Clint pouted and pointed an accusing finger towards her. And stared at it for a few long seconds, of course, utterly mesmerized. "You're loud."

Natasha rolled her eyes. How, exactly, did the two of them always get into these situations? "No, you're high."

"Really?" Clint blinked owlishly. Then wrinkled his nose. "'don't like being high."

She sighed and squeezed his shoulder. Maybe a little too tightly. "Believe me, I don't like you being high, either."

* * *

Up, down, left, right. Repeat. Chasing the light was a funny game, Clint decided.

Hold on, where did it go?

"I think he's going to be okay." Bruce's voice boomed loudly in his ears. Why was he shouting? "We just have to wait for the drugs to leave his bloodstream." The scientist's face seemed oddly blurry. "Clint? I need to examine you properly."

Well, that sobered him up quickly. Clint shook his head firmly and growled, his eyes narrowing threateningly. "No." He had absolutely no intention to let a teammate paw at him. Ever.

Bruce sighed exasperatedly, lips parting for an argument.

"Don't", Natasha advised. "That's… a touchy subject. He's not bleeding to death and he didn't get himself impaled or stabbed by anything. Wait until he's sober, then try again."

Clint pulled his knees to his chest, his eyebrows furrowing even further. He didn't like being the center of attention like this. That was why his role was to keep watch, stay high up and out of sight. "I want doughnuts", he announced. Those would make him feel better, right?

"Sure thing, Budgie", Tony promised earnestly. "When we get back to the Tower you can have all the doughnuts you want."

Clint nodded. It made him feel dizzy. "Good." He looked towards his genius-friend, who seemed paler than usual. In a different frame of mind he might've wondered when, exactly, the man showed up. "I like you", he decided. Anyone who promised doughnuts was a good person.

One corner of Tony's lips twitched. "Awww, I like you, too. Now get some sleep before I start regretting not filming this."

To the shock of both Natasha and Bruce, Clint actually did lay down, curled up with his back towards them all and dozed off. The billionaire answered their suspicious looks with a shrug. "What? Do you have any idea how many times I've kept watch when he's been high on painkillers?"

Natasha had to use a lot of willpower to restrain a tiny smile. They definitely weren't alone in the world anymore. And that wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

* * *

Clint slept through the whole flight. So deeply that it worried the rest of the team, not that they would've admitted as much. He woke up, slowly and grumpily, after the landing. Only Natasha was brave enough to approach him then.

"Tasha…!"

"Barton, do not try to Tasha me right now." With a look that would've scared most people she pushed a bottle of water towards him. "You don't want to eat right now? Fine. You want to go hiding and sleep? Fine. But I'm not letting you hobble anywhere…" She jabbed at the bottle with a sharp finger. "… until that whole thing's gone. We need to flush the last of the drugs from your system."

Clint grumbled, very darkly, under his breath.

"One more comment like that and I'll call Laura to let her know what a brat you've been." Natasha nodded at his mortified expression. "Yes, I would. Now drink."

Twenty minutes later Steve entered the room just as Clint left with about as much dignity as anyone who could barely stand. A frown appeared to the soldier's face. "He doesn't seem any better yet."

"Banner will examine him once he's a little less grouchy. But… I think he'll be okay soon." She'd seen him bounce back from so much worse. That's what she kept reminding herself.

* * *

The second Clint made it to his room he lay down, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow properly. Like always when he was sick or injured his dreams were restless. Full of confusing, nightmarish flashes.

/ _A bizarre sound, like someone calling out to a cat, came from right behind him. He turned his head. But before he could see the threat a sharp pain hit his neck._ /

/ _"Maybe you'll be different and last until its ready."_

 _"Ready to do what?"_

 _"Rip its way out of you, of course."_ /

/ _Something pierced his stomach, sending him into a world of fire-hot agony, and he would've given a lot if he'd been able to scream._ /

It was pain and nausea that awakened him. There was a bizarre, very alarming pulsating agony in his stomach. Which was twisting, turning and rolling uncomfortably. Until he had to _go_ , far faster than his head would've been ready for. He barely made it to a toilet before he was already vomiting violently.

It continued longer than should've been humanly possible. Nearly made him black out several times over. When he was finally done, gasping and groaning when his intestines spasmed horribly, he made the mistake of looking down.

The toilet-water was crimson.

* * *

There was no way around it anymore. Careful to do it so that no one else noticed, Clint and Bruce headed to one of the building's medical rooms. The second the archer exposed his abdomen for examination they noticed the small but angry-red wound, the shape of a perfect circle.

Bruce's gaze filled with understandable alarm. The man's eyebrows furrowed. "How did you get that?"

Clint swallowed. Then shook his head. "I… have no idea." How did he manage to miss it until now? Was he really that out of it?

Bruce eyed on the mark critically. "It doesn't look like a stab or gunshot wound. I'll have to give it a closer look." The man got up and fetched a machine straight out of a sci-fi flick. "Lay down and lift the hem of your shirt a little. This won't take long."

Tense, wary and far from reassured, Clint did as he'd been instructed. The tension grew exponentially when a piece of the device was laid on his bare skin. Instantly high-quality footage of the contents of his stomach appeared on a small screen. The need to get away from it all was so intense that the Hawk's foot began to twitch.

"So you woke up feeling nauseous?" Bruce went on after a pathetically small nod, clearly trying to distract him. "Are you still feeling queasy?"

"Yeah, and you asking about it doesn't help." Clint winced at his tone. "Sorry."

Bruce gave him a small smile, his features a little too tight. "I think you have every right to snap." The scientist frowned when the side of his hand brushed the archer's skin. "You definitely have fever. We need to take your temperature when this is over with."

Clint groaned and wiggled, doing what little he could to make himself feel more comfortable. He darted a suspicious glare towards the machine his friend was using. "Are you sure that thing's safe?"

"Stark's invention. So… At least it's been developed by the best team there is." Bruce groaned when he shuddered. "Try to hold still."

"Kind of difficult when my stomach's cramping all the time." Clint tried to peer towards the screen the other man kept staring at. "Can you see anything yet?"

"Definitely no tumors. But… There seems to be some bleeding, which definitely explains the vomiting. I don't…" All of a sudden Bruce's eyes widened a fraction, and the scientist leaned closer towards the screen. "What…?"

Finally Clint managed to crane his neck enough to see, and instantly wished he hadn't. There was a tiny creature that looked almost like an overgrown worm. He had no idea what, exactly, it was doing, but it kept trembling ominously. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know", Bruce admitted quietly, breathlessly. "I guess… some kind of a parasite. It probably got there through your wound."

"Get it out of me!" A reasonable request, right? There was some kind of a bug in his stomach. He wanted it out of him as quickly as possible so he could squash it.

Bruce gulped thickly, refusing to meet his gaze. "I… I would, but…" The look in the man's eyes was far from promising. It was full of fear and defeat. "It's attached to your abdominal aorta. If… If I try to remove it… you'll bleed to death."

Clint slumped at that, emotionally and physically, literally and figuratively. How was it possible to feel as cold as he did then? "And if you don't?"

Bruce didn't answer.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: See, told you it wasn't MPREG!

To bleed to death, or to let some kind of a parasite kill you… Some options…! (winces) Poor Clint! Is there any way to smoke that thing out before it kills him?

Soooooo, folks… Was that start any good at all? Deletion worth? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you is THE BEST. And don't forget the poll from the starter author's note!

Until next time! I REALLY hope that I'll see ya all there.

Take care!

* * *

Carry692: (BEAMS, and blushes) It makes me REALLY HAPPY that you think so highly of my language skills! But yup, a girl from the great north, here. (grins)

OOOH, do give 'DD' a go! I've watched both seasons published thus far, thanks to the recommendation of a dear friend, and LOVED THEM! (I adore Mattie ALMOST as much as I adore Clint, heh.)

I'm SOOOOO THRILLED that you enjoyed the chapter! Heh, we'll see what the next insane adventure brings…

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: It was DEFINITELY different! To imagine a world where you wouldn't be able to see a thing… (shudders)

Ooooh, you should totally check it out if you ever get the chance to! LOVE it, and Mattie. (smiles)

LOL! Imagine that, Clint doing paperwork. The time of miracles never ends! (snickers) OOOOH, and we got a glimpse of Natasha's mysterious dating-history.

I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the next one as well!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	120. Gnawing at My Insides, part 2 of 3

A/N: It's recently come to my attention that this month is called something like… Whumptober? What better time to update this collection? (grins) I'm really fluish, so it took me a mighty while to wrap this up, but here we are!

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your INCREDIBLE reviews, love and support! SO… MANY of you are still here. It makes my heart sing! (HUGS) Pfft, so much for Clint Barton being the useless, unloved Avenger…

Awkay, because I need SLEEP… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Gnawing at My Insides, part 2 of 3

* * *

Clint wanted to throw up. Or throw a fit. Smash things like some poor replica of Big Green, scream his lungs out in a language that would've made Steve blanch. He had the right, didn't he? He had a parasite inside him and it was killing him.

But instead of doing anything such he went completely, utterly numb. Usually he wasn't a fan of sudden physical contact but he didn't even shiver when Bruce wiped the gel from his stomach. Acting on auto-pilot, he pulled down the hem of his shirt and sat up slowly. His voice was almost robotic as he suggested that they should probably have a team-meeting. Because, well… There _was_ a parasite, Hydra definitely had something to do with it and they should figure out what to do. See if there was a chance to get it out before it'd break free, or if he should start organizing his own wake. ( _Now that's positive thinking_ , he mused with something like amusement, too much in a shock to feel the fear and rage he should've.)

For the time being the numb bubble was a good place to be in. It was the only thing keeping him functional. He refused to think about Laura, and especially the kids. He couldn't afford to let the bubble go pop just yet.

The others, understandably, had some difficulties with digesting the whole thing. Tony was the fastest. "So, ah… Do we have any sort of a… timeline?" Which, considering that the one talking was Tony Stark, was a shockingly subtle way of asking how long it'd take before they'd have a… stomach burster. (Clint made a mental note to never, ever watch 'Alien' again. If he'd live through this, anyway.)

"No", Bruce admitted in a clipped tone. It was easy to see his frustration. "I'd… need to see some of Hydra's research material to know more."

"How do we get it out of him?" Thor's booming voice demanded.

And that was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?

Bruce's shoulders slumped. Under less dire circumstances and in a clearer state of mind Clint would've felt sorry for him. "I don't know."

"You don't know shit, do you?" Tony mumbled barely audibly with his usual level of patience, one foot tapping restlessly.

"No, we don't", Clint snapped. The billionaire's restlessness was getting to him, too, because it made his security-bubble crack. He hated it. "This… thing… If it comes out, we don't know how dangerous it'll be." The whole team might be in danger because he got stupid and careless, let Hydra do _this_ to him. The thought didn't sit well with him. "We've gotta stop it." _No matter what._

"Right." Steve took a deep breath. In a few seconds the troubled look in his eyes transformed to steel-hard determination. "Stark and Thor, you're coming with me. We'll go back to that Hydra-base and see if there's something that might help. Nat and Banner, you're staying." They all knew that there was no way Natasha would've agreed to leave Clint's side right now. And should something go wrong… If there was anyone who could help, it was Bruce.

Clint hated not having anything to do. Having to stay behind. But there was no arguing Steve's logic. He definitely wasn't in the condition to head out to the field. And hated being so useless.

Steve seemed to read his mind. The Captain gave him a small, supportive smile. "We'll keep sending updates. Wouldn't do to leave you in the dark."

How about that, something was actually able to make Clint feel marginally better today. Which was a tough thing to accomplish when he could actually, literally feel something eating up his insides. He wasn't an idiot, although he sometimes (okay, often) made idiotic decisions. He knew that _the thing_ was growing, quickly.

The only thing more unnerving than an hourglass of doom, was knowing that there was one and not being able to see it.

Clint didn't realize how deep in thought he was until he shuddered at the fist colliding gently with his shoulder. "Hey." Tony, ever the optimist and refusing to admit that failure was even an option, gave him a grin. "Stop frowning, it'll give you wrinkles. We'll be back soon."

"To save the day?"

"Well, of course." The break in Tony's façade was visible for less than a second. "So hang on tight and wait for us, Tweetie."

Clint's eyebrow bounced up. "Tweetie? That's new."

"Creativity is my second name."

Thor frowned. "Really? Such a strange name."

"Well, of course!" Tony teased his gullible friend. "This world is full of… unusual names. Like Apple."

This time Steve frowned. He seemed genuinely confused. "Who'd name their child Apple?"

"Hey! I think that's a cute name", Pepper argued as she entered the room. She aimed a smirk Tony's way. "Maybe I'll name our first one Apple."

Tony blanched. Pure panic shone in his eyes. "A… kid? _Several_ kids?"

Pepper rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek. "Not yet, dummy. For now you and the team are all the kids I can handle."

Tony snickered like a schoolboy and gave her lips a clumsy peck. The billionaire then blinked, clearly coming to think of something. "Shouldn't you be in Paris?"

Pepper sobered. "I was, until Happy called and told me what happened." Her eyes sharpened slightly. "Don't even try giving me that look. You should've been the one to call me."

Tony opened his mouth. Then bowed his head meekly. "Sorry."

Pepper's face softened. "I know." She then took a deep breath, focusing. "Okay, I've wasted enough of your time. I know you guys, you have a plan. So get going and fix this." The smile she gave Clint was comforting, not pitying. "I think I'll join the babysitter squad."

Clint wanted to thank her, but couldn't find the words. He rolled his eyes instead. "Why does everyone keep acting like I need a babysitter?"

The others gave him a collective pointed look.

* * *

Bruce took an amount of samples that had Clint on the edge of lashing out, even if it was his friend poking at him. His nerves weren't calmed when the whole thing was finished by the scientist wanting to do another scan. The second he lifted the hem of his shirt they both saw it.

Dark bruising covered the skin of his whole abdominal area, screaming of internal bleeding.

"So, now that Nat and Pepper aren't listening…" There was a deep, very disconcerting frown on Bruce's face. "Any new symptoms?"

"I… vomited blood again." Clint could still taste it in his mouth. He shifted with discomfort. Like this wasn't already humiliating enough… "And, er… I… saw some more blood in the toilet, after… business." There really wasn't any elegant way to express that he shat blood.

Bruce, a proper and well-mannered man of science, didn't flinch or giggle. Instead the man nodded and wrote down something. "How's the pain level?"

Clint's shoulders stiffened. There was a parasite gnawing at his insides, trying to grow enough to break free. That happened to hurt. A lot. "It doesn't tickle", he joked weakly.

Bruce's eyes held sympathy and something like worry. "I'm going to give you something for the pain. You should be ready for a new dosage. But first we need to check what's going on in there."

Clint really, really didn't want to see. But he'd always been too nosy for his own good, so he turned his head. With just one glance he could tell that in a matter of hours the parasite had grown considerably. It had a sharp-shaped tail and razor-like nails. Despite not being a medical professional the archer could see that the creature had done a lot of damage. "Oh sh…"

* * *

"Stark, using that kind of language isn't going to get us anywhere."

"You think… I don't know that… Captain Smarty-Pants?" Tony hissed. The billionaire grimaced, hobbling around awkwardly. "I think I… broke a godda…" He swallowed back the rest of the word with difficulty. "… toe."

Steve sighed heavily. Like the long-suffering parent of a child that was causing a chaos in a public place. "Why did you kick a wall?"

Tony pouted, and wasn't ashamed of it. "Was aiming for the trashcan." He glared at his friend, although on a level of reason he knew that the soldier wasn't to blame. "A free tip? Don't know about your… previous time, but in this day and age… no one likes the 'told you so' guy."

It was Steve's turn to glare at him.

Tony winced, finally catching the tone he used. "Sorry. Just… cranky."

Understanding passed by Steve's shockingly old eyes. "I know. I'm worried, too."

"I said nothing about being…!" Tony scoffed. "Fine, whatever." Somehow that succeeded in being an argument, apology and a thank you all rolled into one.

They continued the search in a companionable silence, knowing that they had far more important things to focus on than stupid bickering.

Such as finding something, _anything_ , before the stupid worm would eat their friend alive.

* * *

While Bruce worked determinedly with Tony's medical team to come up with a solution, the rest of those who stayed behind needed something to occupy their minds. Eventually they found themselves playing cards. And another, far more serious game called 'Let's not notice how pale and dazed Clint's getting'. It felt good to trick their minds, at least for a little while.

"It's weird to play when Thor isn't here to accuse everyone on cheating", Pepper pointed out.

"And Tony isn't here to actually cheat", Natasha muttered and pursed her lips while checking her cards.

Clint's eyebrow bounced up. Cold sweat coated his forehead and his hands weren't steady. Clearly the pain medication he'd been given wasn't working anymore. "See that lip-thing, Pepper? That's a sure sign that she's considering cheating."

Natasha glared at her best friend half-heartedly. "For that, Barton… you'll be on decaf for a month."

Clint shrugged. And shuddered, fighting visibly to not bring a hand on his stomach. "I'll just make my own coffee."

"You wouldn't be able to make decent coffee to save your life", Natasha pointed out.

Pepper chuckled. Then put her cards down to reveal a royal flush. "Thanks for the tip, Clint. But I think I can manage."

Both former spies gave her looks of suspicion. "How…?"

Pepper smirked. "I cheated."

Clint stared for a few seconds. Eventually his expression settled to a deeply impressed one. "Pepper Potts, never thought you had it in…" The final word died on his lips with a gasp. Whatever little color there'd been on his face vanished, and a glazed over look appeared to his eyes.

Both women felt a jolt of alarm. "Clint?" Natasha called out sharply. "What happened?"

Pepper was sitting a little further. Just far enough to notice the barely distinguishable swell of his stomach. Her own abdomen knotted. "Nat…" She nodded towards her discovery.

Natasha swore in Russian, loudly and colorfully. They both knew, now. The internal bleeding Clint had… It just got significantly worse.

"'s okay", Clint attempted to reassure them. It might've worked better if he didn't look ready to collapse. "'st a twinge."

"I know. But I'm still going to see Bruce and let him know." Natasha got up swiftly and gracefully. Her following words were barely audible, uttered in the tone usually reserved for missions. "He's going to hypovolemic shock. I'll see if Banner can get those blood transfusions here any faster. Try to keep him awake."

Pepper nodded, her heart racing and her stomach squirming. With Tony she should've grown used to _this_ panic by now. She hadn't.

As soon as Natasha rushed out of the room Clint attempted to follow. Tried, with all his might, but could barely sit up straight. "… time to go?" he mumbled.

Pepper shook her head, hating the tears filling her eyes. "No, no. She'll be back soon, okay? Just… Just hang on tight." Her stomach twisted again, and she brought an instinctive hand against it.

Clint's eyes, hazy as they were, noticed immediately. He smiled, as much as anyone barely conscious and in a horrific amount of pain could. "… gonna tell Tony?"

Pepper's eyes widened. She then rolled them, although she didn't really mean it. "Stop doing that!" The smile that appeared to her lips could've easily lit up the room as she rubbed her stomach tenderly. "I… was supposed to. After Paris."

"… ter this, then."

Pepper nodded. "Yeah. After this." She took her friend's hand and gave it a squeeze. It was heartbreaking how feebly he managed to hold back. "When we've gotten rid of that… space worm, and you're all better."

She didn't like the flash in Clint's eyes. He grounded himself to other thoughts with effort that showed. "… be a brilliant dad."

Pepper's eyes softened. The thought of starting a family with Tony… "I know."

"… gonna pass out… when you tell him…"

"I know."

Clint's eyelids were fluttering hazardously. Pepper's heart picked up pace although it should've been impossible. "Clint?" She shook his shoulder as hard as she dared to. "Hey, Wilhelm Tell. Eyes open! I…" She swallowed thickly when her eyes blurred for a while. "I need you to stay with me."

Clint smirked weakly. "… Tell…? … like that…" And then, without her being able to do a thing to stop it, his eyes slipped closed and he slumped limply to her arms.

Like the two events had been timed to sync perfectly, at that exact moment all lights went out.

* * *

Several endlessly long hours had passed by. The team raiding the Hydra base had found exactly nothing. When a piece of an organization like that gets into a trouble… It wipes away everything. The computers had been rebooted to perfection. All important documents had vanished. What they had was… "… useless pieces of sh…!"

"Stark", Steve cautioned, flipping through a file. "Language."

Tony glared at his friend. And meant it. "One of these days, Rogers… I'm going to punch you in those stupidly perfect white teeth."

"Stupidly perfect?"

"Shut up or I'll start now."

"Friends, enough!" Thor's voice boomed through the whole room, possibly the whole building. It succeeded in making them feel like a pair of scolded five-year-olds. "I found something."

Tony's eyes widened to a comical extend. "Seriously?" He rushed closer, quickly snatching a file from the much taller Asgardian's hands.

"Hydra has been examining those…" Thor's eyebrows furrowed. "… creatures. Apparently there is a thing that can destroy them."

Tony stared at the page in front of him. This time he didn't bother to watch his tongue. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me…!"

* * *

Pepper had never experienced a panic attack herself. But she'd seen enough of them to know what one looked like. She was far, far too close to falling into such.

She jumped and shifted instinctively to shield Clint when several pairs of steps approached the room. She barely managed to relax at the sight of five members of the building's security team. Their leader, Keith, took a step closer. "Miss Potts, Mr. Stark contacted us just before the power went out. Apparently his team has found a… solution. I will escort you outside."

Pepper nodded slowly. She did what she could to catch her breath and compose herself. Keith had worked for Tony for at least ten years, as had most of his team. They were trustworthy. So why was there an alarm nagging at the back of her head? "Bruce and Natasha…"

"Agent Romanoff is investigating the cause of the explosion with another security team. Dr. Banner is waiting for us", Keith assured her. He glanced towards Clint. "Now let's get going. This place isn't secure before the electricity is back on, and it doesn't look like he has a lot of time."

Pepper nodded again. Her gaze happened to fall on the firearms the security team had clearly on display. And for some reason it occurred to her that she wouldn't have been able to fight them even if she tried.

While Pepper whispered soothing words to the unconscious archer, Keith fell several steps behind the rest of them. "We have him. But Miss Potts was with him. Do you want me to neutralize her?"

" _No. Once that magnificent beast is born it'll want to eat. It'll want to hunt, and she makes a good target. Bring both of them here. And hurry. It's almost time._ "

Keith's eyes remained glued on Pepper's back. He smiled reassuringly and waited when she glanced towards him, and went on once she looked away again. "Yes, ma'am. Hail Hydra."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So let's sum up the trouble they're in… Clint's practically dying because of that parasite. Pepper's pregnant. And now Hydra has them, apparently. But where are Bruce and Natasha? And will the team be able to help before it's too late?

PLEASE, do leave a note to let me hear from you! Was this chapter any good? Or deletion worthy? This is your chance to let me know!

Awkay, I REALLY need some sleep to chase off this flu. Until next time, my fellow whump-lovers! Hopefully I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

Guest: NOPE, not exactly. A really, REALLY nasty parasite. Poor Clint! (winces)

Oooh! I've gotta admit that I don't know that game, yet at least. BUT… I may do some digging! And who knows. Maybe I'll go for that prompt one day! (grins)

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

IHaveANameYaKnow: Quite the mess, right? Poor Clint! (winces) LOOOOL, NO ONE could say it better than Coulson!

Awww! It makes me INSANELY HAPPY that you think so highly of this collection, and my talents. (HUGS) Your kind words mean A LOT to me! (starts purring from joy)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

ps: LOL! ME TOO!

* * *

Carry692: I couldn't resist! And I'm thrilled that you like the idea, too. (grins) Poor, cute Clint, right? (giggles)

I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy what's to come as much!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	121. Gnawing at My Insides, part 3 of 3

A/N: So, yeah… This weekend has been PURE HELL. Honestly, I wasn't sure I'd be able to nail an update. BUT, here we are! (smiles)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your INCREDIBLE reviews and support! They really help keep one floating, ya know? (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get disgustingly sentimental… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Gnawing at My Insides, part 3 of 3

* * *

Steve was still a stranger to his… new… current time's hectic traffic. Which was why making his way towards the Tower was an unnerving experience. Having Tony and Thor as passengers made it a nightmare.

"The way you humans manage your traffic is appalling", Thor huffed and shifted restlessly.

"Thor, I swear, say that once more and I'll…!" Tony's sharp, possibly smart remark was cut short when the man's phone emitted a sharp bleep. In a flash all color faded from the billionaire's face. "Cap, step on it or I'll kick you out and grab the wheel."

Steve gritted his teeth and felt his left eyebrow twitching threateningly. Those two were worse than children… "Stark…"

"Pepper just activated an alarm, okay?" Utter terror colored Tony's voice, filled the man's whole face. "We've gotta get to the Tower, fast!"

* * *

It didn't slip Pepper's attention that the guards escorting her and Clint slid closer and closer with each step. Very subtly, almost unnoticeably. Her head whirred with possibilities while she remained stubbornly as close to Clint as possible.

There was a very slim chance that she might be able to sneak away. But there was no way she'd manage to get Clint out as well. She also had no idea where Natasha and Bruce were, or what happened to them. And the thought of just leaving them behind…

With a movement no one would've been able to spot she removed her finger from the device wrapped around her wrist and hoped that Tony got the alarm signal. During two deep inhales she did her best to estimate the elapsed time. And came to the conclusion that she'd have to buy then just a little more of it.

"Keith?" She did a phenomenal job at keeping her voice under control. "I need to get a file from one of the offices. It's vital to agent Barton's treatment."

Keith's jawline twitched. Badly. "Miss Potts, my orders were to…"

"I insist", she practically hissed, then smiled pleasantly. She couldn't afford to blow her cover just yet. If she did one of the men around her might pull out a gun, and they seemed the trigger-happy kind.

Keith was obviously deeply irritated but didn't risk attacking her. At least yet. She wondered how long that luck would last.

Pepper kept counting seconds as they made their way towards the offices at the end of a long hallway. On a stretcher Clint emitted a groan that made her heart shudder. She could only hope that the time she'd have to waste wouldn't turn out disastrous to him.

Pepper tensed up, almost blowing her cover, when she realized that Clint would stay behind with the armed men. It was Keith's turn to give a far from sincere smile. "We'll wait here. I'm sure that you won't take long."

Her fist itched from how badly she wanted to punch him.

Pepper's heart was beating somewhere close to her throat as she continued to count each slipping away moment, and every step made her feet heavier. Hard as she tried, she couldn't stop expecting one of the men to shoot her in the back. Or to shoot Clint. She was terrified for her baby, for her friends, for herself. And she was prepared to fight with tooth and nail for them all.

One of the things she loved about Tony and simultaneously threatened to drive her insane, was that he was prepared for a million scenarios. Which only made sense, when one was as famous as he was, had the enemies he had and did… the surreal, _stupid_ , heroic and _moronic_ things he did. (Fighting gods from other realms, to name one.) And the Tower was Tony's fortress, something he was desperate to make a safe-place not only for himself but also for his friends. (Not that he would've ever admitted as much out loud, even to her.)

After Loki's attack one of the first things Tony did was to ensure that the Tower would be ready for a complete blackout. The building's backup system was about as good as one hospitals used. The problem was, it took a little time to kickstart.

 _Five…_

She started to rummage through some of the files on the desk, doing her best to keep her hands from shaking.

 _Four…_

"Miss Potts, is this absolutely necessary?"

 _Three…_

"Yes." She breathed in deep when her voice threatened to break. "Is he still stable?"

Keith offered no response.

 _One…_

"Ah, here it is." She'd opened a drawer, and stared at the handgun hidden there. The sight made her stomach tighten.

Another security-measure addition Tony insisted.

She'd just grabbed metal when the lights came back on, so violently that it blinded her for a couple of seconds. "Well. There's no need for evacuation, now." This was the final test. There was still a tiny, feeble chance that maybe…

All of a sudden Keith was just a couple of steps away, and whatever shred of doubt there might've been vanished. "Miss Potts." He didn't even attempt to sound pleasant anymore. "We're going to leave now."

Pepper had a very vague idea of what happened next. She fired, and a splash of red along with a growl revealed that she hit something. And as much as the thought sickened her, she decided that the next one would… seal the deal.

Unfortunately Keith was just as determined. Before she had the time to fire the gun again he struck, sending her flying backwards. She hit her head so hard that it was a miracle she didn't black out immediately. Her ears rung painfully and she blinked several times sluggishly.

Then Keith was looming above her, and she had no idea if she had the gun anymore.

* * *

When the power went out Natasha felt a tingle of alarm. When she headed off to investigate what was going on and faced a Hydra-team she got very, very irritated. (Taking down her five opponents didn't help much, because she considered that number an insult.) And when she heard the gunshot she saw red.

Starting to run, Natasha hoped dearly that she wasn't too late already, or there'd be hell to pay.

* * *

Pepper gasped at the exact same second the bullet made impact, her eyes widening. Keith glared back at her, and for a while she wondered if that was the last thing she'd ever see. Until he slumped down, to never get back up again. Her eyes were still wide as she fixed them upon her rescuer.

Clint lay close to the room's doorway, a gun he'd obviously taken from one of the guards-turned-Hydra-agents. Her ears must've been ringing worse than he thought, because she hadn't heard him taking them down. How he managed that she'd never know. But at the moment he was utterly unmoving, and because he lay on his stomach she had no way of knowing if he was still alive.

"Clint?" Was she screaming or whispering? Her damned ears…! "CLINT!" She stumbled to her feet, her heart jumping all the way to her throat with every beat.

Pepper's head wasn't working properly, nor were her senses. Which was why she didn't notice that one of the agents Clint was supposed to handle was alive, after all. Slowly and subtly a hand began to creep towards a waiting gun.

Fortunately someone else did notice. It didn't take more than a new gunshot to neutralize the threat. Natasha's eyes blazed pure lava as they glared at the corpse, then focused on her friends. Only someone who knew her very well would've noticed the sudden, momentary change that slipped through her mask when she took in the sight of the two. "Pepper?"

" _Pepper?_ " It was like she was underwater. The familiar voice barely carried to the mentioned blonde's ears. " _Pepper, is he breathing?_ "

Pepper shook her head. Which, in retrospect, wasn't a very good idea. Everything swayed nauseatingly. "I, ah…" She licked her lips and reached out a badly unsteady hand. "Let me…"

There was a thud, only a flutter. But it was there. Clint was there.

For how much longer?

Inhaling soothing breaths, Pepper stroked Clint's hair. Desperate to try and make sure that he knew he wasn't alone, even if he wouldn't really feel her there. Her eyes were blurry when she lifted her gaze, and the damns almost broke when she found Bruce running towards them.

What a ridiculously bad day…!

"You okay?"

Bruce nodded stiffly. "They locked me up. Guess they didn't feel like dealing with Big Guy. Don't know why they thought anything in here could hold it back." The scientist's eyes flashed in a manner that spoke of slipping control when he focused on Clint.

"How bad?" Natasha demanded in a sharp tone that would've startled most people.

Bruce gulped thickly, his Adam's Apple bobbing. "We've gotta get him to the labs. We're running out of time."

"Good thing I'm here to save the day again, then." Tony's cocky smirked seemed stiff and forced. Especially with the sheer panic shining in his eyes. "My medical team's all set. So let's move. And when this is over with… Someone's gonna explain to me what _the hell_ happened here."

It was all so surreal and overwhelming that Pepper almost broke into a hysterical giggle.

* * *

"You've gotta be kidding me…!" Bruce sputtered.

"Funny thing is, that's almost exactly what I said." Tony gulped in air, then went on. "Hydra… They didn't tell their… test subjects what was inside them. Those poor suckers… They lived until the bitter end never knowing what was killing them. They weren't tortured or interrogated. Actually, they were even allowed to eat and drink whatever they wanted, as long as they cooperated. Until one day, one of them asked for coffee. It killed that thing instantly."

"Coffee?"

"Hey, it's not like I'm making this up." He jabbed at a report with a sharp finger. "It's all here."

Bruce stared. Then shook his head in disbelief. "Coffee?"

Natasha huffed, not pausing her restless pacing for even a second. "Congratulations, Stark. I think you broke him."

"Mr. Stark?" The timid male-voice made every member of the team shudder. "We… have agent Barton on a feeding tube. Are you… quite sure…?"

Tony's left eyebrow began to twitch. "I swear, if someone says the word 'coffee' one more time…!" His tone sent the arrival running.

Several excruciatingly long hours later it was Bruce who entered the room full of anxious Avengers. Carrying a look of relief on his pale face and a glass-container. "They don't know how, because the internal damage was catastrophic. But… Clint's still hanging in there. And… If he makes it through these next couple of days without complications he should be alright. It'll be a long recovery, though."

The length of the recovery wasn't much more than details to them. Everyone's attention locked on the creature in the container. It was less than six inches tall and had no visible yes, but the horrific nails and knife-like tail easily made up for that. It was clearly dead, and transforming from the color black to purple as a result.

Thor didn't say a word. The Asgardian's eyes blazed thunder when he marched to Bruce, grabbed the container and dropped it. Before anyone got the chance to ask or protest the man crushed the beast with his foot. All that remained was a small puddle of yellowish slime and pieces of the skin. And that tail.

"So, now that we have that sorted…" Tony rolled his shoulders, trying to get them to relax. "Coffee?"

"Coffee", the rest chorused.

* * *

Clint had no way of knowing how long he slept. When he woke up he groaned loudly, his stomach feeling like someone had stabbed it repeatedly. He poked at it instinctively, which… certainly wasn't his smartest decision. And immediately proceeded to try again until a hand grabbed his wrist.

"Leave it, Barton. You have no idea how many stitches it took to put you back together. Don't you dare ruin that hard work."

Clint knew that he should've wanted to ask what happened to him. Because… He had absolutely no clue, and he found that absolutely hilarious. Instead, however, he pouted, and succeeded in looking like a five-year-old. "You wanna yell", he accused, and would've pointed a finger at her if he had the energy to lift his hand. "'want Tony. Tony doesn't yell."

Natasha's eyebrow bounced up. "Newsflash, Barton? Sometimes you need to be yelled at." She seemed a little too amused.

Clint's pout deepened. He might've preferred the yelling to this… this… this… "You're mean."

"And you're high. Painkillers really aren't your thing." Did she… just take his hand? That… felt nice. Natasha could be nice, sometimes, he remembered. Did anyone else know that? "Now sleep. Tony hasn't filmed you when you're high yet, but I may."

Clint yawned gloriously and attempted to curl up. A colossal mistake. He whimpered. "Hurts."

"I know." Natasha's voice was soft and quiet, comforting. She really was nice, wasn't she? "Now sleep or I'll start singing a lullaby. Or no, scratch that. I'll call in Thor to do it."

No, apparently she wasn't nice. He pouted again, his eyelids fluttering closed. "… mean …"

"That's what you get for playing around with… alien-creatures and worrying me."

It hurt the heart Natasha wasn't supposed to have how much her admission clearly surprised Clint. He did his best to open his eyes, which had him blinking owlishly until he lost the fight. "… worried?"

What the hell? He wasn't going to remember this when he woke up properly. She squeezed his hand a little harder. "You're going to give me an ulcer one of these days", she sighed.

It was impossible to tell if he was already asleep before he got the chance to hear that.

* * *

That night Natasha slept by Clint's side. In a room very close, keeping watch, the rest of the team slumbered as well. Bruce and Steve with frowns on their faces, Thor snoring loudly with a serene expression. Only Tony was awake as he lay on a couch with Pepper sleeping in his arms, and held on tight.

It came too close. Far too close. He wasn't going to sleep just yet. Not when he couldn't stop himself from waiting for the world to come crashing down. Not when he couldn't shake off the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

* * *

A couple of days later Tony was recovering from the pregnancy-news. And the resulting passing out, which led to him hitting his head on a kitchen counter and afterwards pressing a bag of frozen peas against his head. Hugging Pepper with his free arm and grinning like a loon, he still couldn't quite silence the nasty little voice in his head whispering that something horrible would soon crash down on him.

* * *

A couple of weeks later Tony squeezed Pepper's hand with all his might as a device continued to glide on her gel-covered belly. Tony didn't think his heart had ever performed the kind of a dance it did just then, and his foot refused to stop tapping restlessly. His mouth felt unnaturally dry.

The bad feeling hammering in the back of his skull…

Eventually the examining woman's frowns and silence got too much for him. Pepper's hand was also turning cold and clammy in his. "So?" he urged with every bit as little patience as he had. "What's going on in there?" Was something wrong with the baby?

Eventually the doctor, a tiny woman in her late fifties, sighed heavily. Her shoulders slumped with defeat. "I'm truly sorry that I have to deliver such bad news. But, with this level of deformation…" The woman shook her head, her eyes full of grief. "I'm sorry."

And just like that, with three simple words, Tony's world finally came tumbling down.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: ABOUT THAT SAD ENDING… I'm planning on launching a short-story in near-future, exploring that further. It's been bothering me for a VERY long time what caused a rift between Tony and Pepper between 'Avengers' and 'Ultron', especially after all the issues they'd already sorted out. Maybe THIS, losing a baby, was it…? ALSO, I lost my four-legged baby a couple of days ago, so it's therapy for me. (whimpers and wipes eyes) DON'T WORRY, the short-story WILL have a happy(ish) ending! It'll go through 'Civil War' and 'Homecoming'.

BUT, now… What are your thoughts on this chapter? ANY good, at all? These past couple of days have been ROUGH, so your comments would mean A LOT.

Awkay, I HAVE TO try and get some sleep. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

 **Guest** **(1)** : Poor Clint indeed! (winces) Let's hope that this'll have a happy ending.

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Guest (2)** : Intense and GROSS as heck indeed! BUT, I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the ride. (grins) We'll see how this ends.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Carry692** : LOL! I know, right?! I just COULDN'T resist.

Goes to show how worried Tony was, right?

Awww, I'll write exactly that. EVENTUALLY. (smiles) I love the idea, too! So. EVENTUALLY.

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : I'd say! (winces) Poor Clint! Indeed, he had no way of stopping this from happening to Pepper. Let's hope that she's a smart girl and they'll both make it through this! And that Bruce and Nat are okay.

I LOVE the connection between Clint and Pepper, too! (BEAMS)

Let's see how this whole mess ends…!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	122. The Hawk and His Guardian Agent

A/N: PHEW! SO… It's been a long week. BUT, here I am. A bit weary but still. (smiles) AND, I've got a new tale with me!

FIRST, though…! THANK YOU, so very much, for all your reviews and support! Your kind words made a CRAPPY week a bit easier to face. (HUGS) You're AWESOME!

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **TAKES PLACE** long before the first Avengers-movie, when Clint was still rather new to S.H.I.E.L.D and Natasha wasn't around yet.

* * *

The Hawk and His Guardian Agent

* * *

No matter how hard he tried, Clint couldn't remember being captured. And somehow that irritated him more than anything else. Because with the absence of answers, he was stuck with the never-ending loop of questions.

Did he mess up somehow? Or was it possible that someone betrayed him, handed him over? Did he complete the mission?

And where was he?

It was completely and utterly dark. And as quiet as it would be in a tomb. The silence, which had continued ever since he woke up, was terrifying. Made it feel like the walls he couldn't see were closing on him. No one had made any attempt to approach him, and somehow that made everything worse.

Why wouldn't they just beat the crap out of him and get it over with? That was what the ass… _creeps_ he dealt with usually did. He had no hope of thinking through an escape-plan if he had no idea where he was and how many enemies there were lurking around. Of course he got the prior-mission data, and this time even spent some time flipping through it. But the three days before things headed to _this_ revealed that the material would've had more use in a toilet. Someone messed up the intel, on purpose or due to dramatic incompetence. And here he was.

The last memory-trace he had was of the painfully young S.H.I.E.L.D trainee assigned with him running away, just before the gunshots began. Absolute terror shining in her wide eyes. She wasn't ready, he'd seen that from the start and wondered who chose to send her out. He hoped that she was still alive.

Deciding that he had to do at least something Clint yanked hard. He froze and shuddered when searing pain sped all the way through him, radiating from his wrists. Whatever he'd been bound with… Fighting it didn't feel like a good idea, especially when his hands were slick with blood and something that stung hellishly.

Clint took a deep, steadying breath and swallowed thickly. He shuddered again at how much his mouth hurt. Now that he thought about it, his head hurt as well. A lot. Which probably explained why he blacked out when he did. He was so sore and stiff all over that it was impossible to know if he had any broken bones. He didn't like the way his right leg was twisted.

Clint also didn't like how his stomach felt, the way it twisted and turned. Before the mission turned into a pancake he hadn't had the time to eat a thing in almost two full days. What were the chances that the people who had him were eager to feed him?

There wasn't a sound coming from anywhere, and he began to wonder again if they'd considered him boring and abandoned him.

Apparently not quite. There was a breath-like brush of air, and the hair in the back of his neck stood up as he felt a presence. It circled around him, taunted him, and he would've given a lot if he was able to see. There were more ghost-like breaths against his face, accompanied by a stench he associated with a bad breath. Why wasn't the creep asking anything? Usually these people were yelling, raging and roaring. He wasn't exactly a fan of that and wanted it over with.

The punch wasn't unexpected but managed to catch him off-guard. His head swayed to the side violently and he gritted his teeth to not groan. He wasn't about to give them that satisfaction.

Punches two and three weren't surprising, either. The metal was a special touch. It hit the side of his head with a merciless amount of force, made everything spin although he couldn't see. Two teeth loosened but didn't fall off entirely. Clint wanted to punch whoever the attacker was several times for that. He very much liked having a healthy set of teeth.

He must've been closer to dozing off than he'd imagined, because something hard slamming at his stomach shook him right back to awareness. He gasped and would've probably writhed if he wasn't bound. That hurt. Really, really hurt. He didn't want to guess if a rib had been damaged.

Then, as suddenly as his companion appeared, he was alone again.

Time dragged on. Clint had no way of knowing how much of it. Once again he found himself wondering if he'd been forgotten. Until his captors saw it fit to show that he hadn't been.

The second beating was even more impatient than the first one. His cheek-bone bent unpleasantly under the impact. Something not-very-funny happened to his jaw as well. Well, he didn't have to worry about breaking into an accidental scream anymore. He couldn't have even if he wanted to.

One last kick sent the chair down harshly. He could've considered himself lucky that he didn't break his skull from the force with which it hit the floor. Could've, if he didn't lose consciousness.

* * *

In, out and back again. Clint found himself drifting, which probably wasn't a very good thing. He was injured to an unknown extend and hadn't eaten or drank a thing in… who knows how long. He was running out of time. And since it looked like these people weren't interested in getting answers all he had left to wonder was how much longer they'd be entertained enough by him to keep him alive. Maybe they'd already abandoned him.

Ah, apparently not yet.

The sudden new assault of agony striking his formerly injured leg felt like someone had been tearing the limb off. He kicked as hard as he could with the other one instinctively and almost wanted to smirk with satisfaction when he met something solid. The momentary gratification was nearly worth the second, hammer-hard thunderstorm of pain. This time the discomfort came from the liquid poured on his abdomen. It scorched his skin even worse than the one staining his wrists. This time he did groan, from deep within his throat, unable to hold it back.

He felt a hand against his cheek and tensed up. It lingered far longer than he would've liked, then patted in a nearly friendly fashion before vanishing. Soon he could smell food. Dogfood. And felt tempted to give his mystery-companion the finger.

So starving him was a joke, now?

He was alone once again after that. For a very, very long time. Eventually the dogfood began to smell stale, rotten. The sad truth was that if he could've, he probably would've eaten it. His stomach felt like there were actual knots inside it. He no longer had the energy to even attempt to move. Was he really conscious anymore?

Clint was definitely far more _gone_ than he was _there_ when he sensed a presence yet again. There wasn't enough strength in him to allow him to tense up so he just lay there. Unable to do anything but wait for whatever would come. He had no other way to measure the passing by time than his lethargic heartbeats.

 _One… Two… Three… Four…_

Something warm, wet and sticky splashed on him, making his already struggling heart skip a couple of valuable beats. Then, after who knows how long of nothing but darkness, everything became so bright that it blinded him. Would've made him scream from how much it hurt if it wasn't for the broken jaw.

The sensory overload was so intense that he didn't sense someone approaching before something touched his ear. He fought to convince his body to fight back until he heard Phil Coulson's familiar voice. "… okay, it's okay." If it was okay why was his handler's tone so tight? "I found your hearing aid. … damaged but should work …" More than half of the words were missing, but that hardly mattered now. "… okay … safe …"

Yes. He was safe, now. He had no idea how and decided that he didn't care.

The last thing he heard before his consciousness faded was Phil calling out his name. The last thing he felt was the man's hand squeezing his. And the last thing he experienced was relief.

* * *

The thing Clint hated the most about hospitals was all the noise. The beeping, whirring and other cacophony that assaulted him the second he woke up made him groan and paw at his ear.

"Sorry", Phil apologized softly. "The hearing aid was fixed but they probably didn't get the settings right."

Clint swallowed thickly, hating how dry his mouth felt. He wanted to wince, or ask what the hell he got himself into this time, but realized that he couldn't open his mouth. Panic surged through him like a tidal wave. Unable to think clearly he began to try and feel what was wrong.

"Stop that", Phil admonished him gently. "Those nice people used a lot of time putting you back together. Don't ruin that hard work."

Clint wanted to pout. Or stick out his tongue. They'd definitely given him the good meds. He hated it. Hated everything, really.

Well, maybe not Phil.

"Get some sleep", Phil urged him in a tone that somehow managed to help him calm down. "I'll give you all the answers you're itching for later, but right now you need rest. So stop being stubborn for once and sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

That promise was very nice. But Clint needed some physical confirmation. Cautiously, somewhere deep inside fearing that he might not be able to do so, he opened his eyes just a little bit. Phil seemed blurry to him but at least he could see.

Phil appeared exhausted. Like the man hadn't slept in days. Yet his handler was there, right beside him, keeping watch. And although Clint would've never admitted to having needed someone that discovery made him relax instantly. Or maybe it was just the drugs.

Clint still didn't know how badly he'd been injured. Or what happened to him. There was a long, without a doubt… uncomfortable recovery ahead of him. But he'd never felt as safe. Because for the first time in his life he had someone to watch his back, help him recover. And he had no idea how to feel about that.

He dozed off before he had to figure it out.

* * *

It'd been two days from when he found Clint but Phil's chest still felt uncomfortably tight.

They found the girl the archer headed to the mission with first, dead. It took far too long before they located him. By the time Phil barged in one of the hostiles, wearing night-vision goggles, had already raised a gun to against Clint. The kid lay restrained to a chair next to a long-ago expired, open can of dogfood. The Hawk was so still and soundless that for a far too long moment Phil feared that perhaps they were too late, after all. With the help of that terror it was easy to take the shot which ended the enemy.

According to the medical team in just one more day it might've been too late for Clint. Two broken ribs, a broken jaw, leg and cheekbone, a severe concussion, burns from some unidentifiable acid on his wrists and stomach… After all those it was dehydration and malnutrition which would've killed the archer first. Even the thought of the kid starving to death, all alone in that dark room… It made Phil feel sick to his stomach.

Looking at the sleeping young man – still a child, really – Phil wondered when the loud-mouthed, angry archer with severe issues against authority wormed his way into his heart.

Clint groaned in his sleep, pulling Phil from his thoughts. The handler smiled as he watched the younger man curl up before sliding deeper into sleep. It'd take a long time before Clint would be alright, emotionally and physically. Phil didn't care. He didn't give up during any of those endlessly long days he and his team searched for the archer, and he definitely wasn't going to give up now. "I've got you", he murmured.

* * *

Much later Phil wasn't surprised to find Clint from one of S.H.I.E.L.D's training rooms, against strict orders from the archer's doctor. Just one glance revealed that the night before had been one of the long ones.

"You gonna rat on me, Coulson?"

"Nah." Phil approached, unsurprised that he'd been spotted. "I just thought I should ask if you want a proper sparring partner. You're out of shape."

Clint's bright grin was comfortingly close to the ones _before_. The hawk quirked an eyebrow. "You volunteer to get your ass kicked, old man?"

Phil scoffed and grabbed a punching bag to hold it for the agent. "You're not ready to kick anyone's ass and you know it. So let's get you there. Show me what you've got."

Clint gave the bag his all. Which, at the moment, wasn't very much. But it was a start. Phil didn't realize that neither of them had spoken until the kid did, after taking a long gulp of water. "Coulson?" Their eyes met briefly. "Thanks, for not leaving me there."

They both knew too well how many S.H.I.E.L.D handlers would've done far less. Just like they knew that there'd never been anyone else who would've had the Hawk's back. Phil also knew that Clint deserved better, even if the archer didn't quite believe it yet. "I'll always come and get you. Every single time."

And he did, until he no longer could.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: Oh, how I wish we had the chance to see more interaction between Phil and Clint. (pouts) BUT, this is the type of a bond I imagine between them. Phil probably was the dad, or big-brother, Clint would've deserved.

SOOOOO… How was that? ANY good, AT ALL? Please, do let me know!

 **AND ALSO, JUST SO YOU KNOW…!** The story exploring how Tony and Pepper recovered from losing their baby (at the end of the previous tale) is now out. It's called 'Child of Mine'.

Awkay, I REALLY have to go and get some sleep. Until next time, fellow Hawkeye Fans! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : Clint survived indeed! (BEEEAMS) LOL, I just couldn't resist the idea! Hydra DEFINITELY didn't believe it when they first found out.

Those poor dears, no? (winces) I'm really flattered that the ending moved you so! AND, the story of what happened next is now up! Maybe you'll enjoy that read.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Carry692** : Those poor, poor dears, right? (whimpers) The thought has been bugging me SO MUCH. NOW, the story's finally out, called 'Child of Mine'! Maybe you'll enjoy it?

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	123. Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 1 of 4

A/N: So, guys… This comes a bit late, but… HAPPY HALLOWEEN! (Well, it's been a Halloween-week this week everywhere, anyway, heh.) I've been busy with some travel-preparations, and a certain Marvel-film was something I HAD TO go and see today. (BEAMS) BUT, here we are!

THANK YOU, so much, for your reviews and support! DANG. I can't believe that you're all still following this collection! It means A LOT. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I get sweeter than Halloween-candy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 1 of 4

* * *

Clint woke up to the worst headache he'd ever experienced in his whole life. And considering the amount of hammering his skull had gone through, that was saying a lot. He groaned and rubbed his face roughly with one hand like the touch could've taken away the discomfort.

Okay, so what the hell did he get himself into this time? At least he wasn't tied up, and he was actually able to move. That was… better than he could've expected, honestly.

The absence of bleeping and whirring machinery confused him. Usually plenty of those were involved when he landed himself into a hospital. Not that he particularly missed them.

Opening his eyes was probably a bad idea but he did so, anyway. He'd been too nosy for his own good since he was a kid. Why make an exception now?

It wasn't much of a surprise when all he could see immediately was white. It did come as a surprise that turning his head didn't hurt. Did he… actually get lucky for once in his life, and didn't get badly injured this time? That would've been nice change. Broken bones and life-threatening wounds did get a bit tedious after a hundred and so repeats.

Deciding that he was done with laying around, Clint took a deep breath and braced himself, then sat up very, very slowly. He was almost shocked to discover that there was still no discomfort. The headache he had earlier was gone as well, like a switch had been flicked. Weird. Not the kind of weird he could trust.

Clint shook his head to clear it and looked around. The only other person he could spot was a grim-faced doctor, who was typing on a laptop. Hang on, wasn't she from Tony's medical team? That… was good news, right? It meant that he made it to the Tower. He was safe. But he definitely wanted to get out of the medical wing. "So…" He frowned. "I'm… good to go, right?"

She gestured with her hand. Or maybe she was just stretching. Clint didn't actually care either way. As far as he was concerned it was a permission.

Everything spun and swayed a little, but considering that he just woke up it was far better than he'd expected. And there still wasn't any pain. So he considered himself lucky and marched on. Well, stumbled on, anyway.

Everything sounded distorted to his ears. Including the snoring. With a degree of amusement he turned his gaze to find Tony slouched on a chair close to the room's doorway. The billionaire had some bruises on his face but the man seemed largely unharmed. "Stark?" There was no reaction. "I don't think sleeping there's a good idea. You'll get the backache of the century." Still nothing. Not much of a surprise. When Tony actually did sleep, the man did it like he did everything else. Gave it his all.

Deciding to let the Iron Man have some much-needed rest, Clint gave his friend just one more look to ensure that the man was alright, then moved along. The Tower was almost eerily quiet. The few of Tony's employees he passed by paid no mind to him. Which meant that he probably didn't look too bad or beat-up, whatever it was that happened to him. Good.

The steady, sharp thumps of marching steps caught his attention. Turning his head, he discovered that Steve must've left the room just seconds before he woke up. The Captain stood behind the closed doors of an elevator, pinching the bridge of his nose with two unsteady fingers.

The soldier seemed exhausted and slumped, old beyond his technically still few years. Burdened. Clint wondered if anyone else noticed how overwhelmed by the weight of his new, confusing world and the ghosts of his old world Steve seemed when the man thought no one could see.

Clint's lips opened, but before he could utter a sound the door's opened with a chime and a swoosh, and his chance was lost.

Clint sighed heavily and made a mental note to buy Steve a beer. Or two. The Captain looked like he needed and deserved it. Because no words in the vocabulary of any language would've been enough to convince the soldier that he couldn't take the blame for _everything_.

 _Focus on things that won't make your brain hurt, Barton._

Because… His head was starting to hurt again. Pretty badly.

Clint would've wanted to go and check up on Natasha, but he knew exactly where she'd be right after him getting hurt. The target-boards of a shooting range were going to take the brunt of her frustrated fury until she could start berating him. He didn't think he was ready for her growling or the gunshots.

He needed an aspirin. That decision made, Clint headed towards the building's kitchen area. As it turned out he wasn't the first one there. Wanda sat stirring tea, a morose expression on her pale face. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Seeing her like that _hurt_ , especially when he was at least a part of the cause. Hadn't he sworn to himself, and Pietro, that he'd do whatever it took to protect her?

"Hey", he murmured, trying to keep his tone so low that it wouldn't make his headache worse. He nodded towards the tea. "Got any more of that? I think I could use some."

Wanda didn't respond. Didn't even look his way. Okay. So apparently he'd _really_ messed up, to get her _that_ mad at him.

"Wanda?" So… Yeah, he was starting to feel guilty. Really guilty. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her and risk her powers slipping out of control. "Whatever… stupid crap I did… I'm sorry, okay?" Still nothing. This was getting ridiculous…! "Look, I know I messed up…" He trailed off almost right after he laid a hand on her shoulder. His hand shimmered oddly, then went right through her. Like she was thin air. Or, no, wait… _He_ was.

 _What the…?_

At the same time Wanda yelped and shuddered, so violently that she dropped the tea. The mug hit the table and shattered, the liquid spilling everywhere. It hit his hand as well and should've burned. Instead it went right through.

Wanda looked around, one hand pressed against the spot Clint tried to touch. "What…?" Her voice was barely audible. And she didn't see him, not even when she looked right at him for a couple of seconds. "What was that?"

Clint gasped. Or thought he did. Once, twice, backing away slowly. Then, not knowing what else to do, he ran.

He had to… Needed to… This couldn't be…!

Tony was still sleeping, right where he left the billionaire. Clint wasn't in the frame of mind to pay a lot of attention. Feeling lightheaded and terrified out of his mind, the archer approached the bed he abandoned… How long ago was it, again? A minute? A decade?

Only… As it turned out he hadn't left the bed, not really. He still lay there, eyes closed and with practically no color on his face.

Clint stared in disbelief and something he couldn't even process. Then muttered the only thought his mind could manage at the moment. "This is new…"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So… Yeah. How's that for a (late) Halloween story? (grins, then winces) Poor Clint! How THE HECK can this be fixed? Or will he be the… Invisible Man for… forevermore, or something? And what happened to cause THIS?!

SO MANY QUESTIONS! BUT, the most important one is… How was that? Any good at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you is better than any Halloween-candy.

Awkay, because I REALLY need some sleep… Until next time! I really hope that you'll all be there!

Take care!

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : I'm SO HAPPY that you enjoyed the chapter! I just couldn't resist adding a little bit of Phil! Gotta adore the guy. (smiles) And his relationship with Clint? Absolutely ADORABLE!

DANG, I really hope that someone told Clint the truth! The poor guy DOESN'T deserve living in a horrible lie like that. (winces)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time!

* * *

 **Guest** : Awww, it means A LOT that you enjoyed it so much (BEAMS) Heh, I'm a HUGE sucker for the relationship between Phil and Clint! Those two are just TOO CUTE. Wish we'll get to see some more of them together, one day…

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	124. Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 2 of 4

A/N: PHEW! I've been traveling… basically this all week. And I was SURE that I wouldn't manage an update before the week's through. But here we are! (BEAMS) BUT, first…

THANK YOU, a thousand times, for your absolutely amazing reviews, listings, love and support! GOSH. It's been SUCH a long time, and SO MANY chapters, and you're all still here! That means A LOT. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I'm REALLY tired and the clock's ticking… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 2 of 4

* * *

Clint… zoned out after the truth began to dawn on him. He wasn't too proud to admit that he panicked. He wasn't in his own damned body anymore. If that wasn't a good enough reason to panic, just a little bit, he didn't know what was.

"… any change?"

Clint blinked several times, experiencing a brief and violent case of vertigo before crash-landing to the present. The whole team was in the room. When did they get there?

The doctor sighed heavily. She looked like the sort of a person who did that a lot. Exhaustion was loud and clear in her brown eyes. While she fidgeted he fought the urge to try and shake her to just hurry up and _explain_. "Over the past few hours I've performed several tests", she revealed, her voice croaky. "As I predicted from the beginning, his head suffered a great deal of trauma."

"That wasn't exactly news. He was almost right beside that machine when it blew up. We were all there." Tony sounded every bit as patient as Clint felt. Was that… worry? No, probably just fatigue and irritation. "And?"

The doctor's shoulders dropped. Which definitely wasn't a good sign. "His brain-activity has decreased dramatically, especially over the past couple of hours."

Well. That sounded bad. Really, really bad.

The way the others tensed up suggested that they shared his displeasure. Natasha's fists balled painfully tightly. He wasn't surprised to discovered that her knuckles were red and battered. Her chosen form of stress-relief wasn't gentle. "Is that why you called us all here?"

The doctor nodded. The look on her face gave away that whatever she had to say, it wouldn't be received well. "Unless there's surprising improvement soon… I'm afraid we don't have a lot of options."

Clint's whole body, such as it currently was, sunk at those news.

The team took the information about as well as could be expected. Wanda's hand flew to her lips and moisture flooded to her wide eyes. Clint wished he would've been able to give her a hug, or at least a promise that he was right there and everything would be okay. Natasha seemed ready to kill someone, and gritted her teeth so hard that it made a sound. Tony, quite unsurprisingly, started shouting. Which had Steve shouting right back.

The whole drama was too much for Clint. He was a sniper, the man out of sight no one noticed, not the center of attention. And his head was hurting. A lot. Like it was about to explode. He needed the chaos the stop so he could think. (He chose to ignore the voice in his head that sounded like Natasha's teasing, asking since when he'd done any thinking.)

He closed his eyes. Or zoned out. It was impossible to tell. Which was why he didn't notice how Wanda shivered and gasped, her eyes darting around as she sensed a presence she couldn't quite explain. Nor did he notice that he'd succeeded in grabbing a metallic tray full of medical supplies until it clattered loudly to the floor. That noise stopped all other hassle. It got so quiet that each person could practically hear the increased heartbeat of the one standing next to them.

Clint stared at the items scattered all over the floor and wondered if this was all some sort of a sick joke or a nasty nightmare.

"What… the hell was that?" Tony sputtered eventually, eyes so wide that under different circumstances it might've seemed comical.

Wanda was even paler than before as she looked around. Then whispered something that made the room grow quiet all over again. "Clint?"

Clint blinked once, twice. Then realization dawned. Her powers, of course…! "I'm here, okay? I'm right here. And… We'll figure this out, right?" They'd have to! Because… Living… who knows how long like this, like a ghost or something…

Steve's protective hand was instantly on Wanda's shoulder. The sight made the archer feel better. At least she had the others to look out for her. "Are you alright?" the Captain inquired, and it occurred to the Hawk that only he'd heard her.

Wanda shook her head. Then nodded. "I just… I could've sworn…"

Before she got the chance to finish the doctor was examining Clint's body. She blocked his view, so he had no way of knowing what she did, but the frowns on everyone's faces weren't promising. Nor was the expression the doctor wore when she was finally done. "I… don't know what just happened. I need to perform further tests. But… There seems to be a new decrease in brain-activity."

Clint felt cold. Very, very cold. His head hurt so badly that it threatened to drive him insane. He was scared, frustrated and needed a chance to try and figure out what was going on. His friends started shouting, furiously determined to not give up on him. He wanted to beg and plead them to stop, just for a little while. He wanted… Needed to…

Scream. Yeah, that was the word he was trying to find. But he couldn't utter a sound anymore. Instead he found himself… fading.

If the others hadn't been so focused on arguing with the doctor they might've noticed how one of Clint's hands twitched a little on the bed.

* * *

The next time Clint was able to… experience something he stood beside his own body once more. Steve sat beside his bed, and looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. The sight made the archer groan. "Seriously, Cap…! If you don't stop stressing out over us like that you'll go grey before you're 40. Or… 100. Or however old you are. And stop that frowning. You're getting wrinkles. Gray hair and wrinkles don't suit Captain America."

Steve shivered, and for a second he harbored hopes that his friend heard him. But then the man sighed heavily, shoulders slumping under a crushing invisible weight. "The doc said that we should…" _What, unplug me? Let the vegetable go? Just say it, Cap. I'm a big boy, I can take it_ , Clint wanted to snap, despite knowing full well that his friend had done nothing wrong. The soldier swallowed loudly, focusing intently on the room's wall. "But… That's not why I'm here. Why any of us is here. Stark's working to figure out something, and Nat… She's hunting the rest of those who caused… _this_. So… We're not giving up. I'm not giving up." The Captain shifted on his seat, appearing embarrassed all of a sudden, and scratched his head with an unsteady hand. "I… don't know if you can hear me, but… I thought you should know that."

Clint had no idea what to say. (Not that it mattered much since, well, at the moment he was a ghost and wouldn't even be heard by anyone.) Throughout his entire life he'd had so few people who believed in him, who refused to give up on him. In the end he decided that there was only one thing he could say. "I won't give up, either. So…" He nodded towards the respirator his body was connected to. Was it there earlier? Why couldn't he remember? Did he even notice it before? "Don't let them unplug that thing yet, yeah?"

Steve sighed heavily and buried his face to both hands.

Clint winced. And fought a very unmanly urge to hug his friend. Ghosts didn't hug people. Nor did assassins. Well, former assassins. "I know. Sorry. That was a bad joke."

* * *

Wanda found it terrifying when she first felt the ghostly presence. Like a whisper in the back of her mind. Until she began to suspect that it was Clint. After that… After that she couldn't help wishing to feel it again. It was comforting, to know that he was still there with them somehow. That they hadn't lost him, no matter what the doctor said.

Now, close to midnight of day… she didn't know the number anymore, she was sitting right beside him. As close as she dared to go without fearing that she'd disturb the wires and machinery. And she couldn't feel him at all anymore. The sudden loss of contact was terrifying.

She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand. "You're still… there." Alive, at least. In body. She didn't want to think further than that. "I'd know if you weren't." Wouldn't she?

She felt the loss of her parents, back then in another lifetime. She truly thought the pain would kill her. She definitely felt the loss of Pietro, because it ripped apart a piece of her as well. After the time that'd passed since that fateful day… Clint was something of a family, too. So… Wouldn't she feel, if…?

She frowned and winced at how much her eyes hurt. But she didn't break down and cry, nor did she lose control. She was an Avenger, now. She'd fight. They all would. Together.

His hand was cold but he had a pulse. There was life. There was hope. She focused firmly on that.

* * *

/ _Wanda was just a little girl at the time. But she still remembered the look on her mom's face when their afternoon walk led them to the ruins of what used to be someone's home. She was too young to understand what, exactly, the discovery meant. To understand the pain on her mom's face, the tears of pain and terror that shone in her eyes for a moment. But then… Then they saw a flower, stubbornly pushing its way through the battered ground. And her mom's eyes shone brighter than the sun itself. "See, love?" her mom murmured gently, and kissed the top of her head. Hugged her so tightly that it almost hurt. "Where there's life, there's always hope. Whatever happens… Never forget that."_

 _In a bitter twist of fate, only days later her parents died. As soon as she was freed from the ruins Wanda destroyed the flower with her bare hands, furious over its betrayed promise. But she could never forget her mom's words._ /

* * *

Wanda's hold on Clint's hand tightened. Did it feel warmer, or did she imagine it? "There's hope", she told them both. "So… I'll fight with you. Just like you taught me to."

What came next was one of the most bizarre experiences of Wanda's young life. Which was saying a lot, actually. All of a sudden, without any warning, Clint's hand twitched in hers. Just barely, and only for a couple of seconds, but still.

Wanda smiled, her eyes shining.

* * *

Clint had no idea how long he lingered in that bizarre place between life and death. Until suddenly he found himself lingering beside his own body. Again. Deciding that he'd had enough of hanging out with that disturbing view, he headed towards one of Tony's favorite labs. He wanted to see if his friend was getting anywhere with trying to sort this crap out. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to check up on the genius. Not that he would've ever admitted as much.

Finding Tony talking to himself was nothing uncommon. In fact, considering everything that was going on, seeing his mad scientist of a friend pacing and muttering was comfortingly familiar. As was that deep 'thinking frown'. (Which Tony insisted had nothing to do with aging.)

"So… Let's see what we have so far." Tony rolled his shoulders, like a boxer bracing themselves for an important match. "We've got some Hydra-machine blowing up… It knocked Feathers right out…"

Clint rolled his eyes. "So you call me that behind my back, too, now?"

He fully expected Tony to just keep going. Because, really… When the man's brain started ticking it was an unstoppable train. And it wasn't like anyone could hear him, now. Instead of ranting on, however, the genius froze. Completely.

Clint felt his eyes grow wide. "Tin can?" He could feel the tension growing. His head…! It was _killing_ him. (What an unpleasant thought, all things considered.) "Did you just… hear me?"

Tony began to turn as though in slowed motion. Until they were facing each other. Staring at each other.

Seeing the look on his friend's face, Clint winced. "Don't scream", he begged. (As far as hardened field agents begged. He had a reputation to live up to, after all.) "Please don't scream." He didn't think his skull would be able to handle it, because it was splitting and cracking already. (Or felt like that, anyway.)

Tony screamed, shrilly and loudly.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…! Poor Clint! And poor team! But… What does this mean? Will his… ghost remain visible to others, too? Is he going to make it permanently back into his body one day? If he will, how?

Quite a bit of questions! (chuckles) BUT. Here comes to most important one! Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know!

Awkay, I REALLY need to get some sleep. Until next time, folks! I hope you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

 **Guest** : Quite the mess our poor Hawk's in, right? We'll see how this can be sorted out… (gulps)

HUGE thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : LOL! Clint just can't react to stuff normally, can he? (giggles) Poor dear! This is gonna be SO bumpy.

Awww! I REALLY HOPE that the chapters to come will be worth the anxiety. (HUGS)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Carry692** : WELCOME BACK! (BEAMS, and HUGS)

I'm a sucker for 'in the beginning' stories, so they'll definitely keep popping up. (grins) I'm SUPER happy that you've enjoyed these past couple of chapters! We'll see just how this new tale turns out… I really hope that it'll meet your expectations!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	125. Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 3 of 4

A/N: PHEW! It took WAY longer than I expected to get this chapter completed. BUUUT, here we are. (grins)

Before getting to the actual business, though… THANK YOU, a million times, for your amazing reviews, love and support! They SERIOUSLY help keep this collection flying. (What, bad puns are badass.) (HUGS)

Awkay, because I know what you came here for… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **To anyone suspecting that every time Clint's brain-activity decreases (aka his body slips away a little more) as his 'ghost' gets more active… You're absolutely correct! (grins and high-fives) HOORAY TO FAN-FIC SCIENCE! (smirks)**

* * *

Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 3 of 4

* * *

The echo of Tony's far from manly scream had barely died before he was already sputtering incoherently. "What the…? How the…?" He gestured wildly towards the nearly transparent apparition standing in front of him.

"I don't know!" Clint sounded pissed off, scared and pained. The man – or ghost, or… whatever it was that he was – winced. "I… was sort of hoping that you'd be able to tell me. Because I'd, ah, really like to get back to my body." The archer frowned. "You're… not gonna pass out or something, are you?"

Tony swallowed several times. Eventually a hysterical chuckle crawled up his throat. "I'll tell you when I know." Which actually answered to both of Clint's concerns. It took many deep, calm breaths before he was composed enough to speak without fearing that he'd squeak. "Are you… okay?" As soon as the words came out he realized how stupid they sounded.

Clint answered with an appropriate unimpressed, arched eyebrow. "Yeah. Sure. Perfectly fine. As soon as we figure out what the hell's going on and how to fix it."

Fix it. Right. Wasn't that what they'd been working on since this mess began? Fixing this sounded like a marvelous idea. "Whatever this is… I think it was caused by that machine. My research team was able to find some faint traces of radiation and a few parts of it. They're trying to replicate that thing, but…" He gestured with his hand again, feeling infuriatingly helpless. "It's like fumbling around in the dark when we have no idea of the design."

"You'll figure it out." Clint went on at his friend's shocked expression. "I… guess none of us says this enough. I know I don't. But… We believe in you. _I_ believe in you." The ghostly figure's eyes narrowed. "If you ever tell anyone I said that…"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Budgie, please. You don't even have a proper physical form right now." Saying that made him feel like he was in a really, really bad sci-fi movie.

Clint snorted. "Shellhead, please. You think I need a physical form for a payback?"

Tony felt some of the color that'd been returning to his face slip away. Several… unpleasant possibilities flashed before his eyes. He pouted and pointed an accusing finger at his friend. "You're an ass sometimes, Barton. You'd better hang in there, so I can kick your feathery butt for getting yourself into this mess." If his voice nearly broke towards the end, no one would ever have to know.

Clint smiled faintly, obviously catching the unvoiced words. "I'm already looking forward to seeing you try." All of a sudden the archer sobered. "Look… Just in case this all goes south… Tell Steve…" Whatever it was Clint meant to say, it never came out. Because with the Captain's name out came a gasp of pain, and the ghost's face transformed into a mask of _hurt_.

So, yeah. Tony panicked, right there. And decided that he had every right to do so. "Clint? What's going on?"

Clint was barely able to choke out words while clutching at his own chest. The man seemed to be fading away more and more with each passing second. "I… don't know… Hurts…" Then, with a roar of sheer agony that'd haunt the billionaire for years, the Hawk disappeared completely.

Tony wasn't able to react. Could barely process what just happened. Before he got the chance to decide what to do Wanda rushed into the room, her face pale and eyes wide. "Clint just went to cardiac arrest."

After those words Tony knew exactly what to do.

* * *

The medical team was able to get Clint's heart going. But it took far too long. The doctor, who was too honest to any of their liking, announced that if it wasn't for some miracle there was a degree of brain damage. And with each ticking by hour it became less and less likely that he'd be able to ever regain consciousness.

"He hasn't been breathing on his own for a couple of days. His heart, along with several other vital organs, are failing. And he barely has any brain-activity anymore. I think it's time you start considering… options."

The frosty silence in the room could've been cut by a knife.

"So…" Steve looked like he might throw up any given moment. The team, which didn't meet him immediately after Bucky's fall, had never seen him appear so lost. "You're saying that we should… let him die?"

The doctor nodded slowly. The look of sympathy on her face made them all feel sick. "You need to think what's the best for him. The life he'd have like this…" She motioned towards the comatose body. "Is it really any kind of a life?"

"Just hours ago I felt him squeeze my hand." The look on Wanda's face suggested that she'd spent too much time training with Natasha. "I felt him trying to come back! We're not giving up on him."

The doctor nodded and sighed. "Involuntary reflexes are very common. But you've seen the scans…"

"We're not making that decision right now." Natasha's voice was firm and sharper than a knife. Her eyes were full of threat as they glared right into the doctor's. "So you can leave." It wasn't a suggestion.

Clearly the doctor had some self-preservation instincts, because she hurried away.

As soon as the team had been left alone Tony spoke uncharacteristically quietly. "He's still fighting." They didn't think they'd ever seen the billionaire so serious before. "And… So are we. Until we've figured this out."

"What if his body gives out first?" Steve asked barely audibly, unable to look away from the life-support machinery although it was the last thing he wanted to see.

"It won't." Only someone who knew Natasha very well could read her true emotions from her tone and eyes. She couldn't look away from what was left of her best friend, either. "The idiot knows better than to let it."

None of them saw, and Wanda couldn't even sense, the man stood right next to them. Clint wondered if he looked as miserable as he felt. Forget about the headache, his chest-area was far worse. "I'm trying", he swore in what wasn't even a whisper. "I'm trying." But the more he tried, the more he seemed to fade away.

* * *

Steve offered to take the next watch. It was because of his mistakes and bad leading Clint was in this situation to begin with. The least he could do was to try and be a decent leader, to choose the correct course of action, now. Even if it was too late.

There weren't really coma patients in his time. There definitely wasn't the kind of machinery it took to keep Clint alive. If he was perfectly honest with himself it was beyond terrifying. Whenever he moved even an inch he feared that he'd disturb something. There was so much delicate equipment everywhere. And the archer, who'd always been full of life and fight, seemed so fragile that even the brush of a fingertip might've shattered him.

When two nurses came to tend to the Hawk's wounds, revealing the full extend of damage, Steve decided that his limit had been met. He got up faster than his head would've liked and slipped to the room's toilet. As soon as he'd locked the door he leaned against the sink and drew several deep, shuddering breaths.

"I'm not giving up." He couldn't, not yet, not like this. "But… Wanda and Tony… They're so sure that you're… here. And… I think I need a sign, too. Any sign…" He trailed off. _Any sign that not letting go is the right thing to do._

Steve rinsed his face roughly. Because he was tired after days of barely any sleep and stress. When he lifted his head he wondered if he'd ended up falling asleep standing up.

Out of nowhere fog appeared to the mirror, like someone had breathed to it. And slowly letters began to appear to it. That handwriting… Was it Clint's?

' _NOT YOUR FAULT_ '

Five minutes later the fog and the words he'd most likely imagined were gone. Only then Steve managed to function enough to wipe his eyes. He frowned with confusion when his skin met moisture.

* * *

For the first time since seeing Clint's ghost disappearing in a chilling manner Tony felt hope as he followed Wanda and Natasha. "So… You're saying that you found someone?"

"He was one of the scientists who built the machine." Natasha jawline seemed painfully tight. "He escaped right before we attacked."

"Do I want to know how you managed to track him down?"

"No, you don't."

Tony decided to take her word for it. Especially when the doors opened and he saw the bruises covering their reluctant visitor's face. The man with dark hair was just a boy, really. Young and inexperienced. No match against Black Widow. One ridiculously blue eye had swollen closed but the other glared at him.

Tony smiled disarmingly. "Evening. And sorry about the…" He gestured towards the bruises. "You know."

Natasha's phone announced a message. The look that flashed on her face for a second tempted him to ask what was going on. "As much fun as this would be… I need to step outside." She gave him and Wanda a look. "Don't do anything I wouldn't." The door banged closed like a judge's hammer.

The young man's glare hardened. The impact was diminished by the fact that he was starting to tremble. "I'm not going to tell you anything."

Wanda smiled. It was disturbing how she managed to look incredibly young and terrifyingly threatening at the same time. "Yes, you will."

Ten minutes later the boy sang like a canary.

* * *

Carefully yet subtly making sure that no one was watching or listening, Natasha took a deep breath before making a call. Laura picked up immediately. " _What do you mean he's in a coma?_ " Considering the circumstances, she sounded incredibly calm and composed.

Natasha clenched her jaw. She hated making these calls. Every single one reminded her that she was supposed to have her best friend's back, and she failed. "There was an explosion." Which was about the amount of detail she was willing to reveal. She inhaled sharply through her nose. "How fast can you get here?" Now these, were the calls she hated _the most_. To her it was almost as good as saying 'Hurry up, we're losing him'.

Laura didn't break down. But as it turns out, it's possible to hear someone's heart breaking. " _Give me a couple of hours and I'm on my way._ "

With how quickly Clint's body seemed to be shutting down, Natasha found herself wondering if they had that long, no matter how much she hated the thought.

* * *

Clint winced as he watched Wanda wipe her mouth while emerging from the toilet. Somehow his chest-area succeeded in hurting even worse than before when she slumped to the chair beside his comatose body and emitted a stifled sob. "I… didn't know that I could…" She swallowed thickly, and for a moment he feared that she might throw up again. "I wasn't supposed to… I promised myself…!"

"Hey!" He wasn't going to watch her sit there and blame herself, when this whole nightmare was entirely his fault. "Stop that. Right now."

Apparently Wanda couldn't hear him at the moment. She looked at his body with misery-filled eyes. "The person I turned into today… It wasn't the one you taught me to be. That person… You wouldn't want me to be her. But… There was no other choice."

"I know." He approached her, and without a thought lay a hand on her shoulder. "Do you have any idea what I've done because I've had no other choice? You wouldn't want me to be him, either. But you'd accept him as a part of the whole deal. You're not a monster. And…" He gulped, not liking the lump in his throat. "I need you to believe that, and remember that. Just in case I can't be here to remind you."

Wanda shivered. The feel of a hand on her shoulder… It was so real and vivid that it made breath catch into her throat. But when she turned her head she was alone in the room. Or at least it seemed that way. "Clint?"

There was no response. She couldn't even sense anything, or anyone. It left a horrible, sinking feeling to the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Clint wasn't even shaken or surprised to find himself outside his own body anymore. Which alone was alarming. He stood right there beside his bed, trying to get used to all the machinery.

He'd always _hated_ hospitals.

This time Tony was beside his bed, fast asleep and snoring loudly. "So you actually stepped out of your lab?" Clint approached with a healthy amount of caution. "You'd better not scream this time, Tin can, because my head hasn't recovered from the last time", he muttered. Then nudged at his friend's foot experimentally with his own. Nothing happened, which wasn't exactly something to be worried about at first. Until a thought crossed his mind.

That wasn't Tony's usual, rumbling snore.

Eyebrows furrowing with growing alarm, Clint let his eyes travel downwards. He felt far colder than before when he saw the mug of coffee that'd fallen to the floor, brown liquid spilling all over the place. "Stark, you idiot…!"

He always joked that Tony had no taste buds. A small amount of something slipped into his drink… The genius wouldn't even notice. But who…?

The doctor in main charge of his care entered the room. She cast a smile towards Tony. "Sleeping like a baby. Good." When she reached his bed something truly chilling took over her eyes. "We wouldn't want him to bother us, now would we?" She started humming a song he didn't quite recognize while working on the machinery. She switched off all alarms. Then the functions. The respirator wasn't helping him breathe anymore. And very quickly the screen showed his vitals going ballistic before the lines began to crumble.

"Hey!" Pain, a lot of it, took over all of him. Filling his chest, then his head, and finally his stomach, until he feared he might explode. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?"

She shivered, as though hearing him. Then continued to hum while she made her way to the room's door and locked it. Her steps were slow and calm as she stood beside him again, watching his face, then the screen. Soon the lines would be flat.

Panic and agony had the ghost of Clint gasping. He had to focus, needed to focus. Or he'd die. And there was no telling what that woman would do to Tony if the billionaire woke up.

While Clint's physical body continued to slip away he felt his current form gaining strength. He was dying, more likely than not past the point where he could be saved. But he'd do whatever it took to make sure that Tony, at least, would be safe. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the now useless machinery, then at the woman. "You really, really shouldn't have done that."

The way she tensed up revealed that this time she definitely heard him.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Nope. NO ONE should be stupid enough to mess with Clint's life-support. And Tony, watch what you put into your mouth! (groans) Oh dear. How's this whole mess going to end?

AAAAAND… Was that any good, AT ALL? PLEASE, let me know! I ABSOLUTELY ADORE hearing from you.

Awkay, I REALLY need to head to bed. Until next time, my Hawk-loving friends! Hopefully I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : Tony screaming like a girl… Who WOULDN'T want to hear that? (smirks) DANG! Let's hope that they can sort this mess, before it's too late. Because it DOES seem that Clint's slipping away. (winces)

I know, right?! Steve needs a HUG! (pouts)

Monumental thank yous for the review! I REALLY hope that the next one pleases you as much!

* * *

 **Guest** : LOL! Yup. I'd DEFINITELY scream, too. (chuckles) Poor Tony and Clint!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Carry692** : LOL! It's Tony. OF COURSE he screamed! (snickers) Poor dears, though. This is SUCH a mess!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	126. Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 4 of 4

A/N: A couple of scenes from this chapter acted up with me. BUT, now they've been tamed and this is good to go. We'll see just how this whole mess ends…!

BUT, first… THANK YOU, so much, for your reviews and love! DAAAAANG. I could've NEVER imagined that this story would obtain so many friends! And some people actually imagine that Clint's the 'unloved, useless Avenger'. Let's prove them wrong! (BEAMS, hugs and high fives)

Awkay, LET'S GO! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride. Just, when it's over… Remember that killing the author isn't an answer… (winces apologetically)

* * *

Clint Barton's Ghost Story, part 4 of 4

* * *

Tony had woken up in incredibly bizarre manners several times in his life. A great number of times alcohol had something to do with those… unfortunate adventures. But this time, as his eyes fluttered open, he was completely and utterly sober. No matter how much he immediately wondered if he wasn't.

Clint's primary doctor was in the room. And right before Tony's bewildered eyes an invisible force threw her at a wall. Only, he knew that it wasn't just an invisible force, even if the ghost of his friend couldn't be seen this time. His chest constricted while his gaze traveled slowly towards Clint's body on the bed. Somewhere along the way his gaze brushed past the monitor keeping an eye on the archer's vitals. Seconds later the screen was all he could see.

The flat line and blinking red light seemed to mock him. But… Why wasn't the machine screaming?

Because the alarm-sound had been switched off.

All of a sudden Tony understood far too well what was going on. His gaze strayed from Clint to the doctor who was struggling to get up. The billionaire saw red.

Tony didn't even realize that he was moving until he was already attacking the woman. His fist struck twice before the hand opened and pressed down, hard. "What did you do?" he screamed, rage and sheer terror coloring his tone. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

The doctor gasped and struggled, but didn't utter a word.

Tony was blind and deaf from fury. But still, somehow, a voice succeeded in breaking through the scarlet haze, faint as it was. "Tony, don't!"

Tony blinked once, twice. And shivered. "Clint?" His lips opened but nothing else came out. What was he supposed to say?

It wasn't until then he realized that he was actually strangling the woman beneath him. Disgusted with his own actions, he let go like her skin had burned him and shuddered. She continued to gasp, tears pooling into her wide, glazed over eyes. She looked like her mind was somewhere a million miles away.

Slowly, slowly, Tony looked up. A new shiver crossed all of him when he saw Clint stood there, looking almost as solid as if the man had an actual body. Such cold that didn't seem human filled the billionaire. "How long?" _How long has she kept you from oxygen? How long ago did your heart stop?_

Tony decided that he didn't want to waste time on waiting for his friend's answer. Coming to the conclusion that the woman he'd subdued wasn't going anywhere, he scrambled up and hurried to the machinery. His fingers were clumsy and unsteady but they got the job done. Soon enough everything was in working order.

Except for Clint's heart.

Their eyes met, and the amount of remorse in Clint's was painful. "Tony… It's okay." This time the archer didn't scream from pain. Only gasped and gritted his teeth, eyes on him the entire time. Somehow that hurt even more to watch, because it meant that Clint was sure he wouldn't come back. Because it was a goodbye. And then, before Tony could utter a sound, his friend was gone. The Iron Man was left wondering if those were the last words he'd ever hear from the Hawk.

Tony hadn't known that the doctor had locked the door until it was taken down and people flooded in. Someone who sounded like Steve asked if he was okay. No. Of course he wasn't alright, in any way whatsoever.

Before he was escorted out of the room he saw a team of medical professionals starting to work on Clint and the nearly identical expressions of defeat on their faces.

/ ' _It's okay._ ' /

"… charging …"

/ ' _It's okay._ ' /

"Clear!"

Clint's whole body jumped violently under the assault of electricity just as the doors closed, separating them.

/ ' _It's okay._ ' /

Tony finally gave in and _screamed_.

* * *

Steve's head spun and he felt an overwhelming urge to curse at the top of his lungs while he practically dragged Tony out of Clint's room. They had to give the medical professionals space to work, he told as much to his friend as to himself. Everything would be alright. They'd just have to wait for a while.

When Tony was finally done with fighting him to get back, the man didn't seem to have any strength left. It hurt the Captain physically to watch how such a fiery, stubborn man sagged to a chair listlessly, a picture of defeat. That sight alone was almost enough to make Steve's bubble wrap of 'It's alright' burst. Desperate to focus on something, anything, else the soldier turned his head sharply, facing a window. Which turned out to be a huge mistake, or the best thing he could've done, depending on how one looked at it.

In the window's reflection he saw not only his own too pale face and unhealthily bright eyes. But also Clint. The archer's ghost, or whatever it should be called, stood right behind him. Keeping watch as always. When their eyes met Clint offered him a sad little smile and a military-salute. No words were needed to express exactly what the Hawk wanted to say. Then the ghost began to fade away.

By the time Steve was finally able to function, just seconds too late like he far too often was, and spun around, his friend was already completely gone.

* * *

Wanda had announced, firmly, that she'd be the one to take the next watch. Because even though she couldn't feel Clint like she did at one point… At least being in his room was a reassurance that he was still around. Fighting on. There was hope.

The elevator was taking her down, yet all of a sudden she felt like she'd been flying up. Something she couldn't even begin to explain wrapped around her. Like a pair of arms. She gasped, the surreal situation sucking all breath from her lungs.

Was she dreaming?

Suddenly Clint was right there in front of her. Nearly transparent but more real than most of the people she passed by every day, because she _felt_ him. The grief in his eyes was palpable. "I'm sorry, kid. I tried. I need you to know that I tried." And then, before she could breathe again, he was gone.

"Clint?" Nothing but silence answered her. What overcame her was eerily similar to when Pietro… "CLINT!"

* * *

Natasha wasn't sure how long she'd been pacing through the hallways of the Tower. Unable to convince herself to approach Clint's room and too restless to stay away without keeping her feet otherwise occupied. It was infuriating, all of it.

Clint had believed in her from the moment they met. It was a debt she didn't think she'd ever be able to repay. Yet she was going to try. But to try she needed more time. A lot more time. And for that Clint would have to keep fighting.

' _I'm not going to let you fall, so grab my hand and hold on!_ '

Clint's voice came so suddenly that she froze, her eyes widening a little against her will. She shivered and looked around, despite knowing full well that her best friend couldn't be there. Still… She wasn't able to shake off the feeling that she wasn't alone.

And then she felt familiar, calloused and always cold fingers wrapping around her hand, holding on firmly. She couldn't even begin to process what overcame her in that very moment. Too much for her to process. It was a reassurance, apology and goodbye.

* * *

/ " _I'm not going to let you fall and die, so grab my goddamned hand and hold on!"_

 _It was the first time in her life Natalia Romanova didn't feel all alone in the world. So she did what every little bit of her training told her not to. She obeyed, and held on._ /

* * *

Natasha wasn't aware of the lonely tear meandering down her cheek.

* * *

It was the most bizarre and horrible thing Laura had ever experienced. Something warm went through all of her, only to leave a hollow ache upon passing. As though the caress-like touch had taken something with it. She had to pull over and press a hand against her chest while she gasped, her eyes widening.

Actually… She recognized what she just experienced. That warmth was what she felt during every single one of Clint's kisses.

Laura shook her head in denial and disbelief. No. She was being stupid. She'd go to the Tower, and then she'd see with her own two eyes that…

Her phone started ringing, turning her blood to ice once more.

* * *

 ** _Five Months Later_**

* * *

Tony had spent most of the past months working in the Tower's laboratories. Which he absolutely refused to call hiding. He'd been researching.

So far he'd learned that Clint's… curious condition was definitely the result of the machine's antics. A lot the pieces that'd been found had been examined but unfortunately there was infuriatingly little to work on. Based on the data Tony had in his hands by now, it'd become clear that device's explosion should've killed Clint to the spot. But the archer kept clinging to life, of course he did. Because that was what Clint Barton did, who he was. The man kept fighting so very hard and then…

Tony pushed away the mug of coffee he'd been sipping with a scowl. He found it too bitter for his taste. Especially when he was starting to crave for something far sharper.

He needed to figure this thing out. Sure, it wouldn't do Clint a lot of good anymore. But he wanted to understand…

His cell-phone bleeped, which was enough to make him jump with an undignified little squeak. He recovered with a cough, then sighed, fully expecting it to be another message from Pepper.

He was proven wrong sharply when the sender's name glared up at him. It was nurse Callum. Known among friends as Laura Barton. ' _CODE FEATHERS._ '

Tony was running before the phone was properly back in his pocket.

* * *

Steve was running, too. And after the Captain had passed him by like a breeze six times it was starting to drive Sam Wilson insane. "Showoff!" he grumbled at last, knowing full well that his friend's sensitive ears would catch it.

To his surprise Steve actually slowed down to his pace. And had the decency to appear sheepish. "Sorry about that. I… guess I needed to blow off some steam."

Sam shrugged, trying to breathe normally despite their speed. "We all get those days." Over the past four months Steve had experienced more of 'those days' than he could count. Sam knew that his friend refused to stop blaming himself for what happened to Clint. Captain America was no coward. But sometimes, some days, running away from the ache is all a person can do to stay sane.

They ran another fifteen minutes, the Captain doing his best to run slowly and the Falcon working his hardest to go faster. "You're not even out of breath… and I feel ready to keel over." Sam swallowed a greedy gulp of air. "Sometimes… it's really hard not to hate your guts."

It felt good to get a small but genuine grin from Steve as a response, because the guy didn't smile enough.

Whatever lightness they'd succeeded in obtaining was shattered when Steve's phone gave a bleep. Some color faded from the soldier's face. "I've gotta go." And this time the Captain was running towards something rather than running away.

* * *

Wanda had spent a huge part of the past few months training. She was still a new Avenger, and had powers even she didn't fully understand yet. It'd take a lot of time and effort before she'd have enough skills and control to do fieldwork safely.

She wanted to become the Avenger Clint saw from the beginning she could be.

It wasn't easy, of course. There were a lot of days when she wanted to give up. And there wasn't a single day when she didn't wish that she would've been able to talk to Clint.

Wanda hadn't slept properly in days. She'd been too busy, and no matter how tired she was she couldn't relax. It wasn't a conscious decision but somehow she ended up to one of Clint's favorite spots, a balcony at the fifth-highest floor of the Tower. She sat down, leaned against the wall, closed her eyes and let the wind caress her. That high up the noise from traffic and people wasn't much more than a distant background-buzz. Se was alone with the wind.

She could definitely understand why the Hawk loved this perch so much.

Wanda shivered, having almost dozed off, when she realized that she wasn't alone. Opening one eye, she discovered Vision standing nearby with an uncertain look on his face. "I… came to wish you a Happy Birthday", he explained awkwardly. "I wanted to bake a cake but Pepper insisted that she'll do it instead." Which wasn't much of a surprise, considering that he caused a small fire almost every time he tried cooking.

"Thanks, Vis." Wanda shook her head, trying to clear it. "I didn't even remember that it's my birthday." With the lack of sleep and stress she'd been pretty bad at keeping track of time lately.

Vision seemed to have something he would've wanted to say but he swallowed it loudly. Instead he nodded towards the landscape spreading around and below them. "It's beautiful up here."

Wanda smiled. "It feels like being on top of the whole world here. It's easier to think clearly."

Again Vision seemed like he wanted to say something. Those intentions were interrupted when Wanda received a text message. Whatever peace and serenity she'd obtained flew away when she read the words. ' _CODE FEATHERS._ '

* * *

Nick Fury breathed sharply through his nose as he glared at the woman sitting on the other side of a plexiglass.

As she sat there on the floor in a hospital gown looking impossibly frail, she seemed deceitfully harmless. In many ways she was still a mystery. Despite all the months that'd passed they hadn't found out much about the doctor who attacked Clint. According to the data they had she was Dr. Nina Riviera. A highly respected woman of science without even a trace of a criminal record. She'd never even earned a speeding ticket. No matter how hard they looked there were no obvious connections to Hydra, either. As to family, she only ever had a daughter who died of cancer when she was two. Which led to a bitter, expensive divorce. But that was all over fifteen years ago. Nothing gave even the slightest of clues as to what drove her to attack Clint, after working hard to keep him alive.

None of this made any sense, and the inability to understand worsened the bitter taste that was a permanent resident in Fury's mouth.

Beside him Natasha was tense and silent. He knew that she felt exactly the same way he did. Whenever she wasn't on a mission she was here, watching, trying to put together the puzzle. Searching.

It was almost funny that they were the ghosts, now.

Their heads turned in perfect synchronization when a woman who'd been trying to talk to Nina emerged from the room. She was psychiatrist Hayden Evans. The apology in her green eyes and her slumped shoulders revealed that today didn't bring the progress they'd been hoping for. "She's a little more active today. But she's still unable or unwilling to talk."

Fury sighed heavily. Natasha gritted her teeth loudly. The sound of her getting a text message was a relief, because it gave the three of them something of a distraction. He couldn't read the look in her eyes. "I've gotta go." And with no further explanation the redhead was walking away, her steps sharp and loud.

Fury clenched his jaw, feeling old and weary past his years, and refocused on Nina. Inside her tiny, utterly white room she kept going back and forth with her rocking chair, over and over again. And the whole time she kept muttering the only word she'd uttered since _that_ day. "Dot", she murmured, staring at the wall. "Dot, dot, dot."

"So she still only ever says that?"

Dr. Evans nodded solemnly. "I wish we knew why her mind chose that word to cling to. Maybe that'd help us reach out."

* * *

Ifan, who was only seven-years-old, didn't think he'd ever been as terrified in his life. Not even when he listened to his parents screaming at each other. Or when the people he'd never met before came to his room and said that they'd take him to his new home, to his new school. Now he was on a train and had no idea where it would take him. Or what the people who took him would do to him.

A young woman smiled gently as she sat beside him. She was the only one of these people he liked, at least a little. She was the only one who smiled. " _Are you cold?_ " she inquired. She was also the only one who cared about what he wanted.

Ifan shook his head and wrapped his arms more tightly around the legs that'd been pulled to his chest. " _I… don't understand_ ", he admitted quietly. " _Why did these people take me?_ "

The woman ruffled his hair. Her hand was soft and warm. " _Because you're a special little boy. Just like they chose me because I was a special little girl, a long time ago._ " She reached out a hand and took off one of her thick, black gloves. In an instant he saw purple and midnight-blue flames dancing around the pale skin of her fingers. The fire pulsated like it had a heartbeat of its own. Like it was alive. Ifan stared with wide eyes long before she'd already put the glove back on.

" _See, Ifan dear?_ " She sounded amused. " _We're all special, here. That's why Hydra chose us. Now…_ " Her eyes were greener than emerald when they watched him. " _I trusted you. Why don't you show me what you can do?_ "

Ifan hesitated. Because usually people got scared and called him a monster, or worse, when he unleashed his powers. But this woman already trusted him, so he chose to trust her in return, no matter how hard it was.

His small hand trembled terribly when he outstretched it and called out with his mind. In a flash the woman's glove was in his hold. He focused on staring at the once again visible flames because their dance comforted him.

He'd never met someone like himself before.

" _Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!_ " she praised him. Her voice was warm and comforting, just like her hands. " _I'm Annabelle. Or, well… I prefer my second name, Dakota. I think we'll be friends soon, so you can call me Dot._ "

* * *

After months upon months of waiting it felt like torture to wait some more. When the doctor announced that Clint was waking up they just wanted him to finally open his eyes already. But of course it wasn't that simple.

In the first eighteen hours he woke up thrice, briefly, disoriented and unable to produce coherent words. During the two more days which followed those bouts of wakefulness grew longer, but Clint didn't seem to even really know that they were there. His doctor's reassurances that such was completely normal weren't much of comfort. But at least the ventilator was gone. Even though it kept the archer alive for a while they all hated the loud, somehow chilling machine. They knew that he would've hated it even more.

Eventually most of them had dozed off, one by one. Until only Tony was left, pacing the room. He couldn't stand even the thought of sitting down and being still. Then there was a faint, barely audible sound. And everything froze. "Wah…?"

Tony turned far faster than his head approved and made his way to the bed. For the first time in months Clint's at the moment half-open eyes were properly focused, alert. They darted around the room and the sleeping people before stopping to him. A completely ridiculous grin threatened to split the billionaire's face in two. "Hey, Feathers." He was careful to keep his tone low. The doctor warned them that the archer would probably have a bad headache. "Did you have a good nap?"

Clint kept watching him. And watching. The man's eyebrows furrowed slowly.

Tony's grin faded. His stomach dropped in a very uncomfortable manner. "Clint?"

"What…?" The Hawk licked his lips and shifted, which was enough to make the man wince. "What… are you doing here? You… working with S.H.I.E.L.D, now?"

Alright. Tony was officially freaking out, and figured that he had every right to do so. "Barton, what are you talking about?"

Clint groaned and rubbed his face roughly with one hand. "'s right, Tony Stark does charity work… This is charity work…" The archer went on before the shocked man could react, nodding towards the sleeping group. "These people… They work for you?"

Tony's knees went weak, and it was a miracle that he managed to keep standing.

His lack of verbal response was clearly starting to agitate Clint. The man was already tugging at the tubes and wires connected to him, and it occurred to Tony that he should've been trying to stop his confused friend. "… gotta get the hell out of here …" Demanding, equally hostile and desperate eyes met his. Clint seemed very scared. And very, very young, somehow. "Thanks, for… whatever you did for me… But… Coulson… Phil Coulson… They told you that he's my handler, right? Call him. Tell him that I've gotta go."

And here Tony made the mistake of assuming that the nightmare was already over…

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: If you've had a drinking game going on, GO FOR IT! YES, the author went for the generic, SO MUCH USED amnesia-twist. Over a hundred and twenty chapters, and THIS is where it finally happened. Go me for holding myself back this long, I guess… (snickers and facepalms oneself)

Some tales are born to start out others. This turned out to be one of those. (smirks sheepishly) WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ A STORY WHERE CLINT CONTINUES TO RECOVER FROM THIS? Because, let's face it. The last thing he seems to remember is being a rookie S.H.I.E.L.D agent and BOOM, all of a sudden he wakes up as an Avenger and a family-man. It's gonna be a SHOCK!

AAAAND, of course… Was the chapter any good, at all? I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts!

NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE THOR-HEAVY, because the poor guy's been neglected lately. (winces)

Awkay, I'm meaning to do some more fic-typing today so I've gotta go. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

 **Guest (1)** : You have NO IDEA how much it means to me that you're enjoying the ride! (BEAMS) We'll see just what's to come next…

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Guest (2)** : Things look SO BAD right now, don't they? LET'S HOPE that Tony and the others will be able to save Clint! Because to imagine them losing him, to imagine Laura coming just to hear that she was too late… (shudders and whimpers)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Carry692** : Go you! (giggles and high fives) Poor, poor Steve! Always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He DEFINITELY needed that relief! And the doctor deserves to face the full wrath of a Ghost Hawk… (smirks)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	127. A Hawk and a Beast

A/N: PHEW! It's WAY too late. BUT, here we are! (BEAMS)

MY DEAR GOSH…! Thank you, a million times, for all your amazing reviews and support! You have no idea how good they make me feel. (HUUUUGS)

Awkay, because I REALLY need to head to bed… Let's go! I hope you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Hawk and a Beast

* * *

It was a slightly more unusual mission. The team, aided by S.H.I.E.L.D, was sent after a circus that operated as a cover and funding for a terrorist cell. Thor found any opportunity to explore humans' methods of entertainment fascinating. For Steve it was another opportunity to try and make the world a safer place. Clint… was almost chillingly quiet and tense. Natasha wasn't able to come along due to a recent injury, and let anyone who came near enough know how displeased she was by that. Tony, on the other hand, had succeeded in obtaining a horrible, stubborn case of a flu. And did his best to let the whole world know how displeased he was by that. Those two were an explosive combination. When the rest of them took off it became poor, unfortunate Pepper Potts' job to keep them from killing each other.

It was also one of those missions during which nothing went exactly according to the plan. Which was why it only made sense that towards the end the team ended up scattered and battered. Well, at least they were all still alive. Which, considering their line of a job, was definitely something to cheer about. And at least this time it wasn't another Hydra-base. Thor was getting really, really tired of those. Yes, he would've wanted to keep hunting Loki's sceptre. It was a threat his brother brought into this realm. And it was his duty to ensure that it was returned to where it belonged or destroyed. But it wasn't the only threat facing _Midgard_. Sometimes Thor found it exhausting how much trouble humans could get into. The people they tried to help and his teammates alike. The worst were those times when, despite his best attempts, he found himself as a part of the chaos causing said trouble.

Today, near the end of the mission, Thor faced the one thing he hated almost as much as others getting hurt. The humiliating thing. He was the 'damsel in distress', as Tony would've without a doubt put it.

He lay on the floor, gasping for breath while a massive paw pressed at his chest. Whenever he twitched even an inch the success was punished by a low, spine-chilling growl. Which made Thor do some growling of his own. "Let… me up… you beast…!" Where was his hammer, and why wasn't it coming to him? That thing could be so moody and unpredictable sometimes…! "I… do not wish… to hurt you!"

The lion didn't seem impressed. It unleashed a new, even more vicious growl and leaned closer. The stench of its breath made Thor shudder.

This definitely wasn't his day.

"Thor? Don't… move… a muscle. He's not hungry, but he will bite you if you irritate him." Clint's voice was almost eerily calm. Especially considering the fact that the archer stood on a trapeze, so high up that he had to raise his voice to ensure that the hammer wielder heard him. "I'll be right down. Just hold still."

Thor felt like snapping where, exactly, he was supposed to go. But the teeth still revealed and far too close to his face made him think better of it. So he waited, tense and on alert, and hated every second of it. And wanted his hammer to finally decide to answer his call, desperately.

Clint braced himself, perfectly at home all the way up there, and jumped without a blink into thin air. He hit a safety net with obviously well-trained ease, and continued to the ground without missing a heartbeat. There was a small thud as the archer landed as gracefully as someone who'd performed the trick a million and one times.

The lion was clearly impressed, too. In an instant Clint had the creature's undivided attention. "Easy, boy…", the Hawk shushed. Only the tiniest of tremors revealing that he wasn't talking to a housecat. "Easy…!"

The lion bounced before Thor could even consider doing a thing. With that one leap it tackled Clint down. And started licking the chuckling archer's face as eagerly as a puppy. The Hawk scolded the excited animal with a few words that only had it more vigorous.

Thor got up slowly, not trusting the beast just yet. "Why… is it not attacking you?" A reasonable enough question, wasn't it?

Clint scratched the lion from behind the ear, and earned a groan of pleasure. The sight would've been heartwarming if it wasn't for something bizarre, almost melancholic, in Clint's eyes. "We've… met before. Haven't we, old boy?"

That wasn't enough of an explanation. Thor's eyebrows furrowed. "How did you know he was your friend?" The ability of befriending with animals was one of those things he liked the most about humans. For all the horrible things they did to each other and their planet, that seed of goodness in some of them was a spark of promise.

Clint was never that openly vulnerable in front of humans, at least willingly. "He's an albino, missing his right ear. Which is pretty rare, so I decided to take my chances." The man looked towards him. "You okay?" Coming from someone with their face beaten black and blue pinned down by a lion, that sounded ridiculous.

"I… do believe that I should be asking you that. But… Yes. I'm quite alright." His ego did take a massive blow, though. To get taken down by a big Midgardian cat…!

"C'mon, old boy…" Clint winced as he moved. "Budge a bit, yeah? I'm glad to see you, too, but I've gotta get up." When the only response the urging got was three more licks, the archer switched back to the language Thor didn't understand. And slowly, visibly reluctantly, the beast began to obey.

Until things went downhill, quickly and steeply, as they sometimes tended to do.

Completely out of nowhere a gunshot rang out. The bullet hit the lion first, causing the animal to slump down on Clint with its full weight. And then the deadly item continued its path, slicing Clint's neck. The horrific amount of blood that appeared almost immediately was a sickening contrast against the archer's pale skin, the lion's fur and the ground.

Thor was running before the decision could be processed properly. Not paying any attention to the fact that whoever took the shot might gun him down, too. The Asgardian did his best to press as hard as he could, but no matter what he did the blood just kept slipping away. Like Clint. The archer's eyelids were fluttering sluggishly. Soon they wouldn't open anymore.

"Barton! Clint!" Thor's voice boomed, but despite how loud he was he didn't seem to catch the Hawk's attention. "Stay awake!" Because if his friend lost consciousness now, there was a chance that he'd never wake up.

But Clint had always been bad at obeying commands. The man's eyelids fluttered once more. Then closed. And the blood just wouldn't stop flooding.

Lava, sorrow and something too close to despair bubbled in Thor's veins. His eyes blazed when he looked up, finally remembering to check who started the whole mess.

It wasn't a criminal. Instead he found a man in a S.H.I.E.L.D uniform. Meeting his gaze, the agent shrugged. "Sorry. I missed."

Now, Thor grew up with Loki. It was more than enough education to recognize a good liar when he encountered one. This agent wasn't a good liar.

His hammer seemed to agree. Because at that very moment it came flying, and hit the agent's head along the way. Not hard enough to cause lasting damage but certainly heavily enough to make the man stumble down with an undignified thud. "Sorry." He wasn't a good liar, either. The justice served should've given Thor a hint of pleasure. It didn't. Not when Clint's blood coated his hands. Not when this was on him, at least partially.

If he handled the trouble Loki caused like he should've, his brother would've never encountered Clint. Would've never forced the archer to attack his friends, allies. Would've never made Clint a traitor in far too many eyes that used to see him as an ally. And today he let things get to _this_.

If Clint died right now, no amount of water would wash his blood from Thor's hands.

Thor didn't hear Steve coming, even though the soldier brought along five more S.H.I.E.L.D agents and two paramedics. Nor did he register what the Captain said upon laying a hand on his shoulder. All he saw was the blood, Clint's far too pale face and his own trembling hands that just weren't enough to get the job done. He didn't want to give up, didn't want to step aside. But he did, recognizing what couldn't be avoided. And watched how perfect strangers started fixing a mess that was partially his family's doing.

"I'm sorry." He didn't realize that the voice was coming from him. "I'm sorry." For not being enough today. Or earlier.

* * *

Three broken ribs. A broken leg. A concussion. Severe bruising pretty much everywhere. And then the obvious gunshot wound.

Clint lost enough blood to send him to a life-threatening state of shock. His heart faltered but by sheer miracle didn't stop entirely. This time the archer's stubbornness paid off. He kept clinging to life until he reached proper help. Kept fighting.

Thor was there when, two days later, Clint was finally able to stay awake for longer than five minutes. "'s exhausting."

Thor, who'd been deep in thought, blinked twice. "What is?"

Clint had a rather unnerving, knowing look on his face. "'rrying the weight of the 'rld on your shoulders. Trust me, I know. So stop."

Thor swallowed thickly and hated the bitter taste in his mouth. "You nearly died." Saying it out loud only worsened the taste in his mouth. All his life one of his greatest flaws had been the inability to face responsibility over his actions. He couldn't continue that way anymore. Not when every time he didn't focus on not thinking about it, he could smell the archer's blood. "Because of my mistake." He didn't want to reveal that the shooter worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. Not yet.

Clint shook his head as much as anyone with a recent concussion and a massive amount of stitches on his neck could. "Not your fault." It was said with such conviction that Thor almost believed it. Almost.

There was a lot Thor wanted to say. That should've been said. "Thank you", he settled for in the end. Then, eager to shift his thoughts elsewhere, he revealed the item he'd been holding. It was a small, extremely adorable toy-lion. ' _So that next time, you'll play with something less dangerous_ ', said the note attached to it. "I fell asleep, and discovered this upon waking up. I believe I know who we can suspect." The whole thing had 'Tony Stark' written all over it.

Clint grinned in his usual manner, but something about the man's eyes… It'd been there since they found out that the mission would take them to a circus, actually. And it had Thor wondering… "You… seemed very comfortable there. Have you… ever worked for a circus?"

It was like a wall of bricks had come up to greet him. Clint turned his head away, appearing far more pained than before. "Sorry, but… I'm being stupid." Which translated to close to tears. "It's the meds, messing with me. 'just need sleep." The words were barely comprehensible.

Thor nodded. "Alright. Rest as long as you must." He had no right to pry further. "I'll… be here."

To some it might've been unclear if Clint even heard him. But he saw, clearly, how the archer relaxed ever so slightly before closing his eyes. Relieved. Trusting. And promptly fell asleep.

Thor didn't know what he'd done to earn such trust. Especially with everything Clint had gone through because of him and his family. But he accepted it with great pride. And marveled, not for the first time, what baffling beings humans could be. So strong and so fragile all at once.

He'd have to fight a lot harder to keep those of them around him safe.

* * *

From behind a glass Steve and Nick Fury observed the exchange. "The agent who shot Barton has been… interviewed", Fury announced. "He claims that it was all an accident, of course. But one of the agents who died during Loki's attack was his partner of ten years." The man's remaining eye flashed. "That was a S.H.I.E.L.D co-operated mission but he had no business being along. It's under investigation how he ended up there."

Steve swallowed and folded his arms. How long was the trickster's shadow going to keep haunting Clint? He gritted his teeth painfully tightly. "And where is he now?"

"Let's say that he regrets his decision."

There were no questions or judgement, and somehow the lack of response was chilling when it came from a man Tony called Captain Righteous.

Steve knew that it'd take a very long time before he'd stop blaming himself for failing his team. And he had a feeling that Fury experienced something similar, even if the man would've never admitted as much out loud. But Clint was still alive. Feeble, and without a doubt traumatized when he'd be able to think more coherently. But alive. And for as long as things should remain that way, they'd do their best to make up for their mistakes.

* * *

While Clint slumbered Thor couldn't find rest. Especially when he feared what sort of dreams might find him. Besides, this time he was determined to keep watch properly.

At first Clint kept groaning and twitching, clearly dreaming of something unpleasant. On the spur of the moment Thor placed the stuffed lion beside his friend. To his shock the archer grabbed the toy and hugged it tightly. Slowly yet surely the wrinkles on the man's forehead faded, transforming to a small but peaceful smile.

Thor didn't understand humans. And he had a feeling that Clint was a particularly complex one with his, apparently, a million secrets. Including the man's… bizarre relationship with circuses. He might never understand _that_ day's events fully. But he did see just how far some humans were willing to go for others. Whether they were worth it or not.

Questions, arguments and talks could wait. For now he'd just keep watch on the man who saved his life. And wonder what in the world his friend was dreaming about to finally have him so peaceful.

* * *

/ _Buck Chisholm wasn't a sentimental man. Anything else. But Clint Barton… was his responsibility. And only fourteen years old. So sue him for feeling… responsible, especially when the brat was sick with a nasty case of a flu. Feverish to a point where a hospital had to be considered._

 _When Buck discovered that Clint wasn't in his bed the man didn't panic. Or at least he refused to admit that he did. After about ten minutes of searching through the massive circus-area Buck finally found what he'd been looking for. And froze._

 _He couldn't even begin to imagine how the boy managed to get there. But Clint was inside a very young lion's cage. Curled up next to the still small but incredibly dangerous, beautiful albino-animal. With a smile on his face and sleeping soundly. The beast, nearly a cub still but deadly, was slumbering peacefully as well, its one remaining ear twitching every now and then._

 _Then the animal opened one eye, and saw him. Buck tensed up, expecting the worst. The beast revealed its teeth and used one scarred paw to pull the child closer. As though saying 'MINE'. Then went back to sleep. Even closer to the comforting, warm softness, Clint sighed happily and nuzzled his head against the fur._

 _"That's gotta be the weirdest kid I've ever seen", Buck muttered._ /

* * *

End of oneshot

* * *

A/N: According to the information I have, lions can live up to 30 years in captivity. That poor thing must've been super old when that evil agent gunned him down. (whimpers)

Awww! Clint's had it so rough. (pouts) BUT, thank gosh he now has friends and family to support him! And thank gosh he had a four-pawed friend, once.

SOOOO… How was that? Any good, at all? PLEASE, do leave a note! I LOVE hearing from you.

 **A VERY IMPORTANT NOTE, BECAUSE SO MANY OF YOU SEEMED TO LOVE THE AMNESIA-STORYLINE… The story exploring that tale further is called 'The Long Flight Home', and the first chapter is now out.**

Awkay, I REALLY need a couple of hours of sleep. (winces) Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all stay tuned for that one.

Take care!

* * *

 **Anon** : We'll see, we'll see. It sure is a fascinating topic! Not making promises, but I AM curious. (grins and nods)

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Guest** (1): Awww! I'm SO HAPPY that you're eager to read more. Because the story exploring that storyline ('Long Flight Home') is now out. (BEAMS)

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Carry692** : You know me too well… (smirks sheepishly) Poor, POOR CLINT, and gang! We'll see how THAT storyline continues in 'Long Flight Home'.

Gotta love Tony defending his friends! And poor Cap. (whimpers) I'm super happy that you found the chapter so captivating!

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Guest** (2): Those POOR DEARS, right?! Gosh…! Thankfully, the story will now continue in 'Long Flight Home'. I'm super happy that the chapter had you so captivated!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Guest** (3): LOL! It came CLOSE, didn't it? (smirks sheepishly) Those poor things…! We'll see how things end up in 'Long Flight Home'.

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	128. Leap into the Unknown (ALMOST M RATED)

A/N: Phew! Wrapping this up took far too long. I should've been in bed HOURS ago! (chuckles helplessly) BUT, here we are, at last!

THANK YOU, SO VERY MUCH, for you amazing reviews and support! It means A LOT that SO MANY of you enjoy this collection. (HUGS)

 **Before we jump to the new chapter…!** There were some of you who seem eager to have Clint share his circus past with Thor. Guess what? That'll be included to some later tale. (grins happily)

Awkay, before I pass out on my laptop… LET'S GO! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

 **BRACE YOURSELVES FOR SOMETHING A LITTLE DIFFERENT – AND VIOLENT! THIS CHAPTER IS TEETERING ON THE EDGE OF BEING M-RATED. QUITE HEAVY-HANDED DESCRIPTION OF VIOLENCE.**

* * *

Leap into the Unknown

* * *

Some missions were tougher than others, emotionally and physically. And then there were the kind of missions that would scar one for life. Those you never come back from entirely.

When Natasha woke up to the smell of blood and intense pain, she knew with disheartening certainty what kind of a mission this would be.

"Tasha?" Clint's voice, strong and familiar, was somehow able to ground her. "You need to stay awake, now. They'll be back soon."

They…? That's right, they'd been following some hints leading to a small terrorist organization. Just the two of them, this threat wasn't supposed to required the whole Avengers-team. But someone sold them out. There was a trap waiting for them.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Natasha nodded as much as her throbbing skull allowed. "Yeah." The last thing she managed to recall was something hitting her head. She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt. "I got us captured."

"No, you didn't." Clint's tone was so firm that she almost believed him. "This was an ambush. You just got captured first." There was a brief, heavy pause. "You okay?"

Natasha evaluated herself for the first time. Her head hurt and she was dizzy. It seemed that she'd been through some beating. But she didn't think she'd lost a lot of blood. And she'd definitely been through far worse than this. "Bruised, but I'll live." She frowned, some instinct inside tingling. "You?"

"I'll live." He nudged towards left. "We got company. The idiot made the mistake of coming alone. I didn't like his questions."

Morbidly curious, Natasha looked towards the gestured direction. And wondered if she just found the source of the stench of blood. A body lay on the floor. A young man, eyes glazed over.

Natasha's eyebrow bounced up. She'd seen and done a lot of violent things. But that… just didn't look like Clint's usual quick, clean work. "His questions must've really pissed you off."

"He tried to touch you, while you were still out of it." Clint's voice was a low, hazardous growl. "So I thought I had the right to criticize his manly abilities. Got him mad enough to make an easy target out of himself. Especially since they forgot to tie my legs."

Natasha shivered, glad even her friend didn't see the momentary falter in her facial expression. She would've gladly killed the criminal again herself. "You know what I would've done to him, if I was awake."

"Thought I'd save you the trouble", he muttered, and she heard the unvoiced words as clearly as the ones spoken out loud.

Natasha swallowed hard. And wondered what she'd done to deserve a friend like him. "Thanks." She hoped he knew how much she meant that.

"Isn't that adorable?" The new male-voice made her shudder, although it was smoother than silk. "So this is the famous Strike Team Delta. I've heard a lot about you. The two of you put on a good show, I'll give you that." A heavily booted foot kicked the body on the floor. "Poor Mica never was the smartest brat. Even so… I'm gonna have to make you pay for doing that to him."

Clint scoffed. "Rapists and idiots. That's what your organization consists of? No wonder you've never made name for yourselves."

There was a nauseating, wet sound. Natasha was much happier not trying to even imagine what caused it. Clint didn't so much as wheeze or whimper.

"Has anyone ever told you that your mouth's too big for your own good?"

Clint chuckled. It didn't sound right. "More people… than I can… count."

"That doesn't surprise me." Their captor sounded genuinely amused. There was another wet sound. A little like slurping. "You sound just like Fury's type. I'm willing to bet money that he actually likes you, that heartless asshole." Then came the third stomach-turning sound, and this time the archer grunted barely audibly. "I'll bet… that he'll even miss you. You'll make one hell of a message when his people find you."

Natasha wanted to scream and rage. With everything there was in her. She wanted to look into the eyes of the attacker but couldn't turn her head enough. "Leave him alone!" she hissed with all the venom she could muster.

"Oh? So that's what it takes to get you to talk to me?" The man moved and stood right in front of her. He was older than she'd expected, or perhaps years hadn't been kind to him. His grey eyes were full of bitterness, his dark hair a matted and greasy mat. "Natalia Romanova… Do you have any idea how many years I've been dreaming of seeing you again? How many nights I've spent fantasizing of what I'd do to you?" He laughed and shook his head in disbelief. "And here you are. I could barely believe it when I saw you on the monitor screens." He tilted his head. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

Natasha clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. No. She didn't. But at least she had his attention, now. And as long as she had his attention he wouldn't…

She saw a gun being raised from the corner of her eye. The man's eyes flashed. "A lifetime ago… I had a son. Until a hospital fire. Since then I've been wondering how to repay you. Now I know."

She had no time to explain or reason. To think of a plan. He fired the gun. Blood splashed to both sides or her face and stained her neck. Her heart, the one she wasn't supposed to have, was racing and breaking in her chest.

"What did you do?" she screeched, even if it made her head nearly explode. She'd almost managed to wiggle her feet from the pathetically loose ropes binding them. Just a little more and… "I'm going to make you pay for that!"

The man gave her a chilling smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? And that's only a small hint of the agony you put me through."

By then her legs were free. Just a few more moments and she'd be able to fight back. Help Clint. Get them out of this mess that, apparently, was all her fault.

Then ten sets of steps entered the room, effectively cutting her plans. Still tied to a chair that'd been bolted to the floor, she might've been able to handle herself against one opponent. But ten more, and with Clint's life hanging in balance…

"Throw him to the river." The man smirked, clearly enjoying whatever it was he saw in her eyes. "Should be a nice place for S.H.I.E.L.D to find him."

Natasha listened to them grab Clint and drag him away, and it took absolutely everything she had not to explode in rage and grief. The Hawk didn't make a sound, didn't show the slightest bit of resistance. It was incredibly hard to believe that there was still hope left but she had to. Because that fool's hope was the only thing keeping her together.

Then there was a distant splash.

"Thank you, job well done." The man's gleaming eyes locked on hers. Lucky strike, because it kept him from paying attention to her legs. "Now leave me to finish her up."

The steps distanced, until there wasn't even an echo left. The man leaned closer. "I think I will be the one making you suffer… until your last breath."

Natasha bit her teeth together and breathed. Braced herself. "I'm sorry about your son." Because she was. Would be for the rest of her life. "But I'm not letting you kill me." She came to the conclusion that death would be too easy of a punishment for her a long time ago.

The man had no hope of seeing the attack coming. She kicked once, twice, almost hard enough to make him spin. Breaking free from the handcuffs broke her other wrist but she ignored the horrific assault of agony, and struck instead. The world registered to her through red haze while she smashed the man's head against the floor once, twice, thrice. And twice more, even though she knew on a level of reason that her opponent was already dead. What coursed through her veins… It didn't feel human.

By the time she was finished steps were thundering towards the room. She stumbled from pain and exhaustion, but made it to the door impressively quickly and bolted it. Then, after a couple of breaths that took down a threatening bout of nausea, she dragged herself to the room's window and peered down. It was winter, but the water far below wasn't frozen. The ripples left from Clint's fall had vanished but she saw hints of red rising towards the surface. If she didn't hurry the river's current would carry him too far to be found. That was what made her decision easy.

Natasha swore under her breath, then focused on filling her lungs. On the ledge she only hesitated for a couple of seconds. Then jumped. Down, down, down.

The water was even colder than she'd expected. Took away whatever breath she'd had left, drove her senses wild. It wiped away her reason, nearly her consciousness as well. But only for a moment. Because her eyes caught the figure near the bottom. Steeling herself with all the will there was left in her, she swam down. Determinedly not focusing on the gunshot wound that was barely visible in the murky water, right there on the side of Clint's head.

She tried, again and again. But with all his muscle-mass and wet clothes he was just too heavy, especially when the cold was rapidly numbing her. She barely got them to the surface, but wasn't even able to hold his head above the water properly. At least no hostiles were shooting at them. Either they were at a safe distance, or considered lost causes already.

Well, she had no intention of giving up just yet.

Eventually Natasha managed to catch a hold of solid ground, barely. Snow and ice burned worse than any fire as she fought to grasp, went through a war push them out of the water. It seemed like she was fighting a losing battle. Until she looked towards her friend's colorless, unconscious face, and found her resolve anew.

If anyone asked her later Natasha would've had no idea how she pulled it off. But eventually they were on solid ground. Barely, with Clint's feet still dangling in the water, but still. She gasped desperately, each unnaturally loud breath fogging the air. The archer wasn't moving. Was he even breathing?

His lips were so blue… And all those wounds… Five stab-wounds, along with the gunshot wound that seemed to be sneering at her…

"Clint?" It sounded far too much like a whimper. She dragged herself closer, practically slumped on her best friend, and fumbled to find a pulse. Her fingers were so numb that she barely even felt his skin. This time she definitely whimpered as her forehead fell against his shoulder. "'t, goddamnit…!" She couldn't lose him, not like this…!

She lost consciousness before that grim thought was finished.

* * *

" _… Christ…!_ "

" _… him, he's a goner …_ "

Natasha wanted to scream, rage. Anything to protest. _No, NO, don't you dare…!_

" _… see that?_ "

" _Get a medic, she's alive!_ "

Everything faded to desolate pitch-black.

* * *

There were brief and violent flashes of pain and light after that. Unnaturally loud voices and too much noise. Beeping, clattering. Too many hands on her.

"… still, we'll take a good care of you."

By the time Natasha succeeded in wrestling her eyelids partially open the room was bathing in twilight. Nick Fury sat beside her bed, his expression even more grim than usual. The one-eyed man seemed to have aged a decade since the last time she saw him.

"Darryl Stevens." His voice echoed uncomfortably in her head. "The real name of the man behind the organization." There was a moment of hesitation. "His son…"

"… know", she rasped. She remembered, far too clearly. And didn't want to hear it being said out loud.

Uncharacteristically and suspiciously sensitive, Fury left it at that. Instead he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "The team found you almost two miles from where you probably hit the water. They couldn't understand how you were still alive."

Usually Natasha might've smirked. Now she swallowed, hating the foul taste in her mouth. Almost as much as she hated the mental image of the gunshot wound on her friend's head. "'long 'til I'm discharged?" She wanted to go. Had to go. Needed to…

"You just woke up. And you still have a concussion, a broken wrist and a set of broken ribs to heal. You're not going anywhere for a while. So go back to sleep."

Natasha did just that, whether she wanted to or not. And dreamt of drowning, of ice, of blood. Of Clint staring at her with accusation and betrayal in his eyes from the bottom of a river, blood pouring out from his wounds and coloring the water red.

She woke up to her own scream.

* * *

The next time Natasha woke up there was a tray of food waiting for her. It was spaghetti sauce, and she used her good wrist to throw the whole thing at a wall. Clint always loved that food. Its scent made her want to throw up.

She dozed off before she could see it coming. Once again she dreamt of blood and drowning. And just like the last time she woke up screaming.

She rubbed her face violently with the hand that wasn't screaming from agony until someone grabbed her wrist gently. She tensed up and prepared to defend herself, until the sight of Clint's familiar face made her freeze. Then, in a couple of slow blinks, the vision was gone, leaving Steve's sad and exhausted face in its place.

The soldier's lips opened but she interrupted him with a sharp shake of head that made her dizzy. "Don't", she growled. "Not a word. Let go of me." She didn't want him touching her. Not with what could've happened during the mission. And especially not because his large, calloused hand reminded her a little too much of Clint's.

Steve did as he'd been told, even seemed to understand. The silence which fell was heavy but not uncomfortable. Together they waited for the morning to dawn.

* * *

Whenever Natasha was awake there was someone who tried to talk to her. About Clint. About her… trauma. It only worsened her claustrophobia and made the need to _run_ escalate.

It was Tuesday and she was getting dressed as quickly as she could, taking advantage of the rare moment when she didn't have a babysitter. She'd just managed to get her shirt on, which was no easy feat with the still throbbing wrist, when she room's door opened. Bruce, who looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, sighed heavily. "Damn. It looks like I lost my bet with Stark. I thought you'd stay for two more days", the scientist joked weakly.

Natasha gritted her teeth. "I'm leaving. Are you gonna help me or not?"

Bruce shifted with clearly visibly discomfort. "You're not ready to leave yet", he reasoned. "Your ribs…"

"I already got my best friend killed!" She spat it out like poison, but the words only worsened the taste in her mouth. "I'm not…" She had to gulp when a lump rose to her throat. "I'm not staying to watch the same thing happen to all of you."

Bruce blinked twice, very slowly. "Nat… Hasn't anyone told you?" There was a torturous pause. "Barton… He isn't dead."

* * *

Clint wasn't dead, but very, very close to it. If the bullet aimed at his head went less than an inch to the side, he would've definitely lost his life. By some miracle it even seemed that he'd avoided brain-damage, but the medical professionals didn't dare to promise anything while he was still unconscious. The stab-wounds did a horrible amount of damage. Surgeons had done their best, but only time would tell if the archer's digestive system would ever function normally. His lungs took a hit, and he lost a piece of his liver and his spleen. He also lost so much blood that it sent him to hypovolemic shock. Hypothermia and pneumonia didn't help matters, at all. As an additional insult he'd had both of his wrists and ankles broken as well as one arm, most likely as a thank you for attacking their captor. It was unclear if he'd recover enough to do archery.

He was hanging by a very, very thin thread, but he was hanging in there.

Natasha did leave the hospital once her friend's condition was explained to her. She remained missing for six very alarming hours. No one wanted to know what she did during that time.

* * *

The second she allowed a terrorist and former S.H.I.E.L.D agent Darryl Stevens to sweet-talk her into helping him, S.H.I.E.L.D's chief analyst Tess Summer had a feeling that she was making a mistake. He told her about his lost son, with tears in his eyes. Revealed that Black Widow, someone Tess had never trusted, was to blame. So the analyst sang, told the grieving man everything he wanted to know. Did whatever she could and almost more to help. And comforted herself with musing that if someone killed her daughter, she would've wanted a similar favor to be done for her.

It wasn't until one fateful afternoon, once she'd stepped out of her car and headed towards a grocery store, Tess came face to face with how big her mistake was.

Chills went down her spine when Natasha's far too familiar voice came from behind her. "He told you that I'm a monster, didn't he?" There was a threatening pause. "Sometimes monsters make accidents happen."

* * *

Nick Fury found Natasha standing behind the plexiglass separating a hospital hallway from the Clint's room. Tony was already inside, babbling constantly to drown out the noise of a respirator. The archer was silent and chillingly still.

"There you are." The director didn't so much as glance her way, but she felt like she was under scrutiny. "You do realize that you're allowed to go in, don't you?"

Natasha's facial muscles tightened while she stared at her best friend's broken, barely alive body. "I'm the last person he'd want in there." Stress, grief and rage made her self-control break. Made the words bubble out. "So it's not bad enough that my past keeps haunting me, even when I'm asleep? Now it's coming to…" Finally catching a hold of herself, she cut herself off sharply. She wasn't planning on letting Fury see her break down like this.

"Did you finish packing up?"

"Yes." The thought of leaving didn't make her feel better. "My flight takes off in the morning. My application for a vacation is on your desk."

This time Fury did look at her. Seemed to consider his words carefully. "I get that you want to leave. But don't you think you've been running away from your past enough already? It's time to stay and fight back instead." Fight the monsters inside her head as well.

Natasha swallowed. She refused to admit, even to herself, what the way her eyes stung meant. "And what will that fight cost others?"

"Losing you would cost them more." Fury sounded shockingly empathetic, which was more than enough to catch her full attention. "I'm not telling you that this wasn't your fault, because you wouldn't believe me. But I'm telling you that Barton deserves better than you running away from him. Whatever happens to him next… He's going to need you fighting beside him."

Natasha could've argued him. Wanted to argue him. But she couldn't. Instead she braced herself, and did the most courageous thing of all.

She walked into the room to face a future of uncertainty by her best friend's side.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: This many chapters… And only now I realized that I've NEVER ended a tale quite like this. With no clean evidence of recovery, without Clint even regaining consciousness. OF COURSE HE SURVIVED THIS! But not having it described… Not actually 'seeing' it… Not knowing just how well he recovered… That was something new. A kind of a jump into the unknown. (smiles shyly)

Was this slightly different (and GRIM) tale any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! I ABSOLUTELY ADORE hearing from you.

Awkay, because it's REALLY late and I've been desperate to get some sleep for hours… Until next time! I REALLY HOPE that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

 **Deb** : Awww, glad you liked it! And the little sweet touch. I couldn't help myself. (grins)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : SO GLAD TO HAVE YOU BACK! (HUGS) AND, even more so that you found the chapters you've had the time to read so captivating! (BEAMS) Awww, gotta love Clint AND Thor, right? THANK GOSH Clint has real, proper friends looking out for him, now. (smiles)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Carry692** : Awww, REALLY happy that you liked it! I ALWAYS love diving to Clint's past. (grins) Heh, that's barely criticism at all – in fact, it's an honor that you'd like to read more! I'm planning on adding Thor learning about Clint's past into some later tale. (winks) Don't worry, that evil agent surely got what he deserved from Fury. (smirks evilly)

Monumental thank yous for the review!


	129. A Hawk's Beacon of Light

A/N: Phew! You know, I started about FIVE different drafts before my head decided to go for THIS plotline. (chuckles) We'll see just what sort of a mess I cooked up for Clint this time…

BUT, first… THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews and love! Thy mean more than ANY words can say. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Hawk's Beacon of Light

* * *

It all happened very quickly. To most the beam of light would've looked like a shooting star. Because most people wouldn't have distinguished the outline of a falling aircraft.

But to a group of horrified friends… It was all too clear. "CLINT!"

* * *

Clint woke up to the sensation of floating. And pain. His left thigh seemed to be on fire, and something nasty was gnawing at his ribs. Which were nothing compared to the sheer agony bursting to flames somewhere deep within his back.

He remembered a mission. Flying… something. Then… Nothing.

Did the aircraft crash? What happened to the rest of the team? Were they…?

" _Clint!_ "

There was a wave, and he found himself sliding off from whatever he just lay on. And before he could do a thing to stop it, he was sinking instead of floating. Drowning.

The water's embrace was unnaturally cold and crushing. It filled his nose and mouth without any mercy, and panic made his eyes fly open. All he saw was darkness. Surrounding him. Pulling him under.

" _Clint!_ "

That voice again. Even underwater. And although he knew that it couldn't possibly be real he clung to it, like the drowning man he was to a lifebuoy. The voice, which sounded a lot like Bruce, helped him focus. Especially when all of a sudden there was a beacon of light. It was narrow and almost too bright to be from this world. It called out to him like nothing he'd encountered before.

There was barely any strength left in Clint. But such had never stopped him before. He swam, through the pitch-black darkness, through the cold. Following the light that seemed as surreal as the voice he just heard sounded.

Until finally, finally, he broke the surface. The air was far colder than he'd remembered and he gasped desperately, several times over. It wasn't enough to fill up his aching, burning lungs. The weight of the water and his clothes were far too much. The raging waves definitely didn't help. It wouldn't be long, before…

" _Barton! We're almost there! You need to hang on!_ "

Clint blinked sluggishly. He hadn't realized how close to dozing off he'd come. "Steve…?" he murmured barely audibly, looking around. Of course his friend wasn't there which, considering the circumstances, was a relief. It was also practically impossible that he might have his ear-comm. Was he going out of his mind?

It didn't matter. His friends… The real ones, not their voices in his head… They might still be somewhere out there. Real or not, Steve was right. He had to hold on. He needed to go back, make sure that…

He saw a massive piece of something metallic floating on the water, tantalizingly nearby. There was blood on it. What were the chances that it was the same one he slipped off from?

" _Feathers, you with me?_ "

He almost wasn't. It took a lot of fighting to stay afloat. "… funny, Tin Can", he muttered.

By the time he reached the metal his fingers were numb and he felt how badly his body wanted to just give up. But he wasn't ready. Not yet. Not like this.

Climbing to the metal… It had to be one of the hardest battles he'd ever fought. He had no idea how he managed to do it. But in the end he was there, every horribly aching breath wheezing and his whole body in a blaze of agony. He lay on his back although it was the most uncomfortable position he could've imagined. Unable to move even an inch.

He gave the fight his all. But now… Now he was _done_.

He blinked sluggishly. Somewhere impossibly high up above, on a cloudy sky, stars were shining. Did the light that led him to the surface come from them? Whatever. It was a beautiful sight. And very soothing.

" _Barton, don't you dare fall asleep on me!_ "

Clint winced, even though he was beyond feeling physical discomfort. "Sorry, Tasha…" But hadn't they agreed, pretty much from the beginning, that he was horribly bad at following instructions?

He fell asleep.

* * *

When Clint woke up he was sinking again. And then he wasn't. It took longer than it should've before he realized that the waves were carrying him up and down. Up… And down.

He was supposed to be fighting to stay afloat, right?

His legs and arms felt like lead. And he felt cold, colder than he'd ever felt in his entire life. As well as numb. Moving was practically impossible but he decided to try, anyway. Yet again he followed that same, bizarre light.

It was much harder to stay above the surface this time. And the metal floating on the waves… It seemed to be so very far away…

" _You, friend Barton, are the most stubborn Midgardian I have ever met._ "

The strength… The will… They came from a place deep within he hadn't even known existed. Did it actually matter where it came from? Only one thing mattered, there in the middle of nowhere and all alone. There was only one thing he could do.

" _Hold on._ "

He wasn't sure whose voice that was. It was like whole choir, echoing inside his throbbing skull. It slammed at him again, and again, somehow stronger than the waves. And before he even realized what was going on he'd reached the metal. He clung to it, with bleeding fingers that didn't feel a thing and could only hope that it was enough.

It didn't really feel like he was alone, although on a level of reason he knew that he was. He could've sworn that there was a hand, pressed firmly against his to keep him from slipping away again. Through seawater and storm he smelled the hand cream Laura always used.

Clint had never wanted much in his life. And there had been a rather annoying amount of times when he hadn't been sure what he wanted. Now he knew, with all his heart and soul.

He wanted to go home, to his family. He wanted to survive this. And he needed to make sure that his friends were alright.

There was that bizarre light again. It didn't terrify him, although it probably should've. He didn't move away from it. Just kept holding on, and waiting, no matter how clearly he felt his grip loosening and himself fading.

And then, through the bizarre mixture of dark and unearthly light, he saw Iron Man's familiar suit. Speeding towards him through the storm. It was such a superhero-cliché that Clint couldn't help but laugh, no matter how much it hurt and how horrible it sounded.

He must've closed his eyes for a moment, because the next time he wrestled them open Tony was already there, the face-part of his suit up. His vision was blurry but the billionaire's eyes seemed… worried, almost. "Clint?"

Clint grinned feebly. "… heard you…" Everything slipped to dark once more, but he was in no way alone in it.

* * *

When Clint woke up Tony was beside him. It took him a few moments to realize that he was in a hospital. His friend… looked like he hadn't slept in days. He frowned. "Wah…?" _What the hell happened?_

Tony's eyebrow bounced up. "Oh, what happened? We were… screwed, basically. And you decided to steal a Hydra-jet to create a distraction. Which they shot down, by the way." The inventor's voice was getting a little too high-pitched, and shuddered. The man didn't seem to notice. "Which is how you got yourself a hypothermia and… what, four broken ribs, one of which turned your lung into a kebab roll. And let's not forget about the concussion, the burn-wounds and the piece of metal that pierced your thigh. Or that you almost drowned!"

Clint… didn't think he'd ever seen his friend quite so shook up. "Sorry?" Logical enough, right? He fought desperately to focus. "… okay?"

Tony stared at him in utter disbelief. Then snorted. "Why am I not surprised…" The inventor sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay. Everyone's okay. Just… bruised and pissed off. Good luck when Nat sees you awake."

Clint wasn't able to suppress a grin at that. It was a clear sign of him being too doped up, when even Natasha's wrath didn't scare him. He couldn't quite believe that he was still alive.

"Barton?" Tony sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. "When I… found you… You said that you heard me?"

Clint was _not_ going to share _that_ with his friend. "Concussed, remember?" His eyelids were already drooping. Ridiculous. He wrinkled his nose. "'hate hospitals."

"Really?" Tony's tone was laced by sarcasm. "Wouldn't have realized, since you keep landing yourself to them."

"Funny."

"Yeah, Tweetie, hilarious."

* * *

Hours later Clint was awake for the fifth or sixth time. It didn't matter how tired he felt, or that the rest would've done him good. He wasn't ready to drift away again just yet.

He turned his head the best as he could, so that he was able to look around. Steve and Thor were sitting at a far corner of the room, playing chess although neither seemed very sure of the rules. Bruce was flipping through what he quickly identified as his patient file. It should've annoyed or even alarmed him. He couldn't feel either of those things with the look of genuine concern on the scientist's face. Natasha was only a step away from the room's door, arguing heatedly with a doctor. He only had to follow the sound of snoring to locate Tony. The billionaire was fast asleep right beside his bed. All of them were there for him, each in their own way.

The realization came like a bolt of lightning. Sharply but definitely not painfully. "… know …"

Only the nurse who'd been changing his I.V. bag was close and awake enough to hear him. She gave him a curious look. "Know what?" she inquired gently.

Clint swallowed thickly. So what if his eyes seemed moist? He could always blame it on meds later, if anyone noticed. "What the light was."

The nurse frowned. Obviously she had no idea what he was talking about. "What light?"

But he was already asleep, a look of utter contentment on his face.

* * *

End of tale

* * *

A/N: D'awww! Of course his friends and family are Clint's beacon of light. (smiles fondly) Now Natasha can beat him up for landing himself into a hospital AGAIN. (giggles)

Sooooo… ANY good, AT ALL? PLEASE, leave drop a line or two to the box below! It seems so lonely.

NEXT TIME, CHRISTMAS SPECIAL – THE BARTON-FAMILY, WHICH HAS BEEN ABSENT LATELY, MAKES A COMEBACK! (BEAMS)

Until next time, folks! Hopefully I'll see you all again next time.

Take care!

* * *

 **Carry692** : (chuckles) I'm SUCH a monster sometimes! BUT, I'm super happy that you enjoyed the chapter, anyway! We'll see just what the next chapters brings us… Poor Clint…!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : GO NAT indeed! Gotta LOVE the team those two make. (BEAMS) Awww, I'm very happy that you enjoyed the chapter. I LOVE trying out something different every now and then! (grins)

Let's hope that Clint doesn't run out of miracles anytime soon…!

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	130. All I Want for Christmas

A/N: PHEW! The Christmas Special wanted to be a BIG ONE, and I couldn't stop it. So, here we are. (chuckles) FIRST, though…!

THANK YOU, a million times, for your absolutely amazing reviews and all the love! You guys are FANTASTIC. (HUGS)

Awkay, because it's pretty late and I need some sleep… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own the song 'All I Want for Christmas', nor am I making any profit for mentioning it. I'm just a Christmas song junkie. (giggles)

* * *

All I Want for Christmas

* * *

/ _'_ I don't want a Lot for Christmas, There is just one thing I need… _'_

 _The familiar melody of 'All I want for Christmas' filled the car as Danny Solomon drove towards his home. It'd been a long day, and the radio playing Christmas songs when it was barely past midway of November didn't help calm his fried nerves. He swore under his breath when the car hit a particularly slippery spot and nearly slipped from his control._

 _All_ he _wanted was to get home and…_

 _The thought was cut sharply and he hit the brakes far harder than he should've, his grey eyes widening. The firs thing he saw in the light the vehicle provided was the wreck of another car. Then stains of blood tainting the pure-white snow. And finally…_

 _"Jesus Christ…!"_ /

* * *

The assault of bright lights and white was painful. Like a bullet, or a knife. There was too much noise. Too much chaos.

Without a warning the light got even brighter and sharper. It was hard to hold back a scream of agony. "… hear me?" an unfamiliar voice pried.

 _Get that light away from me!_

A feeble attempt at lifting an arm did no good. Nor did the frantic attempts at talking, because nothing came out through a throat that was filled by a tube. Which succeeded in being the most alarming detail of all.

"… pupils react to light … otherwise unresponsive…"

 _I'm not unresponsive, I just need a minute…!_

The most excruciating part of the light finally vanished. Which didn't make the throbbing, pulsating headache go anywhere. "… new scan …"

It was like a scene had been cut off. All of a sudden there was movement. Along with infuriating clattering and entirely too many jolts. And… Was that a Christmas song?

'… _All I want for Christmas, is you_ …'

Everything else faded away as a memory came flooding in.

* * *

/ _'…_ All I want for Christmas, is you _…'_

 _"Barton, you're the cheesiest man I've ever met", Laura giggled as she grabbed her dancing partner with the fire of a twenty-something-year-old. She felt and sounded drunk although she hadn't taken a single drop. Which might've been embarrassing, if she was with anyone else._

 _Clint smirked and kissed her soundly. He tasted of gingerbread cookies. "And yet…" He moved a strand of stray-hair to behind her ear. It was ridiculous, and horribly corny, how much like home his calloused fingertips felt against her skin. "… you agreed to date number fifteen."_

 _Laura sighed theatrically. "I know. If I'm not careful…" She grabbed his behind in a very demanding manner. "… you'll trap me for life."_

 _"You poor thing."_

 _Laura bit his ear lightly. Then whispered to it. "You think I'm complaining?"_

 _'_ Make my wish come true oh… All I want for Christmas, is you… _'_ /

* * *

"Laura?" The voice seemed to come through layers upon layers of cotton wool. "Laura? Can you hear me?"

Infuriatingly slowly her eyes fluttered open. This time she was actually able to see properly. A ceiling, parts of a room that looked far too much like a hospital. And a stranger's face above her.

The woman, a nurse whose nametag stated 'Carter', smiled. "Welcome back. You gave us a bit of a scare, but you're recovering nicely." There was a moment of hesitation. A brief one, but deafeningly loud. "Do you… remember what happened?"

Laura nodded faintly, which sent a flaming dagger through her head and made her stomach roll. "… dancing …" No, wait. That wasn't right. That memory… It was too old… Her eyebrows furrowed. "No…"

Metal. Noise. Pain.

"You were in an accident." The nurse's voice was incredibly calm, that of someone too used to delivering bad news. It chilled her, rather than soothed her. "You hit your head pretty badly. You also broke your arm. And a few ribs, which caused internal bleeding. It'll take some time, patience and physical therapy to recover, but you'll be just fine."

Yeah, that sounded good. Well, tolerable, anyway. But something… She needed to figure it out… And then it hit her, with such force that took her breath away.

Laura's eyes flashed. Despite her injuries she glared at the nurse like a mother lion protecting her young. "My family… Where's my family?"

* * *

/ _Lila didn't know when she dozed off. But she woke up to the soft melody of a song she didn't recognize. She yawned and opened her eyes halfway. The world outside was still dark._

 _Half-asleep once more, she glanced towards the front seat. What she found brought a huge smile to the little girl's face. Her daddy, who'd been driving most of the journey, was sleeping on the passenger's seat. She didn't think she'd ever seen him asleep before. Lila really liked the expression of peace and that serene smile on his face._

 _She loved her daddy, and he was her greatest hero. But he frowned too much. And his smiles didn't always reach his eyes._

 _Her mommy, who was driving, seemed to agree. With a soft, loving smile of her own, her mommy pressed a chaste, tender kiss to her daddy's cheek. Then focused on the road ahead like nothing ever happened._

 _That, Lila knew more clearly than ever before, was love and happiness._

 _The little girl fell asleep once more – only to wake up to pain and bright lights._ /

* * *

It was the most terrifying manner in which Lila had ever woken up. She'd always hated hospitals. But before – like when she broke her leg when falling on a bike, or when she had a really bad stomach-ache – her parents were there with her. Holding her hand, telling silly jokes, distracting her from the realization that she was in a horrible, scary place.

She called out to them now, too. Because she had no idea what was going on. She was in a horrible amount of pain and terrified. And she was just a little girl. Of course she wanted her parents. "Mommy!" she whimpered, with what little voice she found. "Daddy!"

"Shh, shh…" A woman in scrubs appeared to her line of vision. The stranger's eyes looked just like her mommy's. It was a small comfort. "Other doctors are looking after your parents, okay? And your brothers are safe. You all just need some rest."

Lila wanted her family there with her, more than any words could've expressed. But if they needed rest… Maybe rest would make the pain go away.

She could've sworn that she felt her daddy stroking her hair, and it eased her to dreamless slumber.

* * *

/ _The first thing Cooper felt upon jolting awake was that he couldn't move. Which alone would've been quite alarming enough. But then he smelled the blood, and felt his stomach roll violently. It took all his willpower to not throw up. His baby-brother was crying loudly, which was the only sound heard in the vehicle._

 _Cooper fought with all he had, just like his dad always did, but couldn't break free from whatever it was trapping him. Sheer terror rising within, he turned his head towards where his sister sat. It was the first time he saw her perfectly still. The blood coating her was all he could focus on. The kind of fear he felt then… It choked him, clawed at his insides mercilessly. "Dad?" No response. "Mom?" Still nothing. The already horrible feeling inside him grew tenfold._

 _Beyond frantic, the boy looked towards the front seats. He could only see small parts of his mom, enough to tell that she, just like Lila, was far too still. His wide eyes then shifted to his dad. He was incredibly pale and also motionless. If he hadn't known better he would've thought that his dad was sleeping. He wanted to reach out a hand and grab the man's shoulder, shake until his dad was awake and would tell him what to do. Woke up to convince him that everything would work out. But the reach of his arm just wasn't enough._

 _"Mom, dad…! Please…!" There was no reaction from the adults. Not even a twitch. Helpless to do anything for anyone, Cooper had never felt quite so alone and useless in his entire life. There, in the covers of the dark, tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks while his whole body trembled. "Please…!"_

 _Only silence answered him._ /

* * *

Cooper trembled pitiably as he sat on a hospital bed, his baby-brother in his arms. The hospital staff helped the older boy with the wounds and bruises he had, and announced that he'd be good as new soon. Even if his legs might hurt a lot for a while. They also gave Nate some formula and checked the little one over, to deem the child miraculously unharmed. They tried to take Nate from him several times, but Cooper held on with everything he had. He wasn't going to let the only part of his family in sight disappear, too.

He couldn't make Lila or his mom wake up. He wasn't able to help his dad, either. He wasn't planning on failing Nate, too.

Not that Cooper would've said as much to anyone, because he hadn't uttered a word since watching through a car's window how his dad collapsed.

Cooper wanted to ask about his parents and sister but his mouth refused to function. He didn't dare to ask, because he didn't think he would've been able to process his worst fears being realized. He ensured that Nate was fed and changed but couldn't force anything down his own throat. What little sleep he managed to get was plagued by horrible nightmares.

Cooper had no idea how much time had passed when the room's door opened, and Natasha walked in. He could tell that the redhead was fresh out of a mission from the light bruises and the look in her eyes. His dad's eyes always seemed the same when he came back home. The boy hated it, even though it usually disappeared in a couple of days.

Natasha made her way to him almost soundlessly and somehow knew exactly how far from him to sit. She gave him a few moments before speaking quietly. "Sorry that it took me a while to get here. The others are still wrapping up the mission."

Cooper shrugged, still unable to produce speech. It didn't matter how long she took. She was there now.

Natasha sighed. "This… is going to be a tough battle. But whatever happens… It'll be okay, eventually." No sugarcoating, just blunt honestly. Somehow it was just what the boy needed.

Cooper had never been a cuddly child. Not even with his parents. Mostly because far too often he forgot just how young he was. But he _was_ still just a child. And right there he pressed himself as tightly as he could against Natasha, grabbed her shirt desperately and buried his face to her shoulder. It was the first time since the accident he cried.

(Cooper was too young and distraught to notice the way Natasha tensed up at first, her eyes widening with uncharacteristic terror and hesitation. Then, finally, she wrapped a tentative arm around the boy. Which made Cooper cling to her even more tightly.

When Fury peered into the room a couple of hours later he found Cooper still latched to her, and baby Nate supported by her clumsy arm. The redhead clearly did what she could to keep the baby at bay but the little one, who snuffled happily in his sleep, clung to her like an octopus. Fury didn't think he'd ever seen her that scared. Which didn't keep her from glaring at him before mouthing. 'One word… and I'll dump the brat on you.'

Fury, wisely, chose to leave.)

Far too much time passed by. Days or weeks, was impossible to tell. Eventually the rest of the Avengers appeared. And after a while Cooper dared to trust them with Nate's care. He didn't dare to ask about his family. It was curled up next to Steve as the soldier read, his back pressed against the Captain's knee, Cooper finally slept peacefully. The man looked just enough like his dad to trick his exhausted mind for a moment.

Cooper woke up to a familiar hand stroking his cheek. At first he thought that he was still dreaming. Until he heard the voice. "… awake, sweetie?"

Slowly, almost afraid that the illusion would break, Cooper cracked his eyes open. He blinked several times, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. She looked bruised, ill, _different_ , in far more ways than one. And the hospital had wiped away the scent of hand cream which usually accompanied her. But it was his mom.

She seemed to sense and see his shock, and did her best to smile. Her mouth opened, but he was faster. Finally found his voice. It sounded oddly hoarse even to his own ears. "You're bald." It wasn't what he wanted to say at all, but it was the best he could manage.

His mom had never hugged him the way she did then. With quite as much tenderness, apology and joy. For once in his life Cooper relaxed, practically melted, to the hold.

* * *

/ _Clint had faced a lot of nightmares in his life. But nothing, absolutely nothing, beat those that turned out to be real. Especially real-nightmares such as the one his eyes fluttered open to witness._

 _The broken windshield was the first thing he saw. It might explain why he felt so cold. But what broke it?_

 _Entirely too slowly his head turned, and his heart took several unhealthy jumps._

 _Laura sat on the driver's seat, and he could tell immediately that she'd hit her head on the steering wheel. Hard. There was a bleeding gash and already visible bruising on her forehead. She wasn't moving. Nor was she conscious. And he didn't like how her breathing sounded._

 _"Laura…?" He reached out a hand and instantly hated how feeble it was. He attempted to brush her cheek but could barely manage that. She felt so cold… "Laura, don't…"_ Don't you dare leave me like this!

 _That was when he became aware of the noise on the backseat. Baby Nate was crying hysterically. Cooper was sobbing, even though he could hear that the boy tried to hold it back. Lila… Lila was quiet. Too quiet._

 _"Dad?" Cooper sounded heartbreakingly desperate. "Dad, I'm stuck… And Lila, she's bleeding."_

 _As from that moment Clint was unnaturally awake. Furiously determined, adrenaline numbing him more effectively than any drug, he forced the car's door open. Then stumbled to the snow outside. His legs were feeble, threatened to give out several times. He had no idea how he reached his children. But the next time he could focus he was there. There was so much blood on Lila that he had no idea where it came from. He picked her up like the precious treasure she was and supported her against him the best as he could, then took Nate. The baby was clearly terrified but by some miracle seemed unharmed. The second the little one felt him he calmed down with a one last whimper._

 _"Dad?" Cooper sounded even more scared than before, and he would've given anything if he could've… "Is Lila okay? And mom?"_

 _Clint had absolutely no idea, and he hated it from the bottom of his racing and breaking heart. But he wasn't about to tell his son that. "We're okay", he swore with as much force as he could muster. "Or… Will be." There just wasn't any other choice._

 _That was when Clint became aware of the approaching running steps. He tensed up, prepared to protect the family he'd already failed that night. He faced a man in heavy winter clothes who wore an expression of genuine concern. "Help's on the way. What can I do…?"_

 _"My son", was all Clint managed, along with a vague gesture towards the backseat._

 _Despite sudden and constantly growing exhaustion Clint watched over carefully while the stranger began to help his son. After what felt like a decade Cooper was finally free. The boy stumbled, but was able to make his way onwards, even though it obviously hurt a lot. As soon as he stepped near enough his older son grabbed his coat with such force that suggested he'd never let go._

 _Only… There was no choice over that. As soon as they reached the stranger's car, the only remotely warm place nearby, the man ushered Cooper inside. The boy cast a panicked look towards him. "Dad…!"_

 _Clint did his best to smile. Even if it felt like his whole world was threatening to fall apart. "'s okay. We'll all be okay", he murmured._

 _It was enough because it had to be. Clint shuddered, almost like waking up, when the stranger pried first Nate, then Lila from his arms. The man was looking at him with constantly growing alarm. "… need to sit down." Why was the stranger whispering? "… injured …"_

 _Clint shook his head. Which made him feel dizzy. No. He couldn't stop and sit down, not yet. "… wife."_

 _He attempted to move, desperately. Because Laura needed him. But his limbs… They refused to function. All of him seemed to be shutting down. Blinking sluggishly, he let his gaze fall._

 _Which was the first time he saw the tree branch, sticking from his stomach._

 _That discovery drained whatever strength there'd been in Clint. And he absolutely loathed himself for such weakness. There was a brief and violent sensation of falling, then nothing._ /

* * *

Clint had no idea how many times he tried to wake up, swam towards the surface only to get sucked back down again. But finally, finally, he was getting there. Breaking free from the dark.

At last he felt warm again. And there, holding his hand… Whose grasp was it?

"Honey?" The voice was hoarse and lighter than a whisper, but easily one of the most beautiful things he'd ever heard. "Are you awake?"

It was a mighty struggle. But eventually his eyes cracked open. Far too slowly the blurry face above him cleared.

Laura's face still had some bruising in the late stages of healing, the ugly color tainting her pale skin. And she looked utterly exhausted, like she hadn't dared to sleep since she managed to wake up after the accident. The biggest change, though…

Grief pulling at his heart, he reached out an unsteady hand and brushed her still bandaged head cautiously, knowing that there was no hair hiding under the white covers.

Laura's smile faltered for a moment. "I know, right? They went and gave me Fury's hairstyle." She winced. "I wish it suited me as well as it suits him."

 _Nonsense. You're the most beautiful woman in the world._ He attempted to say as much, but didn't seem to have enough strength left. His consciousness was already slipping.

Clint fought the oblivion's pull, with all his might. This wasn't enough time! He needed to know…!

Laura kissed his forehead. Her lips were dry but familiar, made him feel safe and warm all over. "We're okay, all of us. The kids, too. Now drop the tough-guy act and sleep."

His eyes slipped closed before he could do a thing to stop it. But just before he drifted off he tightened his hold on Laura's hand. He slipped into the land of dreams with the comforting knowledge that the nightmare was finally over.

* * *

The next time Clint woke up wasn't quite as pleasant. Alone with a young doctor who was no match against his interrogation technique, he dug out just how badly he'd been injured. And realized that his life would never be quite the same again.

One of his arms was a massive, still heavily bandaged mess of scars. It was unclear whether he'd ever regain full use of it. (And he'd definitely never wear T-shirts again, he tried feebly to joke at himself.) There was painful ringing in his ears, and it might never go away. His abdominal area was, however, what suffered the worst damage. Which meant that he'd never, ever recover enough to do active field work.

And that wasn't the worst of it. His sons were alright, at least physically, and he was relieved beyond all measure for that. But Lila, and Laura… His wife had broken bones and a nasty scar that'd soon be covered by hair. His little girl also broke her arm and lost a kidney. Lost a lot of blood. Her little heart stopped beating three times before it decided that she'd pull through, after all.

He could've lost them all, so very easily. He actually did lose Lila, only for a little while but still. The pain and panic attack that realization steered him into were horrible. Rage followed right after, because it was easier on his aching and breaking heart to process.

It was Natasha who found the trashed hospital room. And him, slumped against the furthest corner, panting and hissing from agony. She didn't judge, or start fretting. Instead she crossed the field of the devastation like it was the most natural thing in the world and sat gracefully beside him. They remained in a companionable, thoughtful silence for a long time until she spoke. "You done?" She didn't mean the destructive outburst.

Clint shook his head, not trusting his voice. No. He wasn't done. He was more determined to fight than ever in his life. To fight until his last breath to try and ensure that no more harm would come to his family.

"Good."

The silence returned, like the bizarre calm after a hurricane. Natasha still didn't judge him. Not even when he eventually broke down to sobs and buried his face to his hands.

* * *

The third time Clint woke up, from having been sedated after his breakdown… It was quite possibly the most beautiful and magical awakening he'd ever faced. He recognized the whispering voice instantly, no matter how groggy he was. "… don't wanna hurt him", Lila pointed out frantically.

"You won't, I promise", Laura swore. "I know that he doesn't look… okay yet. And he isn't. But I have a secret for you." The next sentence was barely audible. "Your hugs are magic. I think he's missed them."

"I have", Clint assured, blowing his cover. He cracked one eye halfway open. It broke his heart how much his daughter seemed to fear coming closer. He beckoned her gently with his good hand, careful to keep the still wrapped and horribly sore one out of her sight. "Come here, sweetheart. I've heard that you've been a really brave girl. But even brave girls need hugs."

All hesitation vanished. The second Laura placed the child to the bed she clung to him, buried her face to his chest. It didn't matter that she succeeded in irritating a lot of horribly sore spots. She was _there_ , alive. So was he. If that wasn't Christmas magic Clint didn't know what was.

Whatever baby Nate saw on his face when they were finally reunited made the child giggle hysterically, and Clint knew that he was forgiven over having been away.

Cooper… took longer to warm up. After over a week it became clear that the boy was avoiding him. Eventually Clint decided to take matters to his own hands.

Of course he wasn't supposed to get out of the bed. And he absolutely wasn't supposed to be walking around. But he wasn't going to let such meaningless details keep him from his son when the boy needed him desperately.

Cooper was watching 'Jurassic Park' when he half marched, half stumbled into the room. For a while they just stared at each other, neither quite sure how to proceed. "I… think I've watched all the movies this hospital has", Cooper explained, reserved, subdued. "So uncle Tony brought me this."

Clint snorted, more amused than he would've cared to admit. "Not my first choice for a kid's movie. But okay."

"I'm not a kid", Cooper argued with passion.

By then Clint had slumped to the bedside, his legs having been barely strong enough to take him there. His heart practically exploded from pain in his chest at those words. "Yeah, you are", he pointed out. He gave his son a moment. "I… know that this all scared you. Badly. And I'm sorry."

Cooper was staring at the TV-screen intently. But it was easy to see that the child's mind was somewhere far away. "I… I couldn't wake you. Any of you." The boy swallowed thickly and blinked furiously. "I couldn't do a thing. Nate was crying, Lila was bleeding, mom was breathing funny and you… you fell and… I couldn't do a thing. I was just useless."

The amount of self-hatred in Cooper's voice was more agonizing than anything else. Clint had to compose himself for a long time before he managed to wrap an arm around his son and trusted his voice. "Coop… There was nothing you could've done that evening, okay? And… You weren't useless." Facing his son's incredulous, suspicious look, the archer went on. "You kids and your mom… Whenever I face a really tough battle, I remember you guys. That's why I'm still here." The final words made the boy shudder, and the Hawk knew that he was close to the heart of the problem. "I'm here, Coop", he swore gently. "And I'll fight with tooth and nail to stay for as long as I can."

Cooper didn't say anything. Didn't even look his way. But the boy relaxed against him, took his hand and squeezed almost painfully tightly. By the time Ian Malcolm declared that life finds a way the father and son were fast asleep, both snoring softly.

And so the true healing began, for all of them.

* * *

By Christmas Eve Clint and Lila weren't exactly in the condition to leave the hospital. Which was where Tony Stark worked his magic. There was a Tower full of medical staff and necessary equipment waiting for them. The still healing family would be in safe hands. And, most importantly, out of the hospital that was doing none of them any good.

Tony had a Santa's hat sitting on his head when the man came to collect them, of course. It was accompanied by a massive grin. "So, my feathery friends… Are you ready to go?"

"Hell yes!"

"Language, dad!" Cooper instructed instantly.

Clint snorted with amusement and ruffled his son's hair. It meant the world to him that the gesture made his usually far too solemn child grin. "You've spent too much time with uncle Steve."

The rest of the team was waiting in the hallway. Cooper talked with Steve more than his parents had ever seen the boy chat with anyone who wasn't immediate family, never taking his eyes off his parents and siblings for more than a few seconds. The need to check, to reassure himself, would be there for a long time. Lila would've wanted to be carried by her daddy but understood that he wasn't well enough for that yet. So she settled for the next best thing, which was squeezing his hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white and giggling at Tony's jokes. Clint's other hand held Laura's, and it was impossible to tell which one's grasp was firmer. Baby Nate slept serenely in Wanda's safe arms, as though knowing that his whole family was going to be okay. Natasha walked a step or two behind the rest of them, a constant shadow watching over them. It was one of those very rare times in her life she felt lucky.

The journey to the Tower exhausted the Barton family, and by the time they made it there it was dark. None of them had any energy to celebrate but that was alright. All of them, the family and the Avengers included, being together and in a place where they felt safe was enough.

Christmas morning found the entire Barton family crammed to a bed that should've been too small for them. Defying their injuries, Clint and Laura had tangled together in a manner that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Lila was clutching at them both, a big smile on her small face as she slumbered. Nate snuffled between his parents, wrinkling his nose every now and then. Cooper rested with his back pressed against his father's and face towards the wall.

Outside the building winter's first snow floated softly towards the ground, lazily rising sun making each flake shine like a diamond.

* * *

A couple of days later Laura and Dr. Sarah Harris, a psychiatrist whose unfortunate duty was to try as hard as any human being could to care for the Avengers, were both deep in thought. Their eyes monitored carefully as both Clint and Lila went through physical therapy, identical looks of intense concentration on their faces.

"They seem to be making good progress", Sarah noted.

Laura swallowed the bait. Pain flashed on the woman's face. "It's… I can't even describe how much it hurts to see my little girl in so much pain. And Clint…" Several moments passed by in a silence. "He's in pain, too. He has constant nightmares. And… He doesn't know how to… adjust. He hasn't let me see him naked or even shirtless since…" The rest faded away, and a rosy hue appeared as Laura finally caught up with what she was saying.

"They went through a lot of trauma, emotionally and physically", Sarah reasoned gently. "They'll never be exactly the same again. Especially Clint. It takes a lot to adjust to that."

"I know. Just…" Laura gulped, and just like that the words started rolling. "I… look different, too. And… I know that it's stupid, but… I can't help wondering if Clint doesn't… want me anymore, because of that. Or if he blames me." Because she blamed herself, almost every second of every day. The grimace of pain she saw on Lila's face was like a dagger at her chest. "I was the only one awake when it happened and… I can't remember. Not even one thing. I almost killed them all, and I can't even remember how…!"

"Laura." Sarah's atypically sharp tone cut her short effectively. "Listen to me, right now. What happened… It was an accident. You didn't cause it, it wasn't your fault. Just a stupid, horrible accident." The therapist let her words claw their way in. "It wasn't your fault. They know it as well as I do. And I need you to believe it, too."

Laura stared. Watched how Clint embraced their daughter, ignoring his own discomfort. And for the first time since those horrible events Laura burst into the tears that'd been long in the making.

* * *

Eventually it was New Year's Eve. Despite his best attempts Clint had dozed off, exhausted by physical therapy and a busy day with the children. He woke up to the sensation of lips brushing first his forehead, then his neck, and finally his lips.

He smirked. It took a while before he opened his eyes lazily. "… 'could get used to being woken up like this", he murmured.

Laura grinned back and kissed him again. "You'd better get used to it, Barton." She leaned closer. "So… Tony's watching over the kids. Or maybe they're watching over him. Which means that it's just you…" Her hand advanced on his body. "… and me."

Clint tensed up to an extend that did his not fully healed body no good. He swallowed thickly, a surge of panic rising within. "Laura, don't…"

"I know that you look different", she interrupted him, gently but firmly. Her eyes were on his, and he saw nothing but genuine acceptance and honesty in them. "I saw the list of your injuries, and the surgery you've gone through. I know…" She slid a gentle hand under his shirt, making him tremble. "… what's here. And it's alright." Her other hand pointed towards her head, where new hair was starting to grow. A scar was still visible. "I look different, too. And… We both have to learn to accept that it's alright. That it's still me…" She gave him a peck on the lips, then lifted the hem of his shirt even though he tensed up further. "… and you." A flutter-light brush against his biggest, still bandaged wound… didn't feel as uncomfortable as he'd expected. Their eyes met. "I'm your wife. And you're my husband. Will you let me touch you, so I can get to know you again?"

As if Clint had ever been able to deny her anything.

While the clock struck midnight and rockets exploded with loud cheering the two of them explored one another. Slowly but not exactly carefully, intimately, lovingly. They created fireworks of their own. It was like coming back to life. Or coming back home.

The cry Laura emitted was that of someone who felt their own heart truly beating for the first time.

* * *

January was already far along when Clint and Steve sat in a park not far from the Tower, identical thoughtful frowns on their faces. The Captain was the one who broke the silence. "Are you sure about this?"

Clint nodded firmly. Wind carried the laughter of Cooper and Lila to his ears. "I've… had two families, since I joined the Avengers. Right now…" He nodded towards Laura and the kids. "… that one needs me a lot more." It was time to go home, and stay home. He should've probably made this decision a long time ago.

"I understand." Steve's smile was soft, even if was tainted by sadness as he observed the mother and children. "I wouldn't be able to stay away from them, either."

Clint smiled, too. Despite feeling all too clearly that something big was ending. "Just… Remember that whenever you need me, I'm only a phone-call away. No matter what. I may be quitting the team, but I'm not quitting this family." The archer winced after a second. "If you ever tell Stark I just said that…"

"My lips are sealed."

"I knew I could count on you." And he always would, with himself to be led and now with the team. No matter how unnatural such trust was to the Hawk who'd been all alone in the world for far too long.

Steve considered for a long time. Then opened his mouth. "Clint…"

"Don't", Clint advised. "Let's… just leave it at this." They'd already said and heard everything necessary.

They sat in a comfortable silence. Surrounded by the sounds of the kids, of New York, of life. It was an ending, and a beginning.

The moment's sentimentality vanished when Lila threw a snowball at Steve.

Clint smirked. His eyes filled with the kind of affection only a parent can experience. "How about that. It looks like her arm's almost all better, now."

* * *

Tony wasn't pleased when he heard the news. Of course he knew exactly where Clint's decision to retire came from and a huge, rational part of him supported it. But the selfish, bratty part of him that was afraid of losing his friend chose to take action. Which was why he found himself marching towards the Barton family's room.

He pushed the door open without much of a wait after his knock. His mouth was open for questions. The sight he encountered made all words freeze into his mouth.

Clint had been changing his shirt. The archer was fast, but the injuries did slow him down. Which was why the billionaire caught a glimpse of the stoma-bags. One for feces, one for urine. They occupied both sides of the archer's abdominal area, lining a long and chilling-looking wound. Both seemed to be sneering at him. And like those weren't bad enough, he saw his friend's arm. It hadn't been re-bandaged yet. Which gave him a clear visual to the red, scarred and still raw tissue.

"So…" Tony swallowed, wondering what one was supposed to say in such a situation. "That's… why you're really retiring." It sounded stupid, even to him, but it was the best he could do.

"Yeah… Partially." By then Clint had his shirt on but the man still seemed embarrassed and self-conscious. "Laura… She thinks that I don't know how often she has nightmares. How much that day still tortures her. The kids…" The archer inhaled sharply. "They need me. And…" The man gestured towards himself, a flicker of self-hatred in his eyes. "… I'm no use for the team like this. So…"

Tony understood. He really did. Even though he perhaps didn't want to. "Do the others know?"

"That I'm leaving, yeah. Tasha… understood." Which didn't mean that she would've been happy about it. Clint licked his lips. "Look… They don't know about…" The man pointed at the bags with visible venom. "… these. Even Tasha."

"They won't be hearing about them from me", Tony assured immediately. Sharing something so private about his friend… It definitely wasn't his decision to make. He shifted and scratched his head. "Don't ever tell anyone I said this, but… I'll miss you."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Don't turn this into a chick-flick moment. It's not like I'm going to the moon. I'll visit so often that you'll get sick of me." That was as good as 'I'll miss you, too'. The man gave him one of those rare, genuine small smiles. "Tasha's promised to babysit you guys."

"We don't need a babysitter. We're not kids, Feathers."

"Yeah, you are", Clint insisted. His face absolutely serious. "I've got three, and you guys are more work than any of them. I don't want to even imagine what trouble you'll get into when I'm not here."

Tony rolled his eyes. Even stuck out his tongue. "You're an ass."

"Very mature, Tin Can."

Pepper Potts peered into the room a little later, just in time to see the two friends break a hug. She retreated without a sound. If she wiped away a tear, no one would have to know.

"Look after them, yeah?"

"I will." It was the easiest promise Tony had ever given in his life. The Avengers were as good as family to him, even if he would've never admitted it out loud. He'd do whatever it'd take to keep all of them safe.

* * *

A few days later the family was finally back at the Farm. The first thing they did was really, truly celebrate Christmas. At last.

While the children baked and laughed it was like someone had actually succeeded in turning back time, at least for a little while.

Eventually midnight had come and gone long since. And just the adults were awake. Only candles and moonlight streaming through the window illuminated the room while Clint and Laura wrapped their arms around each other. Held on as though for dear life and thanked whatever deity might be listening that they still had each other. Then, slowly and moving as one, they began to sway to the familiar, soft melody floating from a CD-player.

' _… All I want for Christmas is you…_ '

* * *

End of tale

* * *

A/N: Awwww! They all made it through. Not exactly in one peace, and with 'Civil War' looming in the horizon, but still. (BEAMS)

SOOOOO… How's that for a Christmas special? Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOOOVE hearing from you.

AND, OF COURSE… **HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU! Have fun, relax, enjoy, and take a moment to appreciate those you're lucky enough to have around you.** (smiles, and HUGS)

Awkay, because I totally need some sleep… Until next time! I really hope that you'll all be there.

Take care!

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : I know, right? (grins) And awwww, aren't they just the SWEETEST? (BEAMS) Gotta love all the friendship!

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Guest** : It means A LOT that you enjoyed it so! (BEEEEEEAMS) I really hope that the Christmas special will meet your expectations!

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Carry692** : I'm REALLY happy that you enjoyed it so! (BEAMS) I LOVE the amount of friendship in the team! I'm super happy that it shone through to you.

Monumental thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	131. A Very Hawkeye New Year

A/N: It's time for the year's final addition to 'SOS', folks! Fret not, we'll continue with these feathery adventures next year, of course. (Poor Clint…!) We'll see just how 2017 will be closed… (grins evilly)

First, though…! THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart and soul, for sticking around – for your reviews, listings, love and support! You guys… ARE AWESOME! (HUUUUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride (flight?). It's time to give Steve some spotlight. (Poor dear…!)

 **TAKES PLACE** months after the first 'Avengers' movie.

* * *

A Very Hawkeye New Year

* * *

The thick and dark, seemingly never-ending forest was almost eerily quiet and full of snow. The only sounds disturbing the silence were heavy panting and stumbling footsteps. Along with softly murmured, barely audible words.

"… eyes open …"

"… 'st resting 'em …"

"… little further …"

The sad truth of the situation was that there was _nothing_ even remotely close to a 'little further'. Just an endless sea of trees and snow. And constantly thickening darkness, along with the kind of moist cold that goes all the way to one's bones. If anything, the two men on their painfully slow journey had been moving away from anything that could be described as safety. It didn't make things seem any more promising that droplets and splashes of blood followed their path.

And then, inevitably, one man's knees buckled, sending the other stumbling as well.

"Hey, hey!" Gentle, almost cautious hands eased the collapsed man down. "Not yet, okay? We have to get out of the forest." It was getting too cold, too fast. And then there was the issue of blood-loss.

It was worrying that the other's eyes barely stayed open. Each and every wheezing breath puffing the air came with more effort than the last. "Just… catching… my breath." A nose wrinkled from pain and general discomfort. It was disconcerting to notice the hint of blue on his lips. "'s fucking cold, here."

"Language."

A faint, almost fond smile was aimed at the not-really-so-affronted man. "Sorry." The moment of peace was cut sharply by a violent coughing fit. If it wasn't obvious before how badly wrong things were, it became loud and clear when blood was spat on snow.

Sometimes it still amazed Steve Rogers how quickly things could go horribly wrong.

Since Boxing Day the two of them had been on a vacation in the middle of nowhere because the Captain needed a break from all-things-modern, and a babysitter. Which meant that they had no phones, or any of Tony's fancy gadgets. It surprised the soldier how at home Clint was in such, as the Iron Man put it, 'primitive conditions'. He shouldn't have been surprised, though. This was a man whose chosen weapon was an ancient one, and who'd been given full S.H.I.E.L.D training. The biggest unexpected turn was how the environment changed the Hawk's state of mind. They'd been a team for months, and all that time the trauma Loki caused had been dark and heavy on the archer. But there, in the wild, Clint relaxed. Like someone who'd come home. It helped Steve relax in return, knowing that he was with someone who appreciated the simple beauty of their current environment. (Much later it occurred to Steve that perhaps Clint needed a break, too.)

The soldier unwound to a point where he forgot just how easily his new friend found trouble. Steve was almost sure that his heart stilled for a few seconds when Clint stumbled to the cabin they shared. Bleeding.

There was a trap-hole, so completely hidden by snow that even Clint's keen eyes had no hope of spotting it. The archer, who'd been searching firewood, fell down hard. Barely managed to climb back up. That the man made it back to the cabin was nothing short of a miracle. Being alive instead of having been killed by the hole's spears was an even greater one. Apparently that was where their miracles ran out. The car they used to get there refused to start, and Steve had nothing with which to try and fix it. So they had no other choice but to defy nature, merciless climate-conditions and, the most grim aspect of all, Clint's injuries.

And here they were, in the forest.

Night had already fallen during their long, exhausting journey. Even Steve was starting to feel the strain, and he could only imagine how horrible his friend felt. But they had to keep going. They had to stay strong, just a little while longer. "C'mon", Steve urged gently. "We have to get up, before the cold gets to us."

Clint Barton never asked for help. Never showed weakness if he could help it. It wasn't an insult, just the way the world had shaped the archer. Steve understood, because he was much the same. But there, in the safety of a forest where no one could see them, the Hawk gritted his teeth, looked down and murmured barely audibly. "I, ah… can't." It wasn't easy to recognize the flashing in Clint's eyes as sheer terror. "I can't get up."

Steve swallowed thickly. He knew full well that him panicking wouldn't solve anything, but… This was a little too much like Bucky all over again for comfort. "Okay." He took a deep breath, hating how tight his chest felt. "Then I'll help you."

Oh, it was clearly evident just how much Clint hated what he was implying. A half-hearted glare was aimed his way. "… not gonna be carried around", he archer muttered sullenly.

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. "We have to get you to that town nearby", he reasoned. _Before you bleed to death._ "Sorry, but… There's no other way."

Reluctantly and with grumbling Clint finally accepted the realities of the situation. "Fine… 'st… Don't tell Stark." The Hawk's speech was slurring, and there was too much red on the ground.

Deciding to hurry, Steve began to hoist his friend up. Of course things refused to go quite so simply. His hand pressed a certain spot on Clint's back, and the archer howled at the top of his lungs. The sound shot through the Captain like a bolt of lightning, and he let go of his friend as though the touch burned.

It took a few moments before Steve was coherent enough to reach a conclusion. "During the fall… Did you hurt your back?"

Clint blinked sluggishly. The man seemed paler than before, if such was even possible. "… dunno… Maybe…"

A shudder crossed Steve. He wasn't exactly an expert on medical stuff, but… A guy who had a possible spinal injury just walked… He didn't even know how long. That didn't sound like a good idea. At all.

Clint inhaled what was supposed to be a steadying breath, which pushed him right into another coughing fit. It was painful to just watch, and Steve preferred not guessing how much it had to hurt his friend. And there was nothing he could do to help.

"… numb…", Clint breathed out as soon as he had at least a little air in his lungs.

Steve frowned. That… didn't sound good. "What's numb?"

"Legs." Clint swallowed thickly, fear creeping to his agonized eyes. "'n't feel 'em."

Steve fought the urge to tighten the arm supporting his barely conscious friend. He had no idea what to say. "It's just the cold", he assured with as much conviction as he could muster. "You'll feel better when we get you to someplace warm." Everything would work out. Had to.

Steve didn't succeed in convincing himself, but Clint seemed a great deal calmer as the archer nodded. Hooded eyes barely managed to open again after each blink. "'s not so cold anymore", the Hawk mused. "'s nice." True to his words, Clint had stopped trembling at some point. Unfortunately blood continued to flow. The man sighed, and coughed. "Sorry I ruined this 'cation. … fall…!"

Steve nudged gently, mindful of the possible injuries. "Hey! You didn't ruin anything, okay? This was just…" He shrugged. "… bad luck."

Clint actually smirked at that. Drifting but still hanging on. "… mean, worse than usual?"

Steve sighed. Feeling every bit like the grandpa he technically was. "I think I'm starting to root for Stark's idea of that full-body armor for you."

"Hey!" Clint didn't quite succeed in sounding insulted. "'ought you're on my side." That… actually sounded more insulted than it should've.

"I _am_ on your side", Steve pointed out firmly. Because clearly this was something his friend needed to hear. "Always." Granted, Clint wasn't exactly the most open person. But from what he'd managed to gather his friend hadn't had many people he would've been able to trust. Loki stole away one of them, leaving the archer with a team of people he'd never even met. The Hawk needed proof that they were trustworthy, needed to know that it wasn't just him and Natasha against the rest of the world.

It was impossible to tell how aware of the world around him Clint was anymore. The archer looked at him with barely open eyes, evaluating. "'careful", the man murmured at last and looked at his own bleeding form. Clint winced at so much more than just his injuries. "'people on my side usually get hurt… or…" The rest faded away. The archer swallowed thickly, and would've curled up with his back towards Steve if he was able to. "… 'ing Barton Luck's contagious …"

It was a beyond rare, breath-short moment of openness. Spoke far more than those few, barely comprehensible words. For a moment Steve had no idea how to respond to it. Until he did know. "It's okay", he assured softly and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "We're tough. We can take it." In a world of super soldiers, men in iron suits, gods and… green balls of rage Clint could stop worrying about others. At least most of the time. He just needed to stay awake, and stay with them. When the ensuing silence stretched Steve went on. "And what have I said about using language like that? Stark has a bad influence on you."

Clint smiled. Really, honestly smiled, instead of offering one of those usual little grins. Steve hadn't realized how rare of a sight it was until he faced it. The soldier shuddered when something grabbed his hand, held on feebly but stubbornly. He looked down and blinked with surprise upon discovering Clint's gloved fingers curled around his. He was fairly sure that it was the first time he witnessed the archer initiating physical contact outside missions and training sessions. Witnessed his friend trusting that much.

Steve wanted to say something. But it felt like any words would've broken whatever was going on. So, following his friend's dazed gaze, he looked towards the sky. Rockets in an incredible variety of colors lit up the sky, coming from a village that was somewhere out there, just out of their reach.

"Happy New Year", Clint breathed, eyelids fluttering hazardously.

Steve's eyes stung and burned from more than just the cold. He stared at the magic on the sky because he didn't want to look towards his friend. Didn't want to face the bitter failure. "Happy New Year."

Clint was ominously quiet for so long that the soldier feared the worst. The words that eventually came barely reached his ears. "We'll… keep going soon", the archer reassured him. "… just… gonna catch my breath… After the fireworks… we'll go."

Of course they both knew the truth. It had been too late from the start. They knew that Clint wasn't going anywhere. Nor could Steve take him anywhere. The soldier could've left to seek help but considering how much blood his friend was losing and how rapidly the man was deteriorating, it would've been too late. Especially with how cold it was getting and how dark it already was. And it was highly unlikely that anyone would find them.

So Steve wasn't going anywhere, either, no matter what.

Clint's hand maintained its hold on his through the fireworks, something nearly childlike shimmering in the man's hazy eyes. Steve was tempted to wonder what sort of memories were roused. They had to be good ones, if the tiny, serene smile on the archer's lips was any indication. Then the sky grew pitch-black once more. A few seconds later Clint's hand slackened and a sigh-like, surprisingly easy breath slipped through the man's lips right before his eyes closed. With the thick winter-clothing it was impossible to tell if the Hawk was breathing. Steve was too much of a coward to search for a pulse.

For a dangerously long while Steve forgot how to breathe as he stared at his friend's calm, pale face. "Clint?" he managed at last with effort. There was no response.

Steve's shoulders slumped in the kind of defeat he was sadly familiar with. And he stared, not knowing what else to do. Was it… over?

"Clint?"

Distant howling caught his attention, mercifully gave him something else to focus on. He lifted his head and looked around but couldn't see any threat. Just snow, rocks and trees. Still, he hunched protectively over his friend, tense in waiting.

Minute by minute the howling came closer. Steve wondered if the wolves had caught the stench of blood. And how long it'd take before the animals would reach them. True, he was Captain America. But he'd be no match against the whole pack. He swallowed, hunching some more.

The gunshot was so sudden that he actually jumped. There was a growl, then… nothing. Before the snow rustled and danced. The first thing Steve's eyes focused on was the horse, huge and so white that it seemed to be made of snow. It danced restlessly, making sounds of protest against being forced still. The sleigh behind it, which carried firewood, trembled in sync with the animal's violent motions. Then his gaze rose towards the rider, who sat high up, illuminated by moonlight. Her strange, golden and brown eyes, and especially the wild, long red hair made her seem like something from a different world. The second their eyes met she started snarling in a language he couldn't understand, clearly demanding answers. The firearm she used to give the warning shot was pointed at him.

"Please…!" Steve didn't care how desperate he sounded. Not when his friend's life was on the line, not when it was possibly too late already. "He needs help. A hospital. Help us." He could only hope, from the bottom of his heart and soul, that she understood him.

The horse neighed deafeningly loudly.

* * *

The journey to the village passed by in a fog. Steve's clearest memory-trace was the horrible, unforgiving cold. Eventually they reached a tiny hut, and the smoky air inside it made the soldier cough. He was pushed to a corner and didn't need to understand the spoken language to figure out that he was meant to hold still, stay out of the way. So he did.

Three women, the redhead and two far older ones, worked on Clint for a very long time. Ensured that he was breathing, patched up a terrifying wound. But Steve had seen the kind of bruising tainting his friend's torso before. It spoke clearly of internal bleeding. Whatever these women were doing… It wouldn't be enough.

Eventually the girl who found them walked out, leaving them alone with the old women. They seemed to barely notice, just kept muttering and moving swiftly, blocking Clint from sight. Steve stayed silent for as long as he could stand it. "Please!" he tried again. "He needs a hospital. Where is the nearest one?"

"Hopefully close enough. But we have to hurry." Nick Fury's familiar voice succeeded in catching the Captain off guard. The man followed the redhead inside. Was that… worry in the man's eye? "Right now I'm very happy that I decided to stay close during your holiday. How did I know that you two would get into a trouble?"

* * *

Steve came from a time where medical care was… very different. Where the kind of injuries that could be treated nowadays were a certain death sentence. Modern hospitals still chilled him, although he'd spent far too much time in them. Especially the machinery.

He was, however, getting used to the device monitoring Clint's vitals. It was solid proof that his friend was still there, still alive and fighting. That there was hope, no matter how feeble one of the strongest people he'd ever met looked in the hospital bed.

Over a day had passed by from the accident. Steve didn't mean to, definitely didn't want to, but at some point he fell asleep. He dreamt of crash-landing to ice. Of calling out to Peggy, Bucky and Clint, only to receive no response. He kept freezing over, second after second, and he was all alone in the world.

Just like too many times before Steve woke up to his own pained yelp and gasped once, twice. Just to make sure that he wasn't trapped inside ice any longer. Just to make sure that the nightmare was over.

Was it over, though? He actually did end up into ice. Lost decades upon decades. Lost the chance to dance with Peggy. Lost Bucky. He woke up to a terrifying new world. None of that was a dream.

Steve was brought out of his sullen thoughts by a touch. It was so weak that he barely felt it, just fingers brushing the back of his hand. But somehow it caught all his attention.

Clint was watching him, eyes hazy and barely open but aware. The archer swallowed thickly before daring to try talking. "… alive." It was impossible to tell if that was a statement or a question.

Steve blinked once, only then realizing that his eyes were moist. For some reason the discovery didn't make him feel embarrassed. Maybe he was too tired for that. "Yeah", he sighed, feeling lighter than he had… in forever. "We're alive."

The confirmation clearly pleased Clint. But the man wasn't done just yet, despite the obvious pull of unconsciousness. "… alone…"

Steve's heart thudded painfully. He lost the ability to speak for a while. "What do you mean, alone?"

Clint grunted from pain and frustration. Almost lost the fight to stay awake but climbed his way back from the brink. "… sorry … left you alone, there."

Steve felt a very uncomfortable lump in his throat. He coughed once to try and chase it away, but his voice still sounded off. "You didn't", he pointed out. "And I'm not going anywhere, either. So go to sleep. I'll try to get some rest, too."

It took time and visible effort. But in the end Clint did drift off. It was quite possibly the greatest sign of trust Steve had ever received from anyone.

For too long they were alone. After that they both had just one person to face their battles with them. Then that one person became two. Now they had a full team by their side. A ridiculous and dysfunctional team, for sure, but a team nonetheless. This was still a terrifying new world for them both. But despite the losses they'd suffered they weren't facing it alone. They'd never be all alone in the world again.

With that comforting thought Steve nodded off as well, and this time he didn't dream of ice and losses.

* * *

The two had no way of knowing that they were being watched. On the other side of a window separating the room from a hallway Fury groaned when a person stood beside him. "I'm never letting those two take a vacation again."

Maria Hill sighed heavily. She seemed every bit as tired as he felt. "What a way to start a new year." She nodded towards the two. "How are they doing?"

Fury didn't smile, of course. At least on the outside. But his eye softened suspiciously. "They'll be just fine."

"Unless Romanoff hears about this."

"Let's agree that she never needs to find out."

* * *

A few days later Clint and Steve stood on a balcony at one of the Tower's highest floors. The latter holding a beer, the former a glass of soda because pain medication meant that he couldn't handle anything stronger.

It was Clint who raised his glass first. His face seemed uncharacteristically solemn and open, the longing he'd been feeling for a long time no longer hidden. "To absent friends."

Steve swallowed, flashbacks of Bucky rushing through his mind. Then, slowly, he raised his own glass. "To absent friends."

A new year. A new beginning. A brave new world of superheroes. They both finally felt ready to face it. And hoped that those who couldn't be with them anymore were proud of them, wherever they were.

* * *

End of tale

* * *

A/N: Oh, if only those two knew that the ones they're grieving aren't really gone…! (sighs) Poor dears! But at least they're recovering, inside and out. And they've got a team of friends by their side.

SOOOOO… How's that for a season's special? ANY good, AT ALL? PLEASE, do leave a note! I LOVE hearing from you.

COMING NEXT YEAR: Clint suffers from a horrible illness. And goes through jail-time that DOESN'T end well. And what's this, two more mini-Hawk tales coming up…?

Okay, I REALLY need to start thinking about heading to bed. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll continue to join the flight, even next year.

TAKE CARE, AND HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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 **Carry692** : Awww, I'm INSANELY happy that you enjoyed the slightly different tale, and the varying perspectives! (BEAMS) LOL, trust Clint to surprise. That guy's one big teddy-bear (hawk plushie?).

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : I'm both flattered and sorry. (smirks apologetically) Those POOR DEARS, right? Such a turmoil for all of them! THANK GOSH they made it through.

I'm insanely happy that you found the chapter so moving!

I've wanted to use a car-accident for a long time, now. They're common, and can happen even to the best and safest of drivers. (shudders)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	132. Seeing Double, part 1 of 4

A/N: WELCOME TO 'SOS VOL 2018'! (GRINS) Gather round, boys and girls, to fulfill your Clint-whump needs!

PHEEEW! My head took SO MUCH TIME to choose which one of my tale-ideas it wanted to go for first. (chuckles) In the end I decided to go for… something a liiiiiiiiiittle different. (smirks)

THANK YOU, a million times over, for all your reviews, listings and affection for this collection! I can't believe how far we've come. Here's to a thousand more!

Awkay, enough with the babbling! Let's go. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Seeing Double, part 1 of 4

* * *

Considering how many near-deaths Clint Barton had faced, the call from Fury shouldn't have been a surprise. Which didn't make it any less painful. " _Barton was just brought to a hospital._ " Hearing that tone from Nick Fury was always terrifying. If something was bad enough to make the one-eyed man sound that… emotional, almost… " _Things… aren't looking good._ "

Natasha was the only one able to produce speech. Her eyes were unnaturally hard, which was the only hint of the turmoil inside her. "Which hospital?"

The team didn't remember much about the journey to the given location. It definitely wasn't a good idea to let Tony drive. The emergency ward was bustling with people, noise and activity. In the sidelines stood Nick Fury, arms folded and glaring at everything.

"Where's…?" Steve began, but was cut short when Fury nodded sharply.

In perfect synchronization they all turned to look towards the gestured direction. And wished they hadn't. Several medical professionals were working on a chillingly bloodied, prone from. When one of them moved to pick up supplies they saw the patient's face, and the three arrows sticking from the unnaturally still form. Somehow that, his weapon of choice having been used against him, was the most bitter insult of all.

"What the hell happened?" Natasha snapped, and even Steve didn't dare to scold her over such language. Her eyes were blazing hazardously. "He was supposed to be retired!"

It spoke volumes of Black Widow's infamous reputation that even Fury seemed slightly unnerved. Only for a flicker of a second, though. "He is", the man growled. His focus returned on the injured archer. "Or I imagined that he was. Until there was a distress-signal from one of his favorite safehouses."

Wanda nodded slowly. Her face had gone alarmingly pale since they walked in, and by then she'd folded her arms tightly across her chest. Still it was possible to see that she was trembling. She frowned. "Who…?" She couldn't quite bring herself to finish.

Natasha sighed heavily. Sometimes it was far too easy to forget just how young and inexperienced the other redhead was. "Clint… has a lot of enemies." That was the unfortunate price of being a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and a former assassin.

Well. Whoever was behind this… Natasha fully intended ensure that _this_ was their final mistake.

"… a hospital ward, not a circus!" A nurse's sharp voice snatched her back from those sullen thoughts. The woman was glaring Fury down in a manner that made even the Black Widow keep her mouth firmly shut. "I'm telling you the exact same thing I said twenty minutes ago. And I'd appreciate you not wasting both our time with making me do a third repeat." The glared hardened, which shouldn't have been physically possible. "I understand that you're worried, but you're in the way. Go to the waiting room, and you'll be informed as soon as possible."

Now, the whole team expected Fury to counter the woman with his usual fire. Instead he unleashed a growling sound, possibly muttering something dark under his breath. Then gestured the team to follow him. None of them dared to express objections against uncharacteristic solution. Especially with the nurse glaring at all of them, now.

They didn't go far, though. They parked as close to the doors separating the ward from the rest of the building as they dared to. And settled for a long, excruciating wait.

The heavy, loaded silence had lasted for at least ten minutes until Wanda finally whispered. Her voice was so light that it was nearly trampled by the building's never-ended cacophony. "What happened?" she repeated Natasha's earlier question.

Fury sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This certainly wasn't the first headache Hawkeye gave him. "Laura has my number for emergencies. She called me this morning. Apparently Clint never came back from training future Avengers. He left three days ago and was supposed to be back yesterday."

Tony and Wanda both blanched. The billionaire gulped like someone trying to swallow back a bout of nausea. "The day Clint was supposed to show up he sent a message that he wouldn't be able to come. Sick kid… or something. He was never there." The conclusion which followed was chilling.

Whoever did this to Clint had the archer for three days.

* * *

Luther Stickell wasn't a fan of New York. Yes, the city had a lot to see. But the sheer amount of people, noise and chaos… He was too old to enjoy it. Not that he would've admitted as much out loud under any amount of torture.

So, since he seemed to be karma's favorite, it was inevitable that New York was exactly where a mission landed him.

That rainy afternoon he was finally leaving the city behind. His bag all packed, a flight booked. As it turned out catching a taxi turned out to be his biggest challenge. He muttered curses under his breath at one which flew by and spun to get the attention of another. Until he saw something from the corner of his eye that made him freeze.

In a small, dark alley… There was something lay on the ground. To a random passerby it might've looked like just a bundle of clothes. Luther's trained eye was quick to know better.

Bracing himself for anything, he began to approach slowly. "Hey!" His call received no response. He went closer, and shuddered at the stench of blood and something else that slapped him across the face. There was a puddle of red on the ground, surrounding the unmoving figure. "Hey, can you hear me?"

No, he discovered as he got closer. There was no way the person on the ground could've heard, because the man wasn't conscious. The other's face would've been greyish-pale if it wasn't for all the black, blue and yellow. There was far too much blood, and it was impossible to tell where it came from.

And that, was when Luther finally recognized. Despite all the bruising, despite all the injury, despite there being practically no unharmed spot on the other's face. His heart sunk right into his stomach. "Brandt?"

* * *

The wait was pure torture. Especially when they'd seen with their own eyes just how badly Clint was injured. No matter how big the waiting room was, it began to feel suffocating very quickly.

Fury kept an eye on the restless team, feeling like he was the babysitter of incredibly destructive children. He shivered upon feeling a presence. He found the nurse who ushered them out of the emergency room approaching.

"Hey", she murmured in a soft greeting that was a stark contrast to the person he met earlier. They squeezed each other's hands quickly but reassuringly. "Sorry I had to be so tough on you before, but it had to seem convincing."

"You enjoyed it", he argued, the tiniest flicker of beyond rare playfulness in his tone.

"Maybe", she admitted innocently. Then sighed, the gravity of the situation crash-landing on them both simultaneously. "He… was rushed to a surgery. The doctors are worried about the arrow that almost pierced his heart." Even she didn't seem to believe that the wounded man would make it.

Fury nodded slowly. It was harder than it should've been to maintain his steel-hard mask, especially in front of her. "You'll… keep me updated, right?" _No matter what._

She gave him a sympathy-filled smile. "Of course." She nodded towards the room. "Do you want me to…?"

Fury shook his head. "No, they'll want to hear it from me." He sighed, feeling old beyond his years. "Thank you, for calling when you recognized him."

"Of course I did. I know how much you care about those idiots." She squeezed his hand once more, and he wished she would've been able to hold it longer. "Now go, before Tony destroys the waiting room."

Her support was all the armor Fury had when he marched into the room and braced himself for the response his news would get.

* * *

The wait for an ambulance seemed to take ages. Especially with how frail and unsteady the pulse Luther kept monitoring was. Several times over he was absolutely certain that William Brandt wouldn't last until help got there. His… concern – because of course it wasn't anxiety – wasn't helped by all the unhelpful people gathering to ogle at them. Some even had their phones recording. At least until Luther snarled that he'd smash both the devices and the hands holding them if the filming wouldn't stop immediately.

Luther lashed out happily because there was little else he could do. He didn't have enough hands to staunch all the bleeding. And he dreaded to imagine just how much was _wrong_ with the man he'd come to consider a friend.

 _C'mon, Brandt_ , he scolded mentally the third time the other man's heartbeat stuttered threateningly. _You're tougher than this!_

After several eternities the flashing lights finally appeared. Far too slowly two paramedics rushed towards them. Both blanched when they saw Will.

"What?" Luther hissed, all too aware that such hostility would do no good.

"Sorry. Just…" One paramedic shook his head. The medical professionals exchanged a look. "We… could've sworn that we saw this guy, earlier today." Which would've led to questions, if there was time for them.

For that was exactly when Will's heart did stumble to a stop.

* * *

Despite the seeming calm of an operating theater, thing's weren't much less dramatic where a surgery would soon begin. Every now and then there was a heavy sigh, or a frustrated grunt. The blips and bleeps of machinery were alarmingly shaky constants.

It wasn't just the arrow sitting uncomfortably close to a struggling heart. There was also blood-loss. Evidence of several days' worth of torture. Broken bones. Internal bleeding. And, of course, several more arrows.

So, when the patient received the medication to prep him for the surgery… And his vitals went crazy almost instantly, before crashing… No one was surprised.

* * *

In the end the waiting room's stifling atmosphere made Tony claustrophobic. It didn't help that he also began to crave for a strong drink, desperately. He had to get out.

Coffee sounded like a stellar idea, and the fact that Clint would've approved sealed the deal for him.

Unfortunately the hospital was enormous. And Tony was… preoccupied, for obvious reasons. In the end he was completely, utterly lost.

Which, apparently, wasn't bad enough. Somehow he succeeded in getting near a door through which emergency patients were brought in. He was more than happy to rush onwards, until his eyes spotted something that paralyzed him to the spot.

A patient was just rushed in on a gurney, with a grim-faced paramedic grouched above him and doing chest-compressions. A lot of medical jargon was shouted as a team of alarmingly perplexed-looking professionals started their work. Tony understood their confusion well. He experienced something similar. Along with many other unpleasant emotions.

Because for the second time that day he was staring at – and the medical team was working their hardest to save – Clint Barton.

Everyone else around were too busy to notice Tony there. Their voices echoed painfully in the billionaire's buzzing head. "… the hell…?"

"… creepy, right…? … if I didn't know that the earlier guy's in surgery …"

"… idea who this one is?"

"… friend following … ID'd him as William Brandt …"

Tony felt his eyes widen to a comical extend. _William Brandt…?!_ What… was going on…?

 _Since when_ had there been two Clint Bartons?

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Yup, it's official. This revelation broke Tony's mind. (grins) BUT… Here's the question. Which twin is which? (Because we can only assume that they're twins, unless the skill of cloning has been discovered, LOL.) And are they both going to make it through this? In the next one we'll find out how they got into this mess.

SOOOOO… How was that? Any good? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you.

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

 **Psirynn** : WELCOME ABOARD! And I REALLY hope that you're feeling better by now. (HUGS) It makes me INSANELY happy that you've enjoyed the collection! Hopefully what's to come pleases you as much.

I LOVE your request! It'll DEFINITELY pop up in this collection one day. (BEAMS)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : LOL! I can SO imagine Fury hiring SEVERAL bodyguards for them. Or just banning vacations altogether. (snickers)

Poor dears, though! BUT, it makes my heart sing that you enjoyed the interaction! I ADORE both Clint (especially Clint, LOL) and Steve. It's always a pleasure to type those two together. (BEAMS)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	133. Seeing Double, part 2 of 4

A/N: Heh, I was supposed to update tomorrow but since this chapter demanded to be typed NOW… (grins) Yosh…?

As you can see, I had to prolong this story-arc by one chapter. I REALLY hope that you don't mind! I'll explain why it had to be done as soon as I can without giving spoilers. (smirks)

MY GOSH…! You really like this idea, don't you? (BEAMS) THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your AMAZING reviews! I REALLY hope that what's to come meets you expectations.

Awkay, because I sort of left you hanging last week… Let's go! I hope you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Seeing Double, part 2 of 4

* * *

/ _To both twins the whole nightmare began on a seemingly ordinary day._

 _One of them was approaching his car when he heard an eerily familiar voice. "You've been looking for me. Here I am." Before he could do a thing something sharp pierced the skin of his neck. He fought back, as hard as he could. But a firm pair of arms held him still until the drug began to take effect. He groaned and struggled more, only to slump limply. "Shh… Sleep, now. You're in for a world of pain when you wake up." He knew nothing more._

 _The second twin, coincidentally, was also approaching his car when his phone announced a new message. He fished the item from his pocket with a frown, some part of him already warning him of danger. Nothing could've prepared him for what was to come._

 _There was a picture of his twin. Battered, bleeding, tortured. Three arrows sticking from him. And a short yet chilling message._

 _'_ Do you want me to keep playing with him? Or will you come and see me? Tick tock. I'm bored. _'_ /

* * *

"Tony, you need to slow down, because I can't understand a word you're saying." Steve tried to sound patient. His attempt fell flat.

Tony took several gulps of air. Then tried again. Some words still blurred together but at least a part of the speech was comprehensible. "… two Clints … So… Fury cloned him… or Feathers has been hiding stuff." Being able to understand failed to help those words make any sense.

"Two… Clints?" Natasha repeated very slowly. There was something dangerous and… almost vulnerable in her eyes. Had been since this whole mess began, really. And it intensified now.

Tony's usually loud mouth opened uselessly several times. As it turned out words weren't needed. Because as they stared a patient was wheeled past the room they'd crammed into. A patient they'd seen before. Who should've been in surgery for at least a couple of hours.

"Shit", Steve sputtered.

No one was in the frame of mind to call him out on his language.

* * *

When the message from Luther arrived that one of his friends had ended up to a hospital Benji imagined, quite reasonably, that it was Ethan. Also known as the one of his friends with no self-preservation instincts. Instead it was Will, who was usually the first one to point out the stupid plans of others. Will, who was supposed to be on a vacation in London but somehow ended up to a hospital in New York.

Ethan beat Benji to the hospital, of course. The computer genius had no idea how. By the time he finally found the correct ward Ethan and Luther were having a shockingly quiet but intense fight with a doctor. "… on his emergency contact list", Ethan reasoned with very, very little patience. "Whatever is going on, you can tell me."

The doctor, who wore scrubs and an unimpressed half-glare, seemed ready to strangle someone. "As I've tried to explain to you, that's not the problem. Something… unexpected occurred, and we're currently trying to figure it out."

Benji frowned, his stomach knotting unpleasantly. "What do you mean, 'unexpected'? Is Brandt okay?" When there was no immediate answer he did whatever he could to imitate his friends' intimidating aura. And most like failed spectacularly. "I've got a right to know, too."

If the look on the doctor's face was anything to go by, a third person demanding answers was the last thing she needed. She sighed heavily. "Right now we have two patients with identical physical appearance. I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but neither of them is doing very well. And the faster you stop wasting my time, the faster I can go and try to save at least one of them."

* * *

In two operating theaters clocks ticked mercilessly on the walls. Medical professionals kept sneaking gloomy glances towards them. Because things were starting to look incredibly bleak.

Torture. Badly infected holes left by arrows. Stabs and gunshot wounds. Two cases of hypovolemic shock. Along with countless of other problems. Everything imaginable and beyond was done, of course. But it felt like they were stalling the inevitable. Especially when one heart had already gone still. And then, in one theater there was no stalling anymore.

Exhausted and defeated hazel eyes turned towards the dreaded clock on the wall once more. Teeth were gritted behind a surgical mask before the words were spat out. "Time of death…"

In that very moment no one noticed how the glowed, trembling hand of a young nurse hid a syringe to a pocket.

* * *

In the end the two teams of worried, anxious, irritated and far too loud friends had to be crammed together to the same confined space. Before they would've caused utter chaos. They eyed on each other apprehensively for a while before slowly coming to a silent agreement that they were in this mess together. Which meant that they'd have to tolerate each other, whether they liked it or not.

They all introduced themselves briefly and stiffly, because there was fairly little else to occupy their time. Suspicious eyes from both sides scanned through the opposing team, trying to get some sort of a reading. One team recognized the Avengers. And replied to countering questions that they all worked for a department that studied traffic patterns.

Natasha's eyebrow bounced up instantly, and her eyes clashed challengingly with Ethan's. "Oh? And how does someone from that line of a job end up into this kind of a trouble?"

Ethan shrugged. Unfazed or pretending well. "Brandt's always had the worst of luck."

Well, the Avengers could certainly relate to that. Natasha still didn't seem satisfied. Her gaze traveled downwards, then quickly and subtly back up again. "Traffic monitoring must be dangerous work. That's impressive weaponry you're trying to hide."

One of Ethan's eyebrows rose and a small smirk revealed some of his teeth. Challenge accepted. "We all have our little secrets." The knowing gleam in his eyes revealed that he knew a little too much.

Natasha's answering smirk was frosty. But also almost impressed. "I don't mind. I've always liked the element of mystery." It could've sounded flirtatious. A careful ear knew better.

Wanda was the first to catch on. "Do you two… know each other?"

"Yes", Ethan and Natasha confirmed almost simultaneously. The redhead tilted her head. "I was sent to kill him once." In a different lifetime. When she was still Natalia Romanova.

Ethan seemed to remember well. "Wasn't that around when I was sent to kill a Russian spy and assassin named Black Widow? Sorry about Dublin."

Instinctively Natasha's hand brushed towards a scar on her thigh. It was such a rapid motion that almost anyone would've missed it. "And I'm sorry about Warsaw."

This time it was Ethan's hand which twitched.

Luther took a subtle step closer to his friend, the look in his eyes warning anyone against pissing him off. Steve did something similar for Natasha. Benji and Wanda blanched, their eyes widening a fraction. Suddenly the air in the room was very different from before. The stifling silence was surreally heavy.

"So, eh…" Tony scratched his head and shifted from the sheer awkwardness of it all. It was time to switch to a different subject. Before more of them would end up as patients. "Did you know that there's… two of them?" So, yeah. Not the best distraction. Because it pulled them violently from the very, very unpleasant memories to even more unpleasant present time.

Natasha's shockingly open, nearly betrayed gaze revealed that no, she hadn't had the slightest idea. Ethan's jawline tightened before the man shook his head. "No, we didn't."

Under different circumstances it might've been amusing. Two super agents. A former spy and top-class assassin. A computer genius who would've been able to hack into pretty much any system. A super soldier. A billionaire and philanthropist who also liked to play the role of a mad genius on occasion. An enhanced super-human. Yet somehow those two who were seemingly the most… ordinary members of their respective teams had succeeded in keeping a secret like this from them all.

And now they might lose them both before getting any answers.

* * *

By the time the nurse who pocketed the syringe left the operating theater she was trembling all over. Not bearing looking back, she hurried to a room most people didn't even know existed. She made sure that no one saw her, then entered.

A man and a woman were waiting for her.

She wiped her eyes with an angry gesture, hating how unsteady and out of control she felt. "I… I did it", she hissed. And wanted to throw up. "I did it. Now what… what else do you want from me?"

* * *

The wait lasted forever. Especially because the mood in the teams' voluntary prison didn't improve. The only ones who seemed to even somewhat tolerate an enemy team's member were Tony and Benji. They sat further from the others, right next to each other in a childish and desperate need for comfort.

Eventually Benji nudged at Tony with his shoulder. "Hey." The man who somehow became an agent tried to offer the billionaire a smile but it wavered. "They'll be okay. If Clint's anything like Will… they're tough."

"I know", Tony agreed. Because there just wasn't any other option. "And then we get to tease them about getting into a trouble again."

Benji nodded with approval. The man seemed far too solemn before finally voicing his thoughts. "Brandt and Hunt…" In that very moment Benji seemed heartbreakingly young and vulnerable. The man pouted, which almost turned into a wince and a whimper. "They'll make me go gray."

"I know exactly what you're talking about", Tony muttered grimly.

Steps entered the room. And all of a sudden the arrival had everyone's attention. The look on the doctor's face nearly made Tony's knees give out.

 _No, no, no…!_

The doctor sighed, her shoulders slumping with defeat. Instead of any sort of an update she offered questions. "Is there anything we could use to help tell the twins apart? Tattoos? Scars?"

Had the situation been different, both teams might've laughed darkly. Scars? The twins had far too many of those.

Natasha summed it all up with just one word. Or two. "Yes. Why?"

The doctor swallowed loudly. There was genuine sympathy in her green eyes. "I'm truly sorry that I have to report this, but… One of our them is in a highly critical condition. The next couple of days will tell how things turn out. Right now we just have to be patient."

Cold, the kind that wasn't anything human, crept into the room like a thief. Steve, ever the leader and soldier, spared the rest of them from having to ask. "And… the other?"

The doctor's eyes darkened. "Like I said, I'm truly sorry. But… He didn't survive the surgery."

* * *

While the surviving twin's condition was far too critical to allow visitors, no medical professional had the heart to keep the two teams away from the window separating the man's room from the hallway. They'd get to stay so long as they'd act civil. That, surprisingly enough, wouldn't be a problem. They were all in too much of a shock to even do a lot of talking.

How was any of them supposed to feel relieved or hopeful when one twin had been lost? And what were they supposed to hope for? Wishing that _their_ twin was the one still fighting meant wishing that the other was gone. However the nightmare might conclude, there just wasn't any sort of a happy ending. And how would the surviving twin feel, waking up to a world where his brother was…?

It was all out of their hands, now. The twin they still had was the second one admitted to the hospital. Only time would tell if he'd follow his brother again.

Tony swallowed and wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around himself. He hated the way his eyes stung. Hated how small, broken and vulnerable the man who might not be his friend looked in the ridiculously huge hospital bed. Hated seeing the paleness, the bruising, the machinery, the unnatural movements of chest that a machine aided. Hated, more than anything else, the thought that there might be no hope. That there was nothing he could do but wait, while the man in the room fought for his life.

"What…?" Tony barely recognized his own voice. "What are we supposed to do now?" How could they help, when there was so little they were able to do?

Luther's eyes narrowed. A memory rushed through his head and stung. He settled for rage out of all the emotions wanting to boil over, because it was the safest and most familiar.

* * *

/ _Against all odds the man he found from the alley was conscious, somewhere along the way. Just for a few seconds. Long enough to utter a single, barely audible word. The effort was enough to finally make the man's heart stumble to a stop. "Barney."_ /

* * *

"Now we go hunting", Luther declared, his face settling to a mask of stone.

* * *

Elsewhere the mood was even more somber as the doctor led Natasha and Ethan towards the morgue. Already at the door, she gave the two a look that was too close to pitying for comfort. "He's been cleaned up as well as possible. But the wounds…"

"We're familiar with the procedure", Natasha snapped before Ethan got the chance to, and after the earlier rough start the two of them were finally on the same page.

Everything seemed to happen in a slowed motion. Like in some horrible, long bad dream. Natasha didn't notice that she was holding her breath and fisting her hands so tightly that nails dug into skin. She didn't want to smell the hospital, the death, the loss. Didn't want to see…

The much too familiar man seemed eerily peaceful, all alone on the cold, metallic table. Yes, damage had been done to his face. And signs of torture were much too visible. But it would've been deviously easy to imagine that he was simply sleeping, gathering strength to continue the fight.

Then, inevitably, her gaze fell on the now bare chest. On the arrow-marks decorating it. They were deep, indicating that the arrows had been unleashed from a close range. She could've sworn that they were sneering at her. And then she noticed…

Natasha shuddered, and felt Ethan tense up to an unnatural extend beside her.

For a very long time it was incredibly quiet. They both stared at the old surgical scar marring the exposed chest. A scar Clint didn't have.

Natasha was too much of a coward to look towards Ethan. Hearing the man's nearly choked words was bad enough. "It's, ah… It's Brandt." The amount of sorrow in those words was palpable. "It's definitely Brandt."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Sooooo… Yeah. I'll just, you know… Go, and hide. (whistles innocently) DAAANG, those poor dears…!

Now… What happened?! And how is this going to end? The next couple of chapters will tell. AND, most importantly… Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! (And feel free to rant all you like in reviews, LOL. I can take it.)

I need to go and get some sleep. Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

 **Psirynn** : LOOOOL! My thoughts EXACTLY. There's no purer and truer love than whump! (smirks and high fives) I REALLY hope that you'll keep enjoying the chapters to come.

Heh! I'd very much like to keep them both. Buuuuuut, maybe I can borrow one of them…? If you treat him with utmost care. (grins)

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

 **Carry692** : Happy New Year! (grins and hugs) Heh, I just couldn't resist this idea anymore! I REALLY hope that it meets your expectations.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : I'm happy beyond all words that you're so excited about the idea! (BEAMS) We'll see just what comes out of this tale. I REALLY hope that you'll find it worth the wait.

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	134. Seeing Double, part 3 of 4

A/N: HERE WE GO, FOLKS! It's time for another chapter. Hooray?

FIRST, though…! HOLY… CRAP! You guys REALLY seem to love this story-line. (BEAMS) I REALLY hope that what comes next is worth the expectations!

Awkay, because I've already kept you waiting a day longer than I meant to… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Seeing Double, part 3 of 4

* * *

/ _To most of the world Barney Barton had been dead for a very long time. And technically, in many ways, he was. The stupid little snot-faced brat he once was perished, and something else entirely took over the ensuing void left into the world. A vile creature that only knew how to kill and torture. In spite of a teacher who failed him and favored Clint, he began to call himself Trickshot. And he embraced the few questionable talents his maker granted him. Over the years numerous people died by his hand. Usually it didn't matter to him who payed for the deed. Money was money. Life wasn't good, but it was tolerable._

 _Barney forgot one crucial thing. When one has killed enough people, they're bound to make a mistake at some point. Catch unwanted attention._

 _That foggy morning in London, Barney felt intent eyes on his back while he pulled on a pair of jeans. Despite the intense attention they'd already given each other his companion, a beautiful young woman, was still very tempting with her dark eyes, mahogany hair and swollen lips. And naked. She was also an agent of IMF. "He's been looking for you, you know?" She inhaled a long drag of smoke from her cigarette. "Will. He's been suspicious since your little stunt in Belgium. I think he knows it's you." Her eyes flashed. "It's only a matter of time before he comes after you."_

 _Barney's eyebrow bounced up with a healthy amount of suspicion. When a deal sounds too good to be true… "And you're telling me this, why?"_

 _Her eyes darkened. She dumped her cigarette and had pulled on her clothes before the smoke faded. "I'm done being IMF's piece of meat, someone to toss aside when the situation calls for it." She rolled her eyes at the look on his face. "I'm not delusional. I know that I'm not much more than that to you. But at least you're useful to me." She looked at him fixedly. "For something that I want… I can give you something that you want."_

 _Some minutes later a message flew from one phone to another. Just one word, that pushed the forces of hell to motion. '_ Lazarus. _'_ /

* * *

Time seemed to stand still at the morgue while a pair of moist, disbelieving eyes stared at Will's body. A not exactly steady hand reached out, fingers brushing the shoulder to find steady cooling skin. That brief contact, the confirmation of horrible reality, made a set of shoulders slump from defeat.

"We'll figure this out. And we'll make the one who did this pay." Ethan's voice sounded unfamiliar, the usual smokescreen of steel not exactly working. "But… We need you for that, Benji. Do you think you're ready for it?"

No, Benji didn't think he was ready. But he knew that if they didn't find Barney now… Inhaling a deep, shuddering breath, he gave Will's shoulder a brief, tentative squeeze. As though fearing that the touch might hurt. "Bye." Pathetic, really, but it was all he could think of to say. Leaving his friend behind, all alone to the metallic table, was far harder than it should've been. Ethan and Luther, who'd been waiting by the room's door, followed him out. None of the three felt like saying a thing.

It wasn't the time to grieve and rage yet, because they'd have to finish a battle at which they'd already lost.

In the hallway the Avengers were all waiting, along with Nick Fury. Obviously every bit as ready to fight as they were. "So…" Tony's eyes flashed. "Let's start hunting this Barney-guy."

* * *

With the combined resources of both teams and Fury, they discovered that Barney ambushed Will just as the younger man's web was about to close in on the criminal. After searching for weeks Will discovered that Barney was in London and was about to travel there. Until…

Well, things didn't exactly go according to plans. Will ended up into a trouble while trying to keep one of the biggest ghosts of Clint's past away from his twin. In return Clint walked willingly into an obvious trap to try and save Will. And now…

Hours after it was confirmed which twin they lost Tony swallowed thickly, for once in his life not knowing what to say. "The others… They're, ah… working. You know, to sort out this mess. And… We will, I promise. Barney's gonna pay for this." He glanced towards the unmoving form on the bed, and hated the way his eyes stung. "So… You'd better wake up. Because… I wanna yell at you for not asking for help. And I can't do it when you're…" He gestured wildly with both hands when words failed him. "… like this."

Technically Clint was still too fragile for visitors. But after an hour-long debate Tony's silver tongue earned him an access. Just for five minutes. He wasn't sure if the medical professionals relented out of irritation, pity or mercy. Nor did he care. Clint needed him. And, if he was honest with himself, he also needed to see his friend. Just to make sure…

Tony shivered when the machinery delivered an unexpected bleep and checked out the monitors before his attention returned to his friend. "Wake up." So what if he was pleading? "I know that you lost him, but… You've got a lot people still waiting for you. We're expecting you to hang in there, Feathers."

Tony was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the changes on the monitor screens until the machinery went wild. Until Clint began to struggle to breathe despite the tube helping him. The billionaire's chest tightened painfully while his friend's heart struggled. "Clint?"

Medical professionals flooded into the room. Shouting medical jargon he couldn't understand, pushing him away. Tony demanded answers but they refused to offer anything. Someone succeeded in pushing him to the hallway and closed the door, then pulled a curtain to conceal the view into the room.

And Tony was left all alone, furious, helpless and terrified. Wondering if this was where his unhealthily stubborn friend gave up the fight. If Clint had decided to follow Will, one last time.

* * *

At the hospital idle waiting was the only thing that could be done. Ethan and Steve had never been particularly good at that. Especially under the current circumstances.

Both twins' phones had been in the same, long ago abandoned apartment building at one of the least appealing corners of the city. Searching it through, they ended up to an apartment that reeked far too strongly of death. And looked like something out of a horror movie.

Metallic chains hung from the ceiling. Neither was quite willing to count just how many weapons of torture had been left on display. There were blood stains all over the floor.

Steve was fairly sure that he was supposed to say something. Because as a fellow team-leader he understood the other's pain. Understood the ridiculous but very much real, crushing sense of a failure. (Because Will was more than a teammate, just like Bucky.) But somehow 'I'm sorry' refused to fit on his tongue, didn't feel like enough. "We'll find him." They'd get Barney. And when they did…

There was something truly chilling in Ethan's eyes. He refused to look towards the Captain. "I know." Barney wouldn't make it through that meeting alive.

The two didn't notice their phones buzzing on a silent mode, trying to announce incoming calls.

* * *

/ _'…_ Shh _…'_

 _Will shuddered violently, his eyes flying open. They darted around but it took infuriatingly long before they could see properly. A filthy, wooden floor. Shadows. Wooden walls. And then, finally, a disturbingly familiar face._

 _Barney stood a few steps away. The slightly older man looked at him with a sickening amount of satisfaction. "Morning. I was getting bored of waiting." The killer tilted his head. "You've been looking for me for a while, now. Clearly there's something you want from me. Well…" Barney shrugged. "Here's your chance."_

 _Will wanted to do many things all at once. Unfortunately the metallic chains fastening him to the ceiling, which currently dug into the skin of his wrists, limited his options. He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, then closed it again._

 _Barney's eyebrow arched. The man took a step closer, then the second… Another futile parting of lips made the impatient criminal groan. "This had better be good…"_

 _Barney's mistake was that the man failed to realize just how strong and on alert Will's lower body was. Two more steps had the criminal walking into a trap. Not wasting another second the agent lifted both legs and wrapped them elegantly around Barney's neck. Then squeezed. For his own sake as much as Clint's._

 _When it came to Barney, Clint would never be able to do what was necessary – and Will wouldn't let this monster go after his twin._

 _Barney struggled mightily, even managed to grab a knife which slipped to the floor. Lack of oxygen was a powerful thing. Light was already going out in the man's eyes. Soon…_

 _A sudden, literal stab of pain made Will gasp. Claimed all his attention. When he tensed up the blade was twisted. "Let him go…", a female voice hissed from behind him. "… or I'll make it really hurt."_

 _Letting go was the last thing Will wanted to do. But his body didn't seem to have any will of its own. His legs went limp, lost their grip before falling uselessly. Barney's still dazed, unnaturally bright eyes were full of venom when they clashed with his._

 _Will didn't know when Barney had the time to slip on a knuckle duster, but in a flash it slammed at his face and sent him into the dark._

 _Since then Will drifted uncomfortably in and out of consciousness. Whenever he woke up, no matter how briefly, he was greeted with pain. Eventually he was almost certain that there wasn't a single unbruised spot in his entire body. But he refused to scream, even once. No matter how many wounds were caused. No matter how many bones were broken._

 _And then his eyes opened sluggishly to discover Barney pointing an arrow at him. "A few days ago I might've actually felt bad about this. I mean… You may look like him, but you're not Clint. Then you went and tracked me down. Tried to strangle me. You made this personal. So… Maybe this is personal enough, for both you and Clint." The arrow came flying._

 _It wasn't until with the third arrow Will finally howled from agony._ /

* * *

Benji was five-years-old when received the first hint that justice doesn't always prevail in the world. Back then his big-brother ate all his chocolate and got away with it without any punishment. Since then the evidence of injustice grew bigger and bigger, slowly, inevitably.

Stolen chocolate transformed to stolen schoolbooks and bullies laughing. Ten years later he caught his first ever girlfriend kissing another boy, on his birthday. It would've stung less if the guy wasn't one of his most merciless bullies. Around that time Benji began to truly realize just often the bad guys won. Then, an adult but still somehow bright-eyed despite all the evil in the world, he joined IMF. And discovered a whole new world of injustice.

They lost Will, just like that. The man who always operated as the voice of reason suffered horribly before losing the battle. Will and Benji would never have the chance to get on each other's nerves again. And the last thing the computer-genius ever said to his friend was asking the man to bring him some actually drinkable tea from London.

If he knew… He would've… Should've…

That hopeless, useless trail of thought was finally cut when Tony slumped to the chair beside his. There was a look of frustrated fury on the billionaire's face. "No one telling me anything", the man spat. "They just… They threw me out, and no one's telling anything."

Benji gulped. His own loss was too fresh for him to deal with… this. "He'll be okay", he announced in the end, hating how his voice sounded. "We're not… We can't lose them both." The world couldn't be _that_ unfair, right?

Tony nodded. And contemplated for a long time before voicing his thoughts. "Benji… I'm sorry."

Benji nodded and moved his gaze. Focused intently on a stain on the floor. "Yeah. I'm sorry, too."

Moments later steps approached the room. The nurse had an apologetic look on her face while she looked at Tony. "Sorry we had to usher you away like that, but we needed some space to work. Clint had brief cardiac-distress and gave us a bit of a scare. But he's stable, now. And… All signs indicate that he may be waking up."

The joy and relief that lit up in Tony's eyes stung Benji, badly. Because as happy as he was that not all had been lost… There was a small, horrible part in him that wanted to scream at the injustice of everything, like the little boy of five he once was.

Yes, it was fantastic that one twin would most likely be okay – but it hardly changed the fact that the other one lay dead on a slab.

* * *

Holly Geller had been an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for five years when her path crossed Barney Barton. It didn't deter her at all that he was a criminal. S.H.I.E.L.D dealt with… shady allies on daily basis. The adventure and danger he introduced her to… They were like a drug. And so was he. She was drawn like a moth to a flame, even if she knew immediately that he meant trouble.

Whatever it was he wanted she gave him – so was it any wonder that eventually she found herself from an interrogation room?

Natasha, the infamous Black Widow, seemed ready to kill her. As did the big, dark skinned man she'd never seen before. It didn't make things any less unnerving that the room's security camera had been switched off as soon as the two walked in.

"I think you've figured out by now that your little… games with Barney Barton are no longer a secret." Natasha sounded deadly calm. Like a predator observing a wounded prey who knew full well that she could take her sweet time before securing the kill. "He's visited you in New York countless of times. Where are his hideouts?"

Holly gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes defiantly. Even if her heart was hammering from terror. "I'm not going to give you anything to use against him", she growled. "Whatever he did to Hawkeye… He deserved it. The things Barney told me about him…"

Natasha slammed a set of photographs to the table separating them. Judging by the lava in the former assassin's eyes, she had to use all her willpower to not strike her instead. "Look at those pictures…", the redhead hissed venomously. "… and tell me if you think anyone deserves that. Give me one good reason to not render you to a similar condition."

Holly looked down, little as she wanted to. And felt her stomach turn at the photographs of someone who looked exactly like Clint laying on a coroner's table. Brutally beaten. Dead. "No", was all she managed. She couldn't believe… Wasn't about to…

This time the man moved. Showed her his phone with an unnaturally steady hand. "Loyalty is touching. But you should save it for someone who deserves it."

There, on the screen of his phone, was a slightly grainy picture. From which Holly distinguished Barney's face without any difficulty. Barney's face, kissing another woman.

"This was taken in London, less than a week ago." The man's tone revealed that he had her where he wanted her. "Does it look like he's been loyal to you?"

Holly's blue eyes turned to ice, and she sang like a canary.

When it was finally over her interrogators made no move to leave. Natasha's eyes glanced swiftly towards the man. "Go", the Widow ordered in an unreadable tone. "You'd kill her. I may have a little more self-restraint."

The man obviously didn't like the idea. But obeyed. He left the room without a single glance backwards.

Luther waited with patience he hadn't imagined he had until the door finally opened. Natasha's knuckles were stained by blood and her eyes were unnervingly wild. "She was a hostile witness", she announced casually, as though discussing the weather. "I did what I had to."

Luther gritted his teeth. True, he and Will… didn't exactly hit it off, at first. But once they'd established where their loyalties lay and found a common ground… "You should've let me…"

"I know." Did Natasha sound… apologetic? Almost. "But I meant what I said. You would've killed her. And that would've led to too much unnecessary paperwork."

Luther couldn't deny her claim. They began to walk away in a thoughtful silence, leaving the medics and other S.H.I.E.L.D agents to handle Holly. "Did you at least make her suffer?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Still on the edge, they both shivered when her phone started ringing. Natasha's eyebrows furrowed in irritation and something like worry before she picked up. "Tony, slow down." Her jawline tightened. "We'll be there in ten minutes." She put away the phone and was moving faster than he could get a look at her face. Her blood-stained hands weren't steady anymore. "I've gotta get to the hospital. Clint's waking up."

Suddenly Luther realized that she wasn't meeting his eyes for both their sakes. Because, while he was happy for her and her team, he really was… She might not have liked all the things that without a doubt showed on his face at the moment.

* * *

Clint's journey towards consciousness was long and painful. It was hard to think. And even more difficult to try and figure out what happened to land him to a…

Just then the sound of Will howling from pain hammered his already throbbing skull, and everything was a little too clear. It took ridiculously long to distinguish and recognize the person beside his bed. Natasha's facial expression was infuriatingly unreadable, but he could tell that she was exhausted and pissed off.

"They were able to save you. Barely", she announced sharply. "You're alive, somehow. And if you want things to stay that way sleep. Stop fighting it and rest."

Clint very much wanted to fight it. Needed to know… "Will…?" Where was his twin? How was he? Did he…?

Despite his mighty struggle Clint slid under before he had to see Natasha's face twist into something alarming. For some reason he dreamt of standing on a cliff with Will. He watched his twin take the leap of faith into the raging waves below. He wanted to follow, so much that he could hardly stand it, but his feet were glued to the ground. All he could do was stand and watch his twin disappear into the waves.

And he felt like he was all alone in the world.

* * *

/ _Entering the address Barney sent him, Clint knew full well that he was walking into a trap. He didn't care. Hand on his gun, listening intently and mindful to make barely any noise, he advanced through the long and chilling, dusty hallways. Until he reached one of the biggest rooms and froze by the doorway._

 _The first thing he saw was Barney. And the man's eerie, chilling grin. "I have a suggestion for you", his one-time brother offered. "Next time you try to kill me… Make sure that I'm dead."_

 _Clint wanted to roar out that he never meant to harm Barney, that back then he didn't even know that it was his adoptive brother until it was too late. But at the moment he had far more important matters to focus on. "Where is he?" If he'd come too late to save Will…_

 _Barney moved out of the way torturously slowly. To reveal a sight that was somehow worse than what the archer had feared. Will hung lifelessly from the ceiling, eyes closed, bloody and horribly pale. Clint tried to find evidence of breathing but couldn't be sure…_

 _"I went rougher on him than I was supposed to", Barney confided, and it was impossible to tell if it was a lie or not. "He's been hanging there for days, waiting for you. I'm pretty sure that I even heard him call out to you a couple of times."_

 _Of course Clint knew that Barney was only trying to get under his skin. But, to his distaste, it worked. His stomach knotted at the thought of Will in a place like this. In agony, screaming for him. "You should've kept this between the two of us", he hissed._

 _Barney shrugged. "Maybe. And he shouldn't have tried to find me." Their eyes met. "Guess what? Since he's… sort of an innocent victim, I'm gonna have mercy and give him a chance. I'll walk out, now. So you get the chance to make up your mind. Because you have two options. Are you going to follow me? Or are you going to try and save him, before it's too late?" The man glanced towards Will and winced. "Judging by the looks of it… He's gonna check out pretty soon. I'd choose quickly, if I were you." With those ominous words the criminal was walking away._

 _Clint stared as the man he'd imagined to be dead only days earlier walked away. Leaving the archer with his horrible decision. Then his attention returned to Will, and he realized that there was no choice._

 _Barney had already placed a key to the chain restraining his twin, knowing full well that Will wouldn't have the strength to use it. It was hard work and took some acrobatics, but eventually the restraints loosened. Will was sent falling limply, and Clint was barely fast enough to catch his brother._

 _Panic squeezed Clint's stomach with an icy fist. "Hey, hey!" There was barely any reaction from his twin. "Eyes open. Because… We're getting out of here, okay? I'm getting you out of here."_

 _By some miracle Will actually regained a small hint of consciousness. And whimpered in a heartbreaking manner. "… run …"_

 _Clint shook his head fiercely. "No running", he announced firmly. He had to support most of his brother's weight as they began to make their way out of the nightmarish place. "We're not leaving each other behind. That's what we promised when we were brats. Remember?"_

 _Will's hand fisted feebly around the fabric of his coat, and somehow that was enough of an answer._

 _Upon arrival Clint had enough common sense to leave his car close. But even that distance was too much on Will. His twin's eyes slipped closed as soon as the man had slumped to the vehicle's seat, and Clint wondered with growing alarm if he'd see them open again._

 _Only one place was nearby and safe enough. Which was where Clint took Will. He did what little he could to patch up his twin, and knew with disheartening certainty that it wouldn't be enough for long. Then, with a heavy heart, he pressed the safe house's alarm._

 _Will was barely conscious when their eyes met. Clint tried to manage a reassuring smile but couldn't. "Fury will have people here in minutes. Just…" He swallowed thickly, but it did nothing to the lump sitting in his throat. "Just hang on, okay? I'll come and check up on you, when this is over. I promise." Of course there was no way he could promise such a thing. But if it'd keep his twin fighting… "So… Wait for me."_

 _Clint had done what he could for Will. And, as little as he liked to, he had to go and find Barney. For both their sakes._

 _Upon leaving Clint pretended that he didn't notice how Will grabbed the hem of his shirt, feebly but desperately. Begging with him. He also pretended that he didn't notice how quickly the hold broke as the last of consciousness left Will._

 _Clint had very little idea of what happened next. Operating in some sort of a red fog, he made his way back to Barney's disgusting hiding place. He found his adoptive brother waiting with a frosty grin._

 _"He's gone, isn't he?" Barney taunted. "See, little brother? This is where it always comes down to. Just…" A step closer. "… the…" A step. "… two…" One more step, after which they were almost nose to nose. "… of us." The criminal sneered. "Don't you see? It's the two of us… because everyone else you start to consider family die on you."_

 _Clint lunged like a lion, faster than a thought or any reflexes. In seconds he'd tackled Barney down. His fist came down at the older man's face more times than he could count, mercilessly. Shattering bone, drawing blood. And then one of his fists wrapped around his adoptive brother's neck, starting to squeeze the very life out of the man._

 _Until their eyes met. And the little boy still hiding somewhere in the back of Clint's head remembered the child the merciless man underneath him used to be. And he'd let go before processing how stupid of an idea it was._

 _Barney smirked despite still gasping for breath. "… did that … to Will", the older man wheezed. "… still can't… finish me…" The criminal's eyes flashed. "… 's why I'll… be the last… left."_

 _The pain wasn't unexpected. Its intensity was. Blinking slowly, Clint let his gaze drop to see a knife sticking from his torso. Not wasting a second, Barney repeated the attack. Twice. Then kicked, sending him to the floor, bleeding and dazed. Watching Barney walking away, Clint wrapped a hand around his gun. But couldn't lift the weapon. Couldn't even think about using it, despite everything his adoptive brother had done._

 _Clint blacked out. And couldn't tell for the life of him how he ended up to the alley right outside the building. Slumping down, unseen by any of the many people passing by, he wondered if this was how he'd die._

 _Darkness claimed him like an old friend._ /

* * *

When Clint woke up the second time Natasha was there again. With an expression on her face that gave him chills. Because it reminded him far too much of when she told him that Phil was dead.

And right there, in that moment, he _knew_ before she uttered a single word.

Five minutes later a nurse was approaching the room just as Natasha emerged. Was the redhead… wiping her eyes? They both shuddered when the unmistakable sound of something breaking came from the room. "Not right now", Natasha advised sharply, almost with hostility. Then clenched her jaw before continuing right after another noise of items breaking. "Look after him. Just… Just give him a moment, first." With that the redhead walked away.

The room behind the closed door became eerily quiet.

* * *

Eventually someone gave Clint medication that was supposed to help him relax. It only left him feeling hollow and numb. Unable to sleep and in a horrible amount of pain, he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. And wanted to tear apart someone.

It was his fault that Will was gone. He wasn't even able to convince himself to take down his twin's killer. What kind of a person did that make of him?

Clint barely paid attention when a young, mahogany-haired female nurse visited his room. She gave him another dosage of some medication. Along with words that were supposed to be comforting. Or, well, he wasn't paying attention until he noticed the note that'd been left for him. The second he saw Barney's familiar handwriting his chest constricted. When the words began to make sense his heart dropped all the way to his stomach.

' _Did you really imagine that this is over, now? I won't stop until you've lost all of your family. That's what I lost because of you, and I won't settle for anything less._ '

Ten minutes later medical personnel rushed into the room when the machinery screamed alarms, only to find the bed empty.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh, Clint, you grieving idiot… (sighs) So, any guesses? Is he going to get into a trouble (or is trouble going to find him) before someone gets to him? And WHAT is Barney still planning? Are they going to be able to stop him?

AND, the most important questions of them all…! Was this ANY good, at all? PLEASE, do let me hear from you!

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you all then.

Take care!

* * *

 **Carry692** : Such a sad twist, right? (whimpers) We'll see just how that'll end… Let's TRY to have hope…!

LOL! I know, right? With their insane lives… It DOES make sense. (grins)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **IHaveANameYaKnow** : Quite the twist, right? (gasps) Oh dear… We'll see just where this goes! So much sadness! BUT, I've gotta admit that I'm flattered the chapter captivated you so… (smirks sheepishly)

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Psirynn** : LOOOOOOL!

Awww! I REALLY hope that what's to come pleases you every little bit as much. (BEAMS)

Gigantic thank yous for the review! Until next time.

* * *

 **Guest** : You practically had me purring from joy! (chuckles) I REALLY HOPE that what's to come won't disappoint, either.

AAAAAND, I'm glad that you're a fan of switching POVs… (winks)

HUGE thank yous for the review!


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